“Now I become myself. It’s taken time, many years and places…” – May Sarton

Let’s face it, I have far fewer years left than I have already lived. That isn’t what makes me sad. What makes me sad is that I feel like I’m just getting started. Late, I’m just starting to get the hang of this life thing. And my hungry heart wants more.

Part of my infinite wonder and curiosity is an ongoing fascination with words and language. Maybe everyone else knew this, but I just discovered that every year the Oxford Dictionary drops words no longer used regularly in the cultural vocabulary. It adds new ones, too. So I’ve begun researching this. And I would just like to say that I unequivocally do not like what I see.

For instance, in 2024 some of the words dropped from the Junior Dictionary were acorn, heron, fern, kingfisher, otter, wren and willow. They were replaced with the new vernacular: blog, broadband, bullet-point and voicemail. I am LITERALLY lost for words. I vote for the inclusion of the cultural slang phrase WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! Seriously. What is wrong with us?

The summer has been nothing short of surreal. Where are the birds? I used to have so many here, and yes, I have stopped feeding them thistle. Bird feeders convenient to my door bring mice and deer, bear, many smaller predators, and they all carry the tiny, deadly tick – which admittedly I am afraid of. I’m not going to wander afield to fill feeders. But I have natural thistle and honeysuckle and quince and all manner of flower and fauna. I do sincerely hope that my behavioral change is the only reason for the birds’ noticeable absence. Meanwhile, smoke fills the sky. You can see sunlight on the trees and shrubs, but when you look up the sky is flat grey. The air quality alert remains dangerously high for “sensitive groups.” Aren’t all creatures of nature sensitive? Hey Lord, there are too many canaries in this coal mine.

I’ve been saying for a couple of decades now that it will be the artists who save us. Let’s also face this: they’re our only hope. This group certainly bolsters that argument – The Lost Words used the words dropped from the dictionary to write a song, a blessing spell for us, and put it to music.

“EVEN AS THE HOUR GROWS BLEAKER, BE THE SINGER AND THE SPEAKER…” – The Lost Words