Cognate Cognizance Podcast

While it’s not a “yellow wood” like the one in the famous Robert Frost poem, in the above photo there are two paths, so if you were this girl, which would you choose? There is a “decision” to be made before moving forward. She has to “decide.”

decide — a verb meaning “to make a final choice about something”

decidir — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning

decidere — the Italian cognate of the same meaning

I “decided” to include the Italian cognate this week because it’s the same as the Latin ancestor of all these words — decidere.

That Latin word means “to cut off” something. This word is an example of how I continue to learn new things about words. I was reading a motivational book, and the author wrote about the importance of making “decisions.” She explained the etymology of the word “decide” and how one must “cut off” all the other options and make a choice — in other words, one must “decide.”

After reading that, I had a minor “aha” moment. I’d not given any thought to the word “decide” and its sister and brother words until reading that paragraph of that book.

That “cutting” aspect within the words “decide” and “decision” becomes even clearer when looking at the word “incision.” Ding, ding, ding. I’m not only motivated by the book I’m reading, but I’m also more cognate cognizant now.

The word “decision” is an exact cognate in Spanish, but with an added accent mark — “decisiόn.” A “decision” is a conclusion reached after consideration of options — thus, you’ve “cut off” those other options and come to an ending or a conclusion or a choice. If you’re good at making those decisions and cutting out those other things, then you are “decisive” in English and “decisivo” or “decisiva” in Spanish, depending on your gender.

Making decisions can be difficult, especially when faced with too many options, but the next time you have to make one, “decide” which options to “cut off” and be proud of your “decisive” abilities.

Until next week.

If you’re not yet a paying subscriber, I hope you’ll “decide” to become one. I’ve been writing these weekly posts for two full years as of September 15th, so I’ve made a “decision.” I plan to keep offering the weekly posts to paying subscribers after that date while sending monthly (or perhaps bi-monthly) ones to free subscribers. I do hope you’ll stay on weekly as a paying subscriber. It’s only a few dollars a month. Thanks for being with me this long at least, but I hope you’ll stay for more Cognate Cognizance. And I do hope to turn these posts into a book at some point.

If you “decide” to become a paying subscriber for an entire year today, I’ll give you 20% off the year. Click the first button for that. If you’d like to just try a one-month subscription, then click the second button.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

plume — a noun meaning a “feather” in its simplest definition

pluma — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning

These words come from Latin’s pluma which also means a “feather.” In Latin, however, it tended to refer to a “small, soft feather,” whereas in English, we tend to think of a “plume” as a “large, showy feather.”

Since it takes a large feather, or a “plume,” to create one of the original type of “pens,” perhaps it’s no wonder that a common word for “pen” in Spanish is also “pluma.” When learning Spanish, you will also learn the word “bolígrafo” for pen, but many textbooks use “pluma” because of the ease of associating a large “plume” and an inkpot to signify a “pen.”

Thus, many students who are first learning Spanish come across “la pluma” for “the pen” far before they ever learn that it also means “feather.” Our word “feather” comes to us from Old English and Greek, so it doesn’t have the Latin connection that “plume” does. Since Spanish comes from Latin, they use “pluma” for “feather.”

When I taught Spanish, though, I was surprised by the number of students who had no prior knowledge of the word “plume” in English — they simply used the word “feather” to refer to, well, to refer to a “feather.”

If you know writing lingo, you may have heard the term “nom de plume,” which is a French expression that translates to “pen name.” It translates to that only if you understand that the “plume” is a “feather” being used as a “pen.” It does not mean “feather name.” Ha ha.

Even though it’s a French expression, it was most likely coined in English after we started using the word “plume” to refer to early pens. I guess we writers wanted to sound more sophisticated than simply using the phrase “pen name” or the rather ugly-sounding word “pseudonym.” “Nom de plume” sounds so fancy, doesn’t it?

If you study or like birds, you have probably admired their “plumage.” Simply put, that is their “feathers.” In Spanish, that word is “el plumaje.”

“El plumaje de un pavo real es magnífico.” = The plumage of a peacock is magnificent.

“Plume” can also be a verb meaning “to deck with feathers.” In Spanish, that is “emplumar.” You can see the word “pluma” inside that verb.

If you hunt birds solely for their feathers, you are a “plumer” (“plumero” in Spanish), but make sure you don’t take a “plume” of a bald eagle, or you’ll face a hefty fine of 100,000 dollars!

