Digging Words



Lovely memories, cute read.

loweeda web

My father loved the sound of words and the rhythm of sentences. He had stock phrases that he would repeat on specific occasions, more for the sheer delight of saying them than for any inherent purpose. My mother’s musings about what to make for dinner would be met by the suggestion of “pheasant under glass”; if she wondered what to wear to an event, my father’s perennial response was “your blue chiffon,” which I do not believe was ever part of her wardrobe.  I quite often enjoyed these pronouncements and the flair with which they were delivered, and whenever I laughed at hearing one of them, my father would lament that he was nothing more than “an endless source of amusement.”

It was the choice of words that amused me, though, even more than my father’s presentation of them – the progression of vowels and consonants in succession, the music…

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