With military-straight backs, guardians of words march back and forth at the tomb of the unknown word. You may have seen it, the tomb that is, not the unknown word. It may be hard to locate . In an area rarely visited, the tomb stands at the gate of a graveyard where words go to die.
Words are like people. Words are born, live productive middle years (if they survive adolescence), and fade away in the last chapter of their life.
On life support, words are sometimes rescued by crossword puzzles and other word games. In their dotage, however, they are often ridiculed by young words, eager to push old, weary words aside. They do have their own struggle. Meh was born in 1992 and took almost twenty-five years to reach adulthood.
I enjoy walking through the graveyard of words. The tombstones are monuments to expressions full of richness. One day I stopped at one that said, “here lies (or was it lays) Gobsmacked.” I took a deep breath, feeling amazed, astounded even.
There were adscititious headstones. Some of the words on the gravestones were even sesquipedalian. I walked up and down rows feeling quite vagarious. Sad, too.
You may not find it on Google, but with a bit of luck, you may someday stumble on the Tomb and graveyard. You won’t discover the graveyard to be minacious. Not in the least. Wear your galligaskins and be sure you have your camera.
Play your part in saving words. Do a crossword puzzle at least three times a week. Oh yes, do it in ink.
Cheers, cheerio and cheerios.