If something is feathery, it is “plumose.” That is “plumoso” for masculine things in Spanish and “plumosa” for feminine things. Thus, you might have “un sombrero plumoso” or “una falda plumosa” for a feathery hat or a feathery skirt.

Now that you’ve learned a bit more about “plumes,” you can add a feather to your cap and make it even more plumose.

Until next time.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

I know, I know. I’m a little old to be entering things in the county fair, but I wanted to give it a whirl and see how one of my watercolors would do. I also wrote a story about the county fair, and it’s running on the first page of the Norfolk Daily News today, so I thought it was a fitting time to discuss a certain cognate duo — and an extra one.

fair — the NOUN that means a “competitive exhibition that usually also has entertainment and amusements”

feria — the Spanish NOUN cognate of the same meaning

So, why did I capitalize the word noun? The word “fair” is more commonly used as an adjective or an adverb. When it is, the corresponding words in Spanish are NOT cognates because “fair” as an adjective or an adverb comes to us from Old English.

However, as a noun, the word “fair” comes to us from Latin and from the same ancestor as the Spanish word “feria.” In fact, the Latin word is also feria.

Thus, you might attend “una feria” because the word “feria” is feminine.

A “feria” in Late Latin was a “festal day.” What’s that mean? It means a day in which a feast was held. A “feast” in that sense is meant as an elaborate meal with an accompanying ceremony or entertainment.

We still use “feast” in this manner, and when we do, there is a Spanish cognate for it that I think you all already know, but you don’t know that you know it.

So, what is the well-known Spanish cognate for “feast?”

It’s “FIESTA!!!” You can’t have a feast without sharing it with other people, right? When you do, you’re having a party. “Party” tends to be the translation given for “fiesta,” but a more literal translation for “fiesta” is “feast.”

I think you can see the similarity between those two words.

One of the best known “ferias” or “fiestas” in Spain took place in July. La Feria de San Fermin in Pamplona — also called La Fiesta de San Fermin or La Festival de San Fermin.

What is it? You probably know it better as the most famous running of the bulls, but it’s the celebration of Pamplona’s patron saint, Saint Fermin (San Fermin in Spanish).

There are many “ferias” or “fiestas” held throughout Spain for the patron saints of cities. The one in Pamplona is the largest and the best known because of Ernest Hemingway, and American writer, who was obsessed with it and with bull fights.

That weeklong celebration is much different from the simple county fairs around here, but I’m okay with that.

To reinforce, “fair” as a NOUN has the cognate of “feria.” As an adjective or adverb, the translations of “fair” are very diverse. A common one, though, that I would often hear from my students was “It’s not fair;” that translates to “No es justo.” (Just is another word for fair, so you can probably see the cognate there.)

While I will be selling my books at the Nebraska State Fair, I don’t plan to enter any watercolor paintings there.

Vamos a la Feria! Let’s go to the Fair. Maybe I’ll see you there.

Until next week.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

Years ago, (28 to be exact) I watched a phenomenal movie called “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” If you have never seen it, that is your homework for the week.

Prior to seeing that movie, though, I hadn’t ever heard of the word “opus,” or perhaps I had but didn’t really understand what it was until after seeing the movie.

opus — essentially, an “opus” is a “work” as in anything produced by the exertions of creative talent; an artistic production

opus — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning, used primarily for a musical composition

However, in Spanish, there is another word that can mean “opus” but more specifically refers to a piece of work, and that word is “obra.”

At first glance, “opus” and “obra” don’t seem to be cognates, but they are. They both come from the Latin ancestor of operārī which means “to work.”

The word “obra” in Spanish is used a LOT. “Una obra maestra” is “a masterpiece” as in the statue of David or the painting of the last supper, etc. “Una obra de teatro” is “a play” as in one that happens on a stage in a theater — thus, it literally translates to “a work of theater.”

While an “opus” can be any artistic production, it tends to be used mostly to refer to a musical work in both English and Spanish. So, in the movie, Mr. Holland is trying to write a musical composition, his “opus,” but he’s also a music teacher, and years go by in which he fails to complete his “opus” because he’s too busy teaching — believe me, I can sooooooo relate to that problem (the “opus” I was trying to complete during many years of teaching was a book, though).

