I have the ability to note an interesting piece of information, forget it, come across the same point at a later date and remember it all over again. I don’t think this is an age thing; I’m sure I’ve done this most of my adult life.
An example earlier this week: I read an article in the Guardian newspaper (link HERE) by Hannah Jane Parkinson extolling the virtues of apricity: ‘It was cold, but the sun had lingered, and there existed that glorious mix of chilly air and clear, bright skies.’ I turned to the OED for a formal definition (slightly abridged below):
obsolete:
‘The warmeness of the Sunne in Winter.’ Cockeram 1623.
Etymology: < Latin aprīcāt- participial stem of aprīcāri to bask in the sun, < aprīcus…
rare.
[Verb form apricate:] 1. intransitive. To bask in the sun.
1691 J. Ray Let. to Aubrey 22 Oct. in J. Walker Lett. Eminent Persons (1813) II. 159 Cæsar, I think, said that verbum insolens tanquam scopulum fugiendum est. I’ll name you one or two, to apricate, suscepted, vesicate.
2. transitive. To expose to sunlight. Also transferred.
1839 T. De Quincey Lake Reminiscences in Tait’s Edinb. Mag. July 461/2 Not sunning, but mooning himself—apricating himself in the occasional moonbeams.
As I wallowed in the novel pleasure of this word, it occurred to me that I’d seen it before. I didn’t remember where or when, but it has the lustre of a half-memory. A search on the Guardian website revealed another article dated February 2019, explaining the same word. That would be when I first read it, inwardly noted it, then promptly forgot it.
Apricating this afternoon in my front garden reminded me that it’s a precarious activity; you could sit in a tee shirt, reading your book, then a blast of breeze hits the back of your neck and you reach for a padded jacket and put the hood up. Then feel too hot when the breeze drops and the sunshine beats back in.
It sounds like it’s related to the word April – the best month for apricity – but it isn’t. One popular theory is that ‘April’ derives from the Latin aperire, ‘to open’, as it’s said to be the month when the earth opens to produce new fruit (according to etymologist W.W. Skeat). But this is folk etymology, says Anatoly Liberman in his entertaining and erudite OUP language blog (link HERE). He’s also sceptical about the other explanation: that it’s from Etruscan Apru (Greek Aphro – “Aphrodite”). Though I rather like to think of April as the month of Venus.
Btw, Liberman has a fascinating trawl through the origins of another apr- word, ‘apricot’, in a follow-up blogpost HERE.
Anyway, apricity is an apt term at this time of year in southwest England: spring is well under way, as my recent posts have illustrated (blossom, buds, opening fruits).
On Friday we went for a walk on the south coast. Bluebells were coming into flower (not very clear in my picture, I’m afraid), and it was a fine day for apricating: the air was chilly, but when we sheltered from the breeze there was a delicious warmth from the spring sun. We regretted not taking a picnic.
Over the weekend we reverted to one of our regular local walks. I’ve posted pictures of these horses before. On this occasion they looked less mournful than usual, but they still have an air of melancholy – like they know something bad is about to happen that we’re unaware of.
The little statue of the perky hare at the top of this post is the nearest I’ve got for years to seeing the real thing. Not as big or scary as that giant rabbit that’s apparently been kidnapped in England this week.
I wanted to try and capture in my pictures the effect of that spring sunshine on the scenery; these celandines (I think that’s what they are) and the foliage around them were gleaming in the light as if varnished.
I’ve made several batches of wild garlic pesto this spring, gathered from riverside woodlands nearby. I’ve also stir-fried it in spring greens – delicious. This patch grows beside the lane we walk along, just before the horses’ field.
This is a perfect word for describing SE England as well! apricity, will be lodged in my vocabulary from now on, thank you! It made me smile that one of the links was to Thomas de Quincey, when I read Confessions of an English Opium Eater last year, a dictionary was a necessity!
Jane:SE England tends to be warmer – it’s quite common for the temperature in Cornwall to be 10 degrees C lower than London or Kent’s. All that ocean around us and the prevailing SW winds blowing over them keep us cool; the upside is the Gulf Stream keeps us mild all year (though we are still having frosts in April this year). I read de Quincey years ago, and again more recently when teaching 18-19C lit; like most writers of serious prose at that time, his style was pretty elevated. Coleridge was another, for example. There was an assumption that ‘educated readers’ would have a solid basis in the classical languages and therefore in that kind of English vocabulary, which tended to be latinate.
What a wonderful word apricity is! I’d not come across it before – and very apt. The sun has been beautiful lately, but a little misleading – it soon chills in the shade or when the wind gets up!
Cloudy and cooler here today, unfortunately, so have been able to help Mrs TD with her family history research. Apricity is such a good word, isn’t it!
A new word! Thank you:)
Always good to add new words to your vocabulary; even better if you remember them for more than a week!
A super word! I love the smell of wild garlic as I run through some of the local greenways, or walk there with Mr Liz.
Such an appropriate word for this time of year. I’m glad you like the smell of garlic as you run; I think it’s great. They’re all in flower now, so the smell is perhaps at its strongest. Makes great pesto, too. Glad to see you refer to ‘Mr Liz’ – but I won’t go back to that line of discussion… Don’t want to upset anyone. Hope you’re able to carry on with more of your outdoor activities now that restrictions are lifted a little.
Hehe I did put it there sort of on purpose! And yes, all running and walking outside fine, it’s the going in shops bit I can’t seem to get my head round …
Liz: Naughty! I’ve still not ventured into any shops apart from food shops. Mrs TD and her sister did go clothes shopping the other day, which made them very happy.
I’m a bit desperate to get in the charity shops and get at the books people will have donated!
Me too. I miss looking for hidden gems.