Adduce

New word of the day- "Adduce: to cite as an example or means as proof in an argument." (The American Heritage Dictionary).

This word makes me think of writing a paper in which you back up your ideas with evidence. To adduce various sources. It can be complicated to step back and analyze the validity of sources. When scientific variables are seemingly equal and two sources give conflicting information, what do you choose? I guess whatever makes sense in the context. Sometimes different methods will have different effects depending on the time of year or geographical region.

I think that it's important to include as many different sources as possible when you are trying to adduce ideas about a topic. It's easy to forget to do that in an age where information instantaneously pops up on your page, with so many easy answers available. I was recently reading an article about a supposed meritocracy in another nation where women can rise to the top quickly and easily when their super powers/talents are recognized. The exemplar figure for this land where females could seemingly be recognized very quickly for their full potential was a mid-twenties women, one who is supposed to be a role model for fashion and contemporary culture. Reading another article about this woman revealed that she had not-too-distant ancestral connections to a top political figure and a notable actor. She herself had quoted that it is easy to rise to the top in her country if 'people recognize your talents.' My illusion of a pure meritocracy in that nation diminished after learning that the presumed exemplar of rising through one's own attributes had quite the connected background.

Qualitative comments made by a couple of people certainly cannot serve as examples of good journalistic research. I understand that such comments are inserted to provide the human element that makes the readers/viewers be able to connect to the situation on a personal level. But often these random comments serve as metonymy - a part representing the whole. The situation becomes skewed for many members of the public who are fine with accepting the quick shortcut to current events and culture.

acclivity

Acclivity: "an upward slope." (The American Heritage Dictionary.)

I remember seeing this word used a few times, but out of context I would not have been able to recognize it.

It's difficult to imagine reaching the tops of some acclivities. When I was going for my Master's, taking multiple classes at the same time as I was working, I felt like I was scaling a mountain. Sometimes I would literally scale an acclivity as I walked up the dozens of steps in St. Nicholas park in Morningside Heights. I would glance at my watch, hoping to get to class on time as I power-jumped up the hill. I remember one day, towards the first third of my program, climbing up those steps, looking down at the steps that I had already taken, looking at where I had to go, and figuring that the steps were like a tangible fractional manifestation of my progress thus far. I had made it one-third of the way up the hill, only two-thirds left to go. It was always a perpetual climb, there was no time to truly pause and reflect. That wasn't safe, to stay in one place too long.

I think the most difficult part about climbing an acclivity is when you're right in the middle - when you're starting to get tired but you can't yet see the top. It's at that point when it can be tempting to just turn right back around. But turning around won't usually do you much good - you'll never get that satisfaction of looking down at the mountain you just climbed.

Accipiter

(Thank you wikipedia for this photo of the Northern Goshawk.)

An accipter is "any of several hawks with short wings and a long tail." (American Heritage Dictionary). Wikipedia lists a long line of these birds. They are different colors and shapes, and native to varying locales. They are noted to be "birds of prey."

It is the natural order of things for some animals to eat other animals. Such as birds of prey. Animals know innately what to eat in their environments. For humans, however, it's more of a struggle. It doesn't come so easy to us. Some of us are omnivores, some are vegetarians. I myself have gone up and down the scale of being a non-vegetarian, to a partial vegetarian, to a vegetarian, to a vegan, then back to a partial vegetarian. At times my decisions have derived from others giving me new information. At other times my decisions have been based on how my body was feeling. I wonder if humans are the only species who vacillate back and forth so much with regards to the foods that they eat. I doubt that any non-human animal, on its own devices out in the wilderness, has switched from being an omnivore to an herbivore. Or has it?

I think about the sad ambivalent dynamic of a snippet of a "BBC's Planet Earth" episode I saw once. I don't remember the specifics, but it involved some animal of prey who was starving, hadn't eaten in weeks or perhaps months. The animal was skinny, on its last leg. It was trying in vain, in the snow, to find some animal that it could eat to stay alive. I believe that it ended up finding another animal. But I don't remember what happened after that. I think I blocked it out.

At any rate, I end this post with a photo of a "Little Sparrowhawk", 9 inches tall and weighing 3 ounces, perhaps the smallest in the family of birds Accipitridae. It looks kind of like a cartoon to me, with its slight triangular smile and colorful nose.

Acanthus

According to the American Heritage Dictionary (Fourth Edition), "acanthus" is any of various Mediterranean shrubs with large, segmented, thistlelike leaves. Above is a photo of an example of the specimen, borrowed from wikimedia.