Time goes on, and he doesn’t really finish his “opus,” so he feels like a failure until he realizes that his “opus” is all the students whose lives he impacted. (I can relate to that, too.)

Interestingly, the plural of “opus” is “opera.” Did you know that? Don’t feel bad if you didn’t — I didn’t either. It can also be “opuses,” but “opera” is the preferred plural. When we talk of an AN “opera,” it’s in reference to a drama set to music that is performed on a stage, but that word comes from the same place as “opus” and “obra” — back to that Latin work meaning “work.”

If you ever do a lot of research, you may have come across the abbreviation of “op cit” which stands for “opera citata” — “works cited.” There are many other Latin terms involving “opus” or “opera” at the beginning.

Returning to the Spanish word of “obra.” A “worker” is an “obrero” for a male and an “obrera” for a female. This word is often used to refer to a “laborer” who uses his or her hands to “create” something.

“Obrar” means “to work,” but in a different sense than the verb “trabajar” which is used to refer to the type of work you do at your everyday job. “Obrar” often means “to act” as in the creative process employed on a stage or on film.

Since leaving teaching, my creations have grown from the first “opus” to the “opera” I have now written. I’m referring to books, not music.

Before I leave you today, let me reiterate that you MUST watch “Mr. Holland’s Opus” if you’ve never seen it. If you have, and it’s been 28 years since you’ve last seen it, you might be due to watch it again.

Until next time.

Tammy Marshall

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incommode — a verb meaning “to inconvenience,” “to distress”, “to disturb”

incomodar — the Spanish verb of the same meanings

These words come down to us from Latin’s incommodus, meaning “inconvenient.” Essentially it’s a combination of the prefix in- that means “not” and the word “commodus” that means “convenient.”

If something is “convenient” to us, it provides what we need or what gives us “comfort.”

Knowing that “incommode” is a verb meaning that you are NOT providing “comfort” to someone if you incommode that person, helps when you are learning Spanish because in Spanish, the word for “comfortable” is “cómodo” to describe masculine words and “cómoda” to describe feminine words.

If something is “uncomfortable,” then it is “incómodo” or “incómoda.”

You can see how the Spanish words are closely related to their Latin ancestor, but sometimes English speakers don’t see a strong connection between them and our words of “comfortable” and “uncomfortable.”

Thus, if you know and understand our verb of “incommode,” it is easier to learn those Spanish words. We also use the word “incommodious” in English to mean “uncomfortable,” but we don’t use it often enough. If we did, that cognate connection would be more obvious when learning Spanish.

Why we started using the word “commode” in English to refer to a toilet is beyond me at the moment, but a person can certainly be “incommoded” by a “commode,” especially if that “commode” is “incómodo” (or a gross outhouse)— ha ha.

Thanks for reading and/or listening today. Please share with others who might like learning about words each week.

Also, consider becoming a paying subscriber for full access to all the archived posts as well as to content that is only for paying subscribers.

Until next time.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

independence — the state of being independent, as in NOT being controlled or governed by others

independencia — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning

“Independence” and its cognates come to us from Latin’s dependēre which is a combination of the prefix of “de-” and “pendēre” which means “to hang.” Think of a pendant which is worn in a hanging fashion or something that is pendulous and hangs down or something that is pending approval and essentially hanging on and waiting for that approval.

If you “depend” on something, it’s like you hang onto that something and need it to survive. However, if you are “independent,” you do NOT need to hang onto that something. The prefix of “in-” is used with words we took from Latin in the same way that we use “un-” with words that come down to us from Old English.

If we have “dependence,” “dependencia” in Spanish, on something, then we completely need or rely on someone or something else for our existence or well-being, etc. But if we have “independence,” then we do NOT need anyone or anything else for our existence or well-being, etc.

We do NOT need to “hang onto” something or someone else if we have “independence.”

Clearly, this is a “dependent” cat or “un gato dependiente.”

Tomorrow, we celebrate our “Independence Day” in the United States — our “Día de Independencia” — in which we broke free of our reliance upon Great Britain in 1776.

“Independence” can also be called “independency” but that word is still “independencia” in Spanish.

Whichever word you prefer, “independence” is an important concept and something that everyone strives for — independence from parents, from schooling, from taxation without representation, from substance abuse, from tyranny, from crushing debt, from a cruel spouse, from an unfulfilling job, etc.

