In the city of my youth, I recall a major cross street named Loughborough, a long name containing two identical “ough” syllables. Local residents pronounced the two syllables differently, as “Luff’ and “Oh”, to obtain the desired pronunciation: “luff’ – bohr – oh.”

For good balance, one would have expected consistent pronouncement of the “ough” sound, as either: “Luff’ – bohr – uff” or “Loh’ – bohr – oh.” Either one would have made the name more memorable, but it does not stop there. Many “ough” sounds vary as:

(1) “auff” as in rough, rhymes with puff
(2) “okh” as on the Scottish loch, sometimes spelled lough
(3) “ow” as in plough, bough, rhymes with cow
(4) “oo” as in through, or slough, rhymes with too
(5) “oh” as in dough, though, rhymes with go
(6) “uhp” as in hiccough, rhymes with cup
(7) “uhff” as in cough, rhymes with off
(8) “aw” as in thought, rhymes with caught
(9) “a” as the a in above, called a schwa.

With nine different sounds, Loughborough could have been pronounced in a myriad of ways, depending on the sound combinations of the selected “ough” syllable. Surely, when one street name encompasses so many potential different pronunciations, a better alternative must exist. Can you imagine a tourist giving instructions to a cab driver, who knows the location of “Luff’ – bohr – oh,” but has no idea where “Loo – bohr – oo” or “luhp’ – bohr – okh” may be? — perhaps invoking a tearful, Bough Hough (Boo Hoo!)

The “ough” sound comes from Middle English. Old Anglo-Saxon words, like “loch” pronounced the “h” as a hard h, but when the Normans arrived, they softened the sound with a “gh”, which remained, but continued with a strained pronunciation. Etymologists identify the “gh” combination as a digraph or consonant blend. In the beginning of a word, “gh” compels an “g” sound, in the middle may be silent, and at the end assumes a “f” sound. (english.stackexchange.com) Ghosh!

Enough on ‘ough!” Etymologists ought to: give thought to, get tough on, and move the slough of “ough” sounds, through thorough studies to achieve better consonance.

No matter how one celebrates birthdays, some “special” birthdays loom difficult, particularly those that end in a zero or a five.

Universally, age ten brings elation. For the first time, the birthday child moves into “double digits,” ending their childhood decade and advancing into adolescence, with its perception of increased freedom and friends.

Contrariwise, age twenty becomes more sobering, as the teen years ebb and the adulthood milestone appears. Adulthood introduces responsibility for one’s actions and future. The third decade of life expects attainment of maturity and a life plan. The sobriety fades quickly with the promise of happy times ahead, yielding a temporary reprieve from serious thought about life’s direction.

Age thirty presents a pivot point, necessitating a serious life direction and often introducing the “Quarter-life crisis,” a feeling of despair, being locked in an implacable position, sensing an urge to build a new life while recognizing that change is impossible. Life becomes more serious, exerting pressure to settle down, to establish deeper relationships, to build a long-term career. The slogan of the tumultuous 1960’s reminds: “Never trust anyone over thirty” — a dark reminder of moving into a different, more serious space.

Age forty, “the old age of youth” (Victor Hugo, 1802-1865), is unwelcome, as friends hold their nose and mispronounce it with an “ah” vowel sound. The infamous “Midlife Crisis” may arise, particularly if a life review reflects unfavorably and prompts a drastic change to improve the future. On the other hand, if a look back results favorably, life continues on a pleasant path.

Age fifty becomes “the youth of old age.” (Victor Hugo); and by age fifty-five, the birthday recipient reaches the “speed limit” of life, a time when some people contemplate slowing down to enjoy themselves more.

Age sixty introduces a decade of potential health decline, usually resulting in some reduction in aerobic fitness, physical activity and cognitive skills. But if one emerges through their seventh decade in relatively good health, birthdays no longer matter as much anymore.

By age seventy, maintaining good health and sound mind becomes most important. If one is fortunate to reach age eighty and beyond, one can almost get away with anything, because most people regard octogenarians as irresponsible as teenagers.

Through all the birthdays, one should recall the adage: ‘You are as young as you feel.” So, as they say in Brooklyn: “Fah get about it!”

