Maria Scrivani
When I can’t sleep, which happens sometimes, I think about things. But things like increasingly extreme weather, elections without end (try counting votes instead of sheep) and errant football teams are clearly not conducive to rest.
Lately I’ve settled on wordplay, specifically the vagaries of the English language. Homonyms, words with the same spelling or pronunciation but different meanings, abound in our native tongue, puzzling many an English-language learner. Two words with seasonal affiliations for me are guilt and gilt. My heritage is Italian-Catholic; my husband is Jewish, and – no offense to either group intended – we share the burden of that word guilt.
In other words we both feel guilty about a lot – a lot. We sometimes argue over who is feeling guiltier, and whose guilt might actually be warranted. But, in either case, it almost always isn’t. Guilt as I experience it means feeling responsible or regretful, whether or not one has committed any kind of infraction.
And, as I like to point out, we Catholics can go to confession and wipe the slate clean – as long as it is a sincere effort. I still remember this admonition of one of our parish priests, way back in the day: “Think of your sins, be sorry, don’t do it again.” Guilt gone! My poor spouse has to wait for the annual Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur. Fortunately he is an admirable person with little for which to atone.
In case you are wondering, we have three children, raised with both traditions, and precious little guilt, from what I can see. I call that successful parenting.
Back to nocturnal contemplation of homonyms: gilt is on my mind at this time of year, with holiday decorations prominent everywhere. The glitzier the better; restraint is eschewed, after the paucity of pandemic festivities over three years and counting. Let the gilt fly; festoon every fireplace and finial!
This year Hanukkah bumps up against Christmas weekend, so, in our family, one party will serve to celebrate both. Which brings me to gelt, which is not a homonym, but is akin to gilt. Gelt is Hebrew andYiddish for money, and chocolate gelt is a traditional Hanukkah treat for children. And adults like me. (Use in a sentence. “I feel guilty when I eat too much gelt.”)
Gilt is golden, covered with gold, so gelt often comes wrapped in gilt. (Not guilt, which only applies if you have overeaten. The gelt.)
As you can see, a whole new vista opens up when you consider words and what they mean and why we choose some over others. In my world, guilt has always outshone gilt, if that’s even possible. I am a ruminative type, reflected in my generally sober clothing choices. You will not see me glammed up, even on New Year’s Eve, the High Holiday of Gilt. As my daughter once told me, I dress like a stylish nun.
I had a dream the other night that words were dancing in my head. Can’t recall exactly what they were, but it was a soothing reverie. It proved to me that wordplay can be soporific. That, and quiet reading at bedtime, is more effective than trying to fall asleep while worrying about the next big storm, or whether our local sports franchises live up to their hype, or when the victors of myriad elections will be finally declared.
I plan to focus more on gilt than guilt this holiday season, so that I might have what I wish to all: a good night.
reprinted with permission: The Buffalo Times