Button Up /  by Anne Ylvisaker

I'm playing the piano again after a long break. My fingers are slow and clumsy so I'm starting with my trusty childhood practice book Hanon: The Virtuoso Pianist in 60 Exercises. Published in 1900, my copy has penciled marks from generations of piano teachers and it brings me right back to those hours sitting at the bench with only the ticking metronome for company. 

The Luck of the Buttons is set in 1929, and while Tugs Button is not musical, her best friend Aggie Millhouse escapes piano practice by putting a roll in the player piano. Today we've got ipods, ipads, electronic keyboards that play accompaniment, even keyboard staircases. Yet the sight of this piano playing itself still amazes.

Here's a player piano playing a hit from 1929: Button Up Your Overcoat.

"The process is the fun part." Eric Carle /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Each of my books has come about because of a happy accident, the result of playing around with ideas or pictures or words or or or…and while it is exciting to hold in my hand the finished book, it is a little bit like paging through a photo album after a great trip. I’ve explored new places, met new people and am eager to share my story with others. At the same time, I can’t wait to go on another adventure.

In this video Eric Carle tells how playing around with a hole punch and colored paper led to his classic picture book The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “The process is the fun part,” he says. I agree.

 

Coastal Word of the Day /  by Anne Ylvisaker

A section of Highway 1 washed out in a landslide yesterday and in today’s Monterey Herald, this description: “The asphalt nearby looked new and no seeping water was seen. Fresh looking rip-rap was spotted mixed with soil that fell from under the roadway.”

Rip-rap! I scurried to my dictionary shelf. I won’t name names, but it took three searches to come up with a dictionary that defined rip-rap. From Webster’s Third International Dictionary, the enormous book that was my Iowa going away present from Kate:

Rip-rap: n 1: a foundation or sustaining wall of stones thrown together without order (as in deep water, on a soft bottom, or on an embankment slope to prevent erosion) 2: stone used for riprap. 

In verb form: riprap and riprapping.

Other rip words: rip-roaring, rip-roarious, ripsack, ripsaw, ripsawyer, ripsnorter, riptide, rip track, ripuarian, and yes, it’s in the dictionary: rip van winkle.

Lucky Day /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Treasure in the mailbox today: a big padded envelope filled with bags of buttons – inspiration as I work on the next Button book – and this note from the marvelous Michelle Edwards:

From shops where buttons are recognized for their worth – for the role in bringing two sides of fabric together – and allowing them to remain that way, somewhat securely. 

Compact /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Compact: closely packed or knit together

Another treasure discovered at the Lighthouse Avenue Goodwill today: the entire Oxford English Dictionary plus supplement and bibliography condensed into two volumes. It’s practically travel sized. The type is like ant footprints. For the word doctor alone there are thirteen explanations. And with that fetching little drawer for the magnifying glass, how could I resist? I lugged it to the counter only to discover it was unmarked.

“Flora!” the cashier hollered. I wondered how much I would be willing to pay.

Flora peered at the set through librarian glasses on the end of her nose. She opened and closed the drawer, rapped the box with her knuckles like a melon and declared, “$10.25.”

Sold. 

Treasure /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Found at the Lighthouse Avenue Goodwill: 1962 Golden Nature Series book Seashells of the World. In addition to the brilliant illustrations typical of the Golden Nature Guides, this book is a treasure chest of fantastic words. 

Author R. Tucker Abbott, PhD is listed as Du Pont Chair of Molocology at the Delaware Museum of Natural History. Molocology doesn't appear in any of my dictionaries, but malacology is the study of mollusks, likely the synonym, though I like the look of all the Os in molocology.

A few great shell words from the California Province:

Purple Dwarf Olive, Kelp-weed Scallop, Cooper's Nutmeg, Haliotis Abalone, Chiton, and my favorite: Frilled Dogwinkle. If I find a dogwinkle on the beach, I will post a picture. 

 

xerophyte: a plant that needs little water /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Our neighbor, the extraordinary landscaper Dan, gave us this drought resistant plant yesterday. It's a Pork and Beans Sedum. The name Pork and Beans made me wonder what other sedum varieties are called. Here is a selection:

Crazy Ruffles, Postman's Pride, Sea Lettuce, Burro Tail, Witch's Moneybags, Queen's Crown, Hens and Chickens, Dragon's Blood, and my favorite, Chubby Fingers. 

 

Fandango /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Language changes fast in the internet age. The web is no longer simply the sticky home of E.B. White’s Charlotte and twitter and tweet are rarely about bird vocals anymore. Fandango has become synonymous with online movie ticket sales, until today when the word showed up in the Monterey Herald under Fourth of July celebrations.

At the Cooper-Molera adobe there will be historic demonstrations, rope making, leather crafts and fandango.

From Chambers Dictionary:

Fandango an energetic Spanish dance, or music for it, in ¾ time.

Which makes me think of... /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Looking at the word vuvuzela this week made me think of one of my favorite place names: Albuquerque.