“Nothing you can’t spell will ever work.” Will Rogers (1879–1935)

I have modified that quote to: (1) acomodate, (2) accomodate, (3) accommodate, or (4) acommodate my sense. The correct answer: (3) accommodate, with two c’s and two m’s. My rule: “I never buy or eat anything I can’t spell,” which unfortunately eliminates many delicious French desserts.

A. Surprisingly, many commonly used words remain difficult to spell. Consider the word that indicates when a word is spelled incorrectly. Try your hand at selecting the correct spelling of: (1) mispel, (2) mispell, (3) misspel, or (4) misspell. The correct answer: (4) misspell, a double consonant word with two s’s and two l’s, remains a frequent miscue. To misspell the word ”misspell” remains a faux-pas, for which I had to research the correct spelling and pronunciation; “fox pass” will never do. A quick tip: place “mis” in front of “spell,” and you will spell “misspell” correctly every time.

B. From spells to smells, select the correct spelling of: (1) crysantheium, (2) chrysanthium, (3) chrysantheum, or (4) chrysanthemum. The correct answer is (4) chrysanthemum, proving that “ A chrysanthemum by any other name would be easier to spell.” William J Johnston (1918-1990.)

C. Whenever we misspell a word, the error may: (1) embarrass, (2) embarass, or (3) embaress. The correct answer: (1) embarrass, another double consonant word with two r’s and two s’s. To be sure, misspelling “embarrass” may prove embarrassing.

D. We are now on a roll, reaching a comfortable (1) rhythm, (2) rythm, (3) rhyhym, or (4) rhythum. The correct answer: (1) rhythm. This word, borrowed from the Greek language, is most unusual, as it avoids using any of the five vowels, but substitutes a “y,” sandwiched between “h”’s.

E. When a double consonant word arises, as in misspell and embarrass, we may call it an (1) ocurrence, (2) occurence, (3) occurrence, or (4) occurrance. The correct answer: (3) occurrence, hosting two c’s and two r’s. Words that contain double consonants present several potential variations, like: (1) committed, (2) comitted, (3) commited, or (4) comited. The correct answer: (1) committed, with two m’s and two t’s. Both words embody two double consonants, but other words may not. All in all, I earnestly (1) reccommend, (2) reccomend, (3) recommend, or (4) recomend memorizing the correct usage. The correct answer: (3) recommend, with a single double “m” consonant.

All the above identifies words that I have misspelled before. I collect them as an unusual (1) past time, (2) pastime, or (3) pasttime. The correct answer: (2) pastime. It sure FOOLLED me!

When first graders start to read, they begin with phonics, and advance to sounding out words. This approach works well for most words, but encounters difficulty when a silent letter stubbornly remains, like the weekly word, Wednesday. When sounded out, the result approaches “Wed – ness – day,” instead of the popular pronunciation “wens – day.” How can that be?

The origin of Wednesday stems from the ancient practice of naming days after gods or planetary objects. The Anglo-Saxons transformed the Norse god Odin into Woden (en.wikipedia.org/wednesday), who became the patron of our subject day. In olden times, the day was called Woden’s Day, from Old English, “wodensdaeg.” Middle English transformed the word to become “Wednesdei,” which came within one letter of our current Wednesday. For some inexplicable reason, the easy to pronounce “Woden’s Day” morphed into “Wodnesday.” Note the transposition of the letters “e” and “n.” – – perhaps a slip of the tongue or a scratch of the quill. The rationale for retaining the silent “d” remains a mystery; particularly when modern English is adept at shortening words through contractions and other machinations, as we will see.

To be sure, other weekday names dropped or changed a letter along the centuries, but remained mostly consistent in their pronunciation. Day of the sun, became Sunday; day of the Moon became Monday, dropping an “o”; Thor’s day became Thursday, exchanging the “o” for a “u”; Day of Saturn became Saturday, dropping an “n.” Tuesday and Friday encompass more complicated derivations, beyond the scope of this post.

