By DAN LANGFORD

“Po’ly” is the last health term we’ll discuss, at least in this series.  It’s a contraction, of course, of “poorly,” which term should require no further elucidation.  One who feels poorly, or “po’ly” as most of us say it (whether as natural pronunciation or exagerrated dialect), feels rotten, terrible, God-awful, or almost-dead.  It’s hard to feel worse than “po’ly.”

One might feel “po’ly” because of disease, virus, food-poisoning, or any number of things.  Arthritic people (or those who have engaged in more physical exertion than they normally partake of) may be so “stove up” that they feel “po’ly.”  I have no clue what the derivation of “stove up” is, but it basically means one is so stiff and sore he or she can barely move, and therein lies another term I believe is altogether Southern.

Here’s a sentence that uses both terms:  “Luther is feelin’ right po’ly since he split firewood on Sar’dy — he’s so stove up from swingin’ that maul he can hardly get out of his easy chair.”

An obvious goal for us all as we head into Fall and Winter is to avoid first-hand knowledge of the terms “stove up” and “p’oly.”  Fair to middlin’ all the way!

By DAN LANGFORD

“Tolerable” is a grand old word.  When used to describe one’s health in much of the South, though, it’s middle syllable is dropped.  “Tol’able” is the result.  (Many of us, in speaking do the same thing with several other words — “prob’ly” and “lib’ry” come to mind right off the cuff, for, of course, “probably” and “library”.)

When it comes to health, “tol’able” is a versatile term.  Usually it means something on the order of “not terrible,”  “acceptable but not terrific,” etc.  In this meaning, one who is tol’able is less well than someone who is fair-to-middlin’ or just plain middlin’.

The rub is that “tol’able” is a word of great nuance.  It can be used, and is by some, to cover all the territory between “so fine I can’t stand it” and “so sick I want to die.”  Thus, one who says he is “tol’able” may actually be healthier than one who is fair-to-middlin’.

In short, “tol’able” can meant anything from “pretty darn good” to “pretty darn bad” when it comes to describing health, and one must often rely on non-verbal aspects of communication — such as body language, inflection, etc., to determine how someone is who says he is “tol’able.”

Make sense?  Probably not, but that’s the way of it.

By DAN LANGFORD

Next down the line from “fine as a frog’s hair” is “fair to middlin’,” or just plain “middlin’.”   Both mean about the same thing, though someone who professes to be fair to middlin’ may be a shade friskier than one who’s just middlin’.  The first, in more modern language, probably means “I feel pretty good.”  The second is more like “I’m allright.”

People of all classes use these terms — some, totally seriously; and others, to revel in the color of our Southern language, as has been discussed in several past entries.

So, if you can’t be fine as a frog’s hair, I hope you’re at least fair to middlin’, and that you’ll stay that way until Part 3, where we’ll discuss the very versatile term “tol’able,” which happens to be next on the scale by most definitions.

By DAN LANGFORD

Any follower of this blog knows by now that Southern speech is full of color.  There is no exception when Southerners talk about their health.  Even the most learned among us will oft revert to the old-time Southern way of describing how we feel.  All the four phrases denoting health condition that come to mind are quick ways of painting a pretty realistic picture, without giving what my dear, departed friend, Mrs. Helen Woolsey of Brooks used to call an “organ recital,” which no one wants to hear.

I’ll take the conditions one post at a time; hence, today I’ll only discuss the first.  It’s used when someone is exceptionally well, on top of things physically, mentally, spiritually, and in every other conceivable way.  When one asks a Southerner in such prime condition how he or she is doing,  one might be liable to hear, “I’m fine as a frog’s hair, thank you!” in reply.

I’m not sure where that phrase comes from, but if a frog has hairs, I’m more than certain they’re so fine as to be nearly invisible.  I’ve certainly never seen hair on a frog, so it must be fine if such a thing exists.

A twist to this phrase is occasionally heard when someone is truly self-actualizing, is on the mountaintop taking in the view.  “I’m fine as a frog’s hair split twice.”  That, my friends, is mighty fine indeed, and the short, simple phrase conveys as much meaning as a full paragraph or two of more conventional but less vivid language.

Stay tuned for parts two, three, and four — middlin’, to’lable, and po’ly — which I’ll discuss in turn over the month of September.

By DAN LANGFORD

I heard a snippet of Neal Boortz the other day on WSB as he was discussing  something about the word “Ma’am.”  Wish I had caught it all, but the little I did catch had him saying he thought it was an abbreviation for “Madam,” with the “d” left out.  The fellow’s absolutely right — that’s where it comes from.  In the South, even today, well-bred children say this to adult females.  “Yes, ma’am.”  “No, ma’am.”  “Thank you, ma’am.”  It’s a sign of respect that’s still very evident in my part of the world, thank goodness.

Years ago on a visit to New England, a Cape Cod bakery-keeper older than I asked a question as my wife and I were stepping out of her shop.  I didn’t quite hear it, so I said what I’d say to any female obviously older than I in such a case, “Ma’am?”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME????? she roared, suddenly appoplectic enough that I feared she might jump over the counter and head after me for a neck-wringing.

“I said, ‘Ma’am,’ which means simply that I didn’t understand what you asked us.”

“That’s offensive up here!  Don’t you dare call me ‘Ma’am.’  What I asked was ‘are you going to be on the cape next week, for we’re having a big sale.’”

“No, ma’am,” my wife and I said in unison.  Then we beat a hasty retreat before she came after us with her rolling pin.  Yankees, I swannee!

“Sir” is used in the same ways, but of course with men.  We train our children this way from the time they are learning to talk until the time they leave the nest.  A conversation with my 18-year-old son,  Niel, right before he went off to college a couple of weeks ago started like this:

Dad (calling upstairs):  “Niel?”

Niel:  “What?”

Dad:  “It’s ’sir,’ boy; and don’t think you can stop using it just because you’re about to go off to college.”

Niel:  “Yes, sir.”

Then we got on with our conversation.

While I’m pleased to hear a remarkable number of today’s kids still saying “sir” and “ma’am,”  I haven’t heard any youngster use the time-honored shortcuts to those courtesies in ages.  Folks my age and older still use them when talking to our elders, but I’m afraid the shortcuts will one day be gone.  The ones I’m referring to are: yessir and nosir, both of which are said really quickly, as if one word each; and yessum and nome.  The first two are quite obvious and should require no further explanation.  The last two may, and a quick pretend- conversation should well illustrate both usages.

Mama:  “Dan, are you ready for supper?”

Dan:  “Yessum!”

Mama:  “Have you washed your hands?”

Dan:  “Nome, but I will.”

Succinct, polite, and altogether Southern.  What more could one want?

By DAN LANGFORD

That’s Latin for “Dog Days,” the lethargic time of mid-August which in Georgia is usually so hot and muggy one can’t stand it, a time when plants stop growing and focus on simple survival in the oppressive heat, and during which old folks said superstitious powers were at work, causing such strange things to happen as a cut not healing until Dog Days were over.  Sounds like a curious or maybe even peculiar Southern tradition, doesn’t it?

Guess what?  It ain’t.  The ancient Greeks had Dog Days, as