I feel like a . . .

complete dummy. It's not that I have an extensive vocabulary. I don't, but I can usually come up with a plausible definition of an unfamiliar word if read it in context. But today, I was flummoxed. I've been on this pulp fiction binge. Well not exactly pulp fiction, maybe a step or two above . . . Evanovich, Siddons, Patterson and now back to an old favorite, Lawrence Sanders. Years ago I read his McNally series and a couple of his "Commandment" books. Stumbling upon, The Eighth Commandment at our local used bookstore, I started reading it last night. I confess, I enjoy his books, but this one, written in 1986 had me pondering definitions.

Last night I was too tired to do anything about it. This afternoon, I finished the book with a pen and paper in hand and a list of words I needed to look up. Fantods? Jape? Foulard? Panoplies? OK, so by virtue of context, I guessed well on foulard. Jape rattled some ancient memory but I was a tad off base. The others? I was lost in space. Good grief, even spell check got snaggled up on fantods. And these don't count the numerous words I swept by last night without recording. Is my cerebellum shrinking? Am I stagnating academically?

Who knows. But it did remind me of a fascination a few of us acquired in high school via Miss Molding, our 10th grade English teacher. She suggested we learn a word a week. Sunday nights, we'd dig through the dictionary to find obscure words and write them on the palm of our hands. The simple fact that they remained etched on skin for several or more days in a row now makes me want to dive into a bottle of antibacterial soap but at 16, who cared. Infarct is still my favorite. I like the way it rolls off the tongue and although I have never had occasion to use it, you never know when the need may arise.

The point to this all? Nothing earth shattering, I had just forgotten how much I love words. I am a simple nerd. A lexpionager.