In recent times, some well intended people have chosen to refer to Wednesday as “Hump Day,” suggesting that sometime during the Wednesday day, one moves over the hump toward the downward slide to a glorious weekend, two days off from the doldrums of work. Neither Odin nor Woden, would be pleased! But at least first graders can sound out “Hump Day” much easier. Nevertheless, the change disrupts the recognized normal pattern: Monday, Tuesday, Humpday . . . grates against one’s ear.

In the absence of a populist movement to “Strike the D” in Wednesday, perhaps a better alternative would be to “Say the D,” as “Wed – ness – day.” At least we would assist those poor little first graders and preserve what remains of Woden’s Day, possibly curtailing the ear-grating substitute, Humpday.

Two weeks before the first day of Spring, I peered through my bedroom window to observe a beautiful panorama of fresh fallen snow. Snowflakes appeared everywhere — in the woods, over the lawn, and on my shrubbery, cascading downwardly into my yard. The snow balanced perfectly on the tree branches, lightly compacting to form white arms following nature’s shape, twisting and undulating on twig and limb, portraying dark irregular images below a pure white matching layer, several times thicker. Snow caps obscured the shrubbery tops, and much of their sides, displaying a random patchwork of white accented with flecks of green. The white blanketed lawn remained unblemished by any imperfections from bird or animal activities, beauty at its best.

While admiring this exquisite beauty, my eyes irresistibly shifted to the asphalt pavements and delightfully confirmed no accumulation, thus exhibiting a stark black and white contrast, with sporadic sprigs of green life on a sunless day. To my mind, any snowfall that fails to accumulate on the roadways qualifies as the prettiest of all. One can appreciate its full beauty without disturbing visions of snow shovels — or plows that block the driveway exit with a snow rampart, thus adding chores and inconvenience to one’s day. Snow beauty sans inconvenience makes the tranquil scene more pleasurable.

As I absorbed myself within the three dimensional bucolic scene, I recalled some lines from Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” A driver had stopped his horse drawn carriage to watch the “woods fill up with snow” and when his horse gave “his harness bells a shake” to continue down the road, the only other sound the driver heard: “the sweep of easy wind and downy flake.” These words described my sense as I observed one of nature’s finest moments from the warm side of my bedroom window.

In my youth, upon hearing the word “practice,” I held my ears, stomped my feet, and uttered disgruntled sounds, hoping that my tantrum could avoid the inevitable. Not a day passed without practice: writing my numbers and letters, reciting the multiplication tables, playing a musical instrument, or participating in a sport. In truth, I practiced more than I ever cared to do, but confirm reluctantly, that practice definitely improved my performance. While I did not always embrace practice, I always enjoyed the better performance.

In growing up, I recall three oft-repeated sayings, which If reduced into memorable acronyms, become (1) PPP, (2) PMP and (3) PPPP. Hint: At least one P in each represents “practice.”

(1) “Practice! Practice! Practice!” is clearly redundant, if not over the top. A simple command “Practice!” should suffice, without throwing a tantrum in triplicate. Even a policeman’s shout: “Halt!” will stop a marauder. Two more Halts adds little. The words “or I’ll Shoot,” however, will always gain more attention than “Halt! Halt! Halt!”

(2) “Practice Makes Perfect” probably ranks high among favorite sayings. It sounds nice rolling of the tongue; but in the real world, few people strive to be perfect; and when they do, they experience disappointment and unhappiness, because no one can reach perfection. I would have preferred growing up to a slightly different approach, like: “A Little Practice Makes One Better.” Actually, striving to become better at something is a more healthy approach than hyperventilating over imperfection. Arguably, a famous football coach agreed, adding a twist: “Practice does not make perfect; only perfect practice makes perfect.” Vince Lombardi (1913-1970)

(3) “Practice Prevents Poor Performance,” otherwise slangily referred to as the “four P’s.” No hint of seeking perfection here, just work on what you do not do as well, so you do not screw up in the game. A bonus: you improve overall, a worthy goal.

To be sure, practice alone remains insufficient, for most people will practice what they know instead of what they do not know. To be effective, practice must be deliberate, focusing on tasks that one does not do well, and includes two goals: 1) improving your current skills, and 2) extending their reach and range. (Harvard Business Review, hbr.org/2007/07/the-making-of-an-expert,) In this way, even a little practice will make one better.