While 100% “independence” may be an impossibility, it’s still a joy to live in a country that values the concept and allows people to strive for it in whatever form the word means for them. So, Happy Independence Day to the U.S.A. May she forever fly free.

Until next time. Please consider becoming a paid subscriber to help me gain financial independence from my debts — :). (Wink, wink.)

Tammy Marshall, my website

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

impeccable — an adjective used to describe something that is flawless or without sin

impecable — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning

I recently read “The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom” by Don Miguel Ruiz.

The first agreement says this: “Be impeccable with your word.”

Ruiz goes on to explain the root of the word “impeccable,” which is Latin’s peccare and which means “to sin.” If you are “impeccable” then you are without sin, and if you are “impeccable with your word,” then you don’t sin against yourself through your words.

I appreciated that Ruiz included an etymological lesson in his book and that he focused on the importance of words and their impact. Words do, in fact, carry much more import in our lives than most people give them credit, and Ruiz makes that very clear.

We tend to use the word “impeccable” more often in the “flawless” sense as in someone has “impeccable taste” or someone’s house is “impeccably clean,” etc. Yet, what is “flawless” but the absence of a “flaw” or of a “fault” which could also be expressed as a “sin.”

We use the word “sin,” which comes down to modern English from Old English, but in Spanish, they use the word “pecado” for “sin.” “To sin” is “pecar,” and you can see that “pecar” came directly from Latin’s peccare.

If you commit only a “little sin” in Spanish, though, it’s called a “pecadillo.” Does that word look familiar? It should because English borrowed that word, changed its pronunciation, and added a second “C” to it to form “peccadillo” for any “slight offense” or little sin.

We have other words in English that have that root “pecca-” from Latin’s peccare and that are used to refer to “sinning.”

“Impeccable” may be better known, but if you’re “peccable” then you are “liable or likely to sin.”

A “confession of sin” is called a “peccavi,” and someone who is “peccant” is “guilty of sinning.” (If somehow you are “impeccant,” then congratulations because you’re probably the only “sinless” person on the planet.”

“Peccavi” is simply “pecavi” in Spanish. They tend to call a “peccant” person a “sinner” which is “pecador” in Spanish for a male sinner and “pecadora” for a female one.

That word is not to be confused with the Spanish word for “fisherman” which is “pescador,” unless of course the fisherman is a sinner. Then he’d be a “pescador pecador.” Ha ha. Now, I’m just being silly.

Perhaps I’m no longer being “impeccable” with my word. Ruiz may not approve.

Until next time. Don’t be a pecador or a pecadora.

Tammy Marshall

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debility — a noun meaning “weakness”

debilidad — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning

Early in most Spanish textbooks there will be a list of adjectives used to describe people. Typically, they are arranged and taught as opposites. Thus, you get the Spanish words for “tall” and “short,” “pretty” and “ugly,” “old” and “young,” and “strong” and “weak.”

The Spanish word for “weak” is “débil.” Of the many commonly taught Spanish adjectives, I think this word was one of the hardest for my students to remember. They would usually describe someone as “not strong” (no es fuerte) instead of saying that person was “weak” because they could more easily remember “fuerte” for strong by linking it to “force” or “forceful” to show strength.

They weren’t familiar with the word “debility” in English, or it wasn’t a common enough word in their lexicons to help them easily associate “débil” for “weak” with the word “debility” in English that means “weakness.”

“Débil” along with “debilidad” and our “debility” come from Latin’s debilis which simply means “weak.”

If you “debilitate” something, you weaken it. Unsurprisingly, that word has a cognate in Spanish which is “debilitar.” We often describe a disease as being “debilitating” to someone or we refer to the “debilitation” caused by a cancer or some other insidious disease.

All of these words begin with “debil-,” which is a direct cognate to the Spanish word of “débil,” but we don’t use “debil” alone in English. We simply say that someone is “weak.” However, if a word in English begins with “debil-” then its meaning has to do with being “weak.”

Age works its “debilitating” powers on all of us. I notice my own “debilities” more and more all the time, but I try to work around them.

Some people who suffer from the greatest debilities still manage to turn them into strengths, and I admire those people a lot. Michael J. Fox has managed to live with his debilitating Parkinson’s for more than 30 years and do amazing things despite it.