Have you ever seen an acanthus? I'm not sure that I have. Then again, I may have ignored it as I passed by, subconsciously letting it blend into the green schema of my surroundings. When I was growing up, with a backyard containing plants of some variety, I usually tended to admire the greenery without looking to identify the names of everything. The only exception to this visual feast of mostly nameless entities took shape in the form of one medium-sized, whitish-barked tree: the birch tree. I learned to identify a birch tree on my 5th grade camping trip, when one of my friend's grandfathers pointed out the distinctive pointy leaf and peeled back the bark so we could inhale the vague minty scent. Subsequent to this multi-sensory bit of learning, I found a birch tree in my backyard and felt a little accomplished and erudite as I passed it, able to identify it through a three-point system: leaf, color, and scent.

The acanthus plant seems to be a low-lying form of growth not native to the United States. It derives from the Mediterranean region, an area of the world that is intriguing to me, but that I have yet to visit. Perhaps one day I will lounge by the Mediterranean sea and catch a glimpse of acanthus in a nearby garden. I'll look at these fancy leaves that inspired ancient Greek artisans to carve similar leafy patterns on the tops of stone columns in the Corinthian style.

Abaca

I used to enjoy teaching myself a new word every day, but in recent years I became bored with the concept. It seemed irrelevant to learn these words which had no practical application to daily (or even yearly) interactions. And after not using these words, I would forget them quickly, rendering them totally useless.

But lately I've started to think of new ways in which I could make new words relevant, and practical even - to make them have some meaning in life. I want to make these words fresh again, and give them a new coat of paint. And I was thinking that perhaps the best way to make these words relevant would be to put them in some sort of context that I could relate to. And perhaps in making these words relate to me, I could make them relate to you, too.

So here goes, with Word #1: Abaca.

According to an old copy of Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, (copyright 1975) abaca is a noun meaning "a fiber obtained from the leafstalk of a banana (Musa textilis) native to the Philippines - called also Manila hemp."

I'm thinking about fibers that are obtained from plants, such as cotton and linen. At what point in time did people start crafting plant fibers into textiles? Originally I'm assuming that plants were taken in their whole form and rakishly draped and wrapped around people when a chill was in the air. Along the way people must have observed the stringy qualities of certain plants and stems and decided to somehow create a more custom-sized, weaved textile. (I've just looked up leafstalk, which is otherwise known as 'petiole', a slender stem that supports the blade of a foilage leaf.) So apparently abaca utilizes the stem, an oft-underutilized part of the plant.

So, assuming that you have no familiarity with abaca, why should it be relevant to you? You may be perfectly content utilizing your current textile repertoire: perhaps a menagerie of cotton, acrylic, silk, wool, microfiber, etc. Abaca may not have a place in any of this. But if we think about it, in an eco-conscious world, perhaps abaca should have a place in our materials list. Isn't it best to have a variety of plants growing in the ground, to provide the soil with a variety of nutrients, and to not deplete the soil of one nutrient in particular?

Although the dictionary entry made abaca sound like it's actually a part of the banana plant, I found a website more accurately depicts it as being a member of the banana family of plants. So please do not be led astray: abaca does not seem to be connected to the long yellow fruit that you may enjoy in your cereal. Abaca is a separate entity.

I am surprised to learn on this website that the textile of the abaca plant is used in different parts of the world for such varying paper products as tea bags and medical goods. Abaca is one of a multitude of natural resources that humans have wrought their alchemy upon, differentiating into multiple incarnations. Abaca is then one of many plants that have found a way to not only survive, but to reproduce, through the handiwork of humans, who use the plant for their own means and make many more of it than would probably otherwise exist.

Alliteration

Poem I created for the upcoming unit on Alliteration. It's for elementary kids but maybe it will make you smile!


Alphabetic Feast
I’ll tell you about a food festival
With awesome apple-artichoke appetizers,
Burned black bean banana bread,
Cold, crisp cantaloupe cups,
And dreamy diced dairy desserts.
Where everyone eats everything:
Frozen, fried, or French,
Great, gross, or greasy
Hearty, Healthy, or Heterogeneous.
Interesting Icelandic icicles,
Juicy jams in jars
And Kingly kelp kites,
Light up in lengthy lines
Making more of a meaningful mood.
Nobody nears noontime without
Oranges over orzo.
People pick pieces of
Rugged roasted rutabaga
Swimming in salty soup.
Time ticks quickly towards
Understanding an unbelievable universe of food.
Very vocal visitors
Wind up winning Wednesday’s work which is
Xeroxing zany xylophones drawings
For yellow menus of yummy yams.
At the end, zany zinc zebras hand out zero mints.