Do you know the feeling of
having seen a word countless times but still not knowing what it means or even
how to pronounce it? Recently I had this experience with the word ‘synecdoche.’
A friend was describing a film and asked if I was familiar with…and here he
said something that sounded to me like schenectady.
I asked, “You mean Schenectady, New York?”
“No,” he said. “Synecdoche.” (sin-eck-duh-key)
“It means when you talk in shorthand, like saying ‘North Carolina lost the
final NCAA game this year.’ A synecdoche is a part referring to the whole; the
listener knows you’re not talking about the state of North Carolina but the
university basketball team.”
Later I looked synecdoche up online. Other
examples are: “The White House announced a new plan today,” and “I’ll give you
a hand.” Obviously the White House can’t make announcements, and when we offer
our hand in help we mean our whole body will be there too.
As I thought about the word I
realized this is a painful aspect of the death of a spouse: the loss of your
partner in compressed speech. Arthur and I could half-say things because we
knew the other could fill in the spaces. He could say a couple of words and I
would know the reference, which would set us both to laughing, or nodding our
heads in thoughtful agreement. We had a secret language. I miss it.
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