I vividly remember watching a video (in junior high, I believe it was) of a woman who was born without arms, yet she married and had children and cared for them and cooked and did so many things all with her feet! Nowadays, if you Google this, you will find hundreds of videos and photos of amazing women who were born without arms doing the same thing.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt was paralyzed from the waist down due to polio, yet he was elected to four terms as President.

I think the whole world knows of Helen Keller. Illness robbed her of sight and hearing when she was a baby, yet she managed to become highly educated and admired, and she did so much with her life even though it was a struggle.

A “debility” only remains one if we allow it to be, and knowing this word as well as its Spanish cognate and the common Spanish word of “débil” will do the opposite of “debilitate” and will strengthen your vocabulary skills.

If you want to be able to hear the podcast/audio version of this, become a paid subscriber to gain access to that and to all of the archive. Thanks.

Until next time.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

radical — an adjective used to describe something that relates to or proceeds from roots

radical — the Spanish cognate used in the same way

The etymological “root” of “radical” is Latin’s radix. Does that remind you of our vegetable, the radish? It should. The word “radish” comes straight from that Latin word for “root” because what is a radish but the “root” of a certain type of plant. I love to eat mine sliced with lemon juice and salt — yummy.

“Radical” has taken on other meanings in English, but at its “root” is that definition dealing with “roots.” I used to think that if you were having “radical surgery,” it meant you were having “extreme surgery,” but what it actually means is that you are having surgery to get at the “root” of the problem or disease.

If you “eradicate” something, you are literally pulling it up by the roots or doing away with it in a such a complete way that you might figuratively be pulling it up by the roots. You are getting to the root of the problem and getting rid of it completely. That Latin “root” of radix is inside the word “eradicate.” The Spanish cognate is “erradicar.”

In Spanish, the word for “root” is “raíz” — it’s “la raíz” for “the root.” Nouns that end in the letter Z in Spanish change that letter to a C when making the word plural; thus, you’d have “las raíces” for “the roots.”

If you’d like to know even more about this word, specifically how it came to mean “extreme” or even “cool” back in the 80’s (and even before that), here is a link to a longer article done by merriam-webster.com: Radical info.

I hope you find “Cognate Cognizance” to be totally radical, dude. Ha ha.

Until next time. Thanks for being a subscriber. To be sure not to miss any entries, consider upgrading to paid. Paid subscribers also have full access to the archive of past entries and can always listen to the podcast version as well.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe

I’m sure many of the King’s guards were quite “vigilant” at his coronation this past weekend.

vigilant — an adjective describing someone who is very alert and watchful for danger

vigilante — the Spanish cognate of the same meaning

A “vigil” — “vigilia” in Spanish — is essentially a time period when someone stays awake to watch over something or someone. These words come from Latin’s vigil which simply means “awake.” If you’re tasked with keeping a “vigil” over something, you absolutely must stay awake.

In English, we took the Spanish word of “vigilante,” changed the pronunciation just a bit to harden the “g” and “a” sounds, and changed the meaning a bit to signify that someone is not only watching over an area but also punishing any wrong-doers.

There are many movies, TV shows, and books where someone is a “vigilante.” Even though you shouldn’t take the law into your own hands, we tend to admire honest people who are fed up with crime and who do something about it. But prior to delivering justice, that person has to be watchful and aware that there is something criminal happening before he or she can do what’s necessary to make things right.

That’s the basis of being a “vigilante.” The person has to hold a “vigil” and be “vigilant.”

“Vigil” originally (and still does have this meaning) dealt with a religious time period before a religious event in which a participant would stay “awake” and pray and prepare himself. That’s why there are “vigil lights,” small candles in churches to be used by people in devotional acts or to be kept burning (as if it’s watching over) before a shrine. Thus, it’s kind of ironic that the word has evolved to become our current use of a “vigilante” who stays awake and aware in order to punish bad guys.

Interesting to me is that the word “vigilance,” which refers to the state of being watchful, is also another word for “insomnia.” It makes sense because when I suffer from insomnia, I’m very much awake when I should be asleep. Maybe I should use my “vigilance” time to become a “vigilante.” Ha ha.

“Vigilance” in Spanish is “vigilancia.” I hope you don’t suffer from it the way I do at times still. Thank goodness for melatonin.

Stay vigilant and safe out there.

Thank you for reading Cognate Cognizance. This post is public so feel free to share it.

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Until next time.

Tammy Marshall

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cognatecognizance.substack.com/subscribe