Readers of my New Year's Day column may remember that I have resolved to make a special effort to use certain words that, although I always find intriguing, I never actually use in either speaking or writing. The word I promised to give some verbal and written attention to during January is digitabulist, which means "a person who collects thimbles." Halfway through the month, I can tell you it is not easy to fit this word into normal conversation! I did, however, find myself in an Oneonta antiques shop a few days ago looking at an elaborately detailed thimble that caused me to remark, "That would be the perfect gift for a digitabulist." Unfortunately, I was alone at the time, so the remark was made in my head, not actually spoken to anyone.
Nonetheless, digitabulism has me thinking about how interesting the phenomenon of collecting thimbles and -- well, anything -- really is. And I do suppose that anyone could, in fact, become a collector of anything, but certain collections are remarkably common -- at least common enough to have generated words to identify the collector.
Even the most familiar sort of collecting, however, may have a given name that is much less familiar. For example, it's not unusual to know someone who collects dolls, but did you know that these collectors are known as plangonologists? When I was a kid, several of my friends and I would swap matchbook covers for our collections, but I doubt that any of us knew that we were phillumenists. I also didn't know that I was briefly a brandophilist (a collector of cigar bands), but it's just as well -- my supplier was my dad, who smoked only two brands of stogies, so the collection was not exactly museum-worthy. Actor Edward G. Robinson, who was a fervent brandophilist, once said, "My father and uncles and all their friends turned their lungs black trying to satisfy my collector's zeal" -- another good reason to forgo such a collection ... and be grateful that my dad eventually kicked the filthy habit.
Over the years, I've known people who have collected shells (conchologists), butterflies (lepidopterists), recipes (receptarists), books (bibliophilists), coins (numismatists), stamps (philatelists), beer coasters (tegestologists), teddy bears (arctophilists), autographs (philographists) and flags (vexillologists). None of these collections seems particularly unusual, and a few of them may even have a familiar name, but I was surprised to learn that a childhood friend's fascination with sugar packets is an interest shared by many serious collectors who call themselves sucrologists. I can also admit to not knowing about heortologists, who collect religious calendars, or helixophiles, who collect corkscrews, but at one time I was a rather enthusiastic deltiologist (collector of postcards), which seems more fulfilling to me than telegery, the fairly modern activity of collecting phone cards.
With the seemingly limitless number of things that someone could start collecting, it provokes the question of what it is exactly that makes collectors out of so many of us. And what is it that compels us to collect the specific things we've chosen to collect? I've never had the slightest attraction to keyrings -- if I get a new one, I toss the old one -- but something about them struck my daughter when she was a child, and by middle school, the multitude of keyrings attached to her backpack nearly outweighed the pack and all its contents. In the language of collectors, she was an avid copoclephilist, although her passion for keyrings disappeared overnight a few years later. I have never seen a hint of "the collector" in her since, so I'm somewhat doubtful of her ever becoming a lexiconophilist, which means my prodigious collection of dictionaries will be a very disappointing inheritance!
Edmeston resident Christine A. Lindberg, senior U.S. lexicographer for Oxford University Press, is the principal content editor of Oxford's American English dictionaries and thesauruses. Opinions expressed by Lindberg in this column are done so independently, and do not necessarily reflect the policies and practices of Oxford University Press. Have a question or comment relating to the English language? E-mail languagewithlindberg@gmail.com. Selected submissions will be answered here periodically.
Let's Look At The Language
A large collection of names of collectors
- Let's Look At The Language
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'We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne'
By Christine A. Lindberg A song that "owns" a particular day of the year is rare.
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Here comes Santa Claus ... where'd he get that snazzy red suit?
Years ago, I had a book of letters written to Santa Claus, and I remember that, among all the messages of "bring me this," "bring me that," and "I'll leave you a plate of cookies," one little boy had written, "Dear Santa, Where did you get your snazzy red suit?" I wouldn't be surprised if the author of that question grew up to be either a reporter or a fashion consultant, but in any event, I hope he got an answer to his question.
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Where do I plug in these Electric Prunes?
Those of us who make the family feasts of Thanksgiving and Christmas magically appear on the table know there's nothing magic about it.
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The sometimes-cryptic language of company names
Cream cheese originated in 1872 as the result of William Lawrence's failure to duplicate the French cheese Neufchatel. By 1880, he knew his "accidental cheese" was good enough for distribution, so he packaged it in foil wrappers and called it Philadelphia Cream Cheese.
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Humorist Will Rogers: One of the crown jewels in American language
Defined as "a humorous writer, performer or artist," a humorist could technically be anyone who makes you laugh, but my concept of a humorist is not nearly so broad
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Not quite an 'Ode to Pepé Le Pew' after gross, stinky encounter
My previous column ended with the words "sweet dreams," which are nice if you can get 'em, but sometimes the occasion of slumber time is a few degrees short of sweet.
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What will my dream-doctor say about this orgledream in my head?
I just read a snippet of folklore that tells me "a dream of grasshoppers means that something is confusing you."
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Names of hurricanes don't match reality
When the storm named Irene barreled up into Edmeston four weeks ago, I didn't think I'd still be looking down upon the vestiges of her destruction from my upstairs windows.
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Sometimes an unremarkable day is the one we should cherish the most
Ten years ago today, it was a summery Sept. 10 here in Central New York. The temperature hovered in the 80s and there was an occasional drizzle here and there.
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'Don't miss it, don't even be late' The Great New York State Fair is here
"Our state fair is a great state fair! Don't miss it, don't even be late. It's dollars to doughnuts that our state fair is the best state fair in our state!"
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Some of it's all Greek to me, but mostly it's just herbaceously aromatic
For the past five years, I've been a container gardener (having given up the backyard to my dogs).
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Like gods on the heptagram, so are the days of our week
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'Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?' just not the same
When the Baltimore Orioles' third baseman took the field on May 30, 1982, not even Nostradamus could have foreseen that one of the most celebrated streaks in baseball was beginning at that very moment. The player was Cal Ripken Jr., whose 2,131st consecutive game on Sept. 6, 1995, surpassed Lou Gehrig's "unsurpassable" record.
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A frabjous Fourth of July to everyone!
If there's one date in history that every American can cite, it's the day that the Continental Congress gave its nod to the Declaration of Independence: July 4, 1776.
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I wonder if ancient Romans ever put sanctions on that two-faced Janus
Someone recently asked me if I could explain the meaning of the word "sanction.
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June is bustin' out all over!
When "Carousel," the second stage musical by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, opened on Broadway on April 19, 1945, the audience left the theater in buoyant spirits.
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Go ahead and have a rat on a stick, but please don't call it a lollipop
I recent read that this Tuesday is National Escargot Day. I was unable to find any compelling evidence that this is an official national day for any nation in particular, but it does seem that throughout the U.K. and North America, French restaurants have happily adopted the day as a time to celebrate their garlicky little mollusks.
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Onomatopoeic power of wheatgrass souffle
“The formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named” is the New Oxford American Dictionary’s definition of “onomatopoeia” (Ah-Nuh-mah-tuh-PEE-uh).
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The language of Benjamin Franklin, in whatever name he used
When Benjamin Franklin died 221 years ago this month, the entire Western world mourned, yet his gravestone reads (in full), “Benjamin and Deborah Franklin 1790.”
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There's nothing like a good spoonerism to tickle a bunny phone
The English economist Sir Roy Forbes Harrod (1900"1978) once said that, compared to all the scholars he had known at Oxford and Cambridge, the Reverend William Archibald Spooner (1844"1930) was the most exceptional in "scholarship, devotion to duty, and wisdom." There is no reason to question Harrod's assessment, but that's not exactly the imprint by which Spooner is best remembered.
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'We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne'