According to various etymology sources, the largest city in New Mexico was named after a person, who was named after a city in Spain, but the word itself means white oak if looking at Latin roots. If traced from Arabic, land of the cork oak or the plum, and from Galician, apricot. Whatever the meaning, Albuquerque is a great looking word and fun to say. Plus, it's the home town of one of my favorite picture book author/illustrators Jill McElmurry.

World Cup Word /  by Anne Ylvisaker

My favorite word from the 2010 World Cup: Vuvuzela. It is the droning horn of the South African games. The sound of the word is better than the sound of the horn itself. Watch as these gentlemen attempt to tame the vuvuzela. 

Poetry Barn /  by Anne Ylvisaker

I got an email from the home goods store Pottery Barn recently, but in my bleary morning-eyed state I misread it as Poetry Barn and eagerly opened the message. I hope it’s near Monterey, I thought, already anticipating what I might find inside and going through my calendar in my head to plan a visit. Never has attractive patio furniture been so disappointing.

It got me thinking, though, about poetry and the west and I remembered hearing that my new hometown has an annual Cowboy Poetry Festival in December. Turns out there is also a website dedicated to Cowboy Poetry where, among many other fantastic programs,  a Lariat Laureate is chosen from among the many cowboy poets. 

Lariat is one of the great cowboy words. According to my Chambers Dictionary of Etymology, lariat is an American English word from 1832 meaning lasso, and borrowed from the Spanish la reata, the rope.

We were lucky enough to visit a ranch in south Monterey County recently where we saw the lariat put to use with elegant expertise, poetry in motion.  

Xing the Road /  by Anne Ylvisaker

In the Midwest I was familiar with road signs warning of all manner of danger while driving: deer crossing, pedestrians crossing, even turtles and ducks crossing the road. But in a new land, new cautions. In California: wild boar. The little silhouetted pigs traipsing across the yellow signs made me laugh when we first moved here, and I was anxious to spot the real thing. It took eight weeks, but Saturday I finally saw my first wild boar. Here is the family of three that crossed our path in south Monterey County.

Balloon it /  by Anne Ylvisaker

A balloon blew into my car today, just as I closed my door. I jumped out to look for its tow - a wailing child - but there was none. So home it rode with me and sits on my desk, anchored by the toy bear key chain it flew in on. Funny, just this morning I was researching balloons, fact checking for the manuscript just launched. The fictional toy balloon gets just a line, barely a notice, but led to me these interesting facts:

The word balloon has been around for nearly 500 years, its origins perhaps from a game played with a leather ball. 

Balloons have been refrenced in books as far back as Swiss Family Robinson and Moby Dick.

Before rubber, balloons were made from animal bladders.

Bed rolls were once called balloons, especially among loggers, and to "balloon it" meant to pack up and leave camp. 

Surf Words A to Z /  by Anne Ylvisaker

I walked at high tide yesterday and the ocean was heaving and rolling, enormous waves crashing against the cliffs. Along the swells, a scattering of dark figures. Sharks? I thought. No, surfers, waiting to hitch a ride. At home, I searched the web for surfing words and came across this surfing dictionary. A sample from a to z (minus x):

ahu, bammerwee, chuf, duckdive, endo, floatwaller, gremmy, hennalu, isobath, jivel, kootzy, lexidex, muku, narb, ollie, paralax, quasimoto, redonculous, shibby, tapioca twizzler, upwelling, velzyland, waldo, yardsale and zimzala.

I'm not ready to pick up a board or put on a wet suit, but I am in favor of any hobby with its own dictionary. 

waving from the coast /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Three weeks ago my family and I and all our belongings crossed Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada into California spring. I went from a lifetime of living on an inside piece of the jigsaw puzzle of the country to one of the outside edges. I can’t get enough of the ocean, the sea, the briny, the drink. 


Two lists of wave words from Chambers Compact Thesaurus:

breaker, roller, billow, ripple, comber, foam, froth, swell, surf, tidal wave, wavelet, undulation, white horse. 

brandish, flourish, flap, flutter, stir, shake, sway, swing, waft, quiver, ripple, surge 

 

Farewells /  by Anne Ylvisaker

Certainly a stamp collection would have been simpler to pack and cheaper to move than my accumulation of reference books. But it's too late now. 

We're loading our wagons and heading west from the bread basket of the world (Linn County, Iowa) to the salad bowl of the world (Monterey County, California). These days are full of farewells and at Cooking Club Wednesday there was a party game (thanks, Beth!) which included the challenge Name five things you will find in Anne's purse. Among the responses - a thesaurus. Um... (depending on the bag) yup.

And from the amazing Kate, the gift of this enormous Webster's International Dictionary. The kind with the little letter tabs, black and white line drawing illustrations and brown speckled edges. It weighs 12 pounds. Too big for nightstand reading material but I love it. 

From WID, random definitions of the word farewell (a word which, by the by, originated 800 or more years ago) 

a wish of happiness or welfare at parting

aftertaste (the coffee left a good farewell in his mouth)

and farewell-to-spring: a summer-flowering annual herb cultivated for its showy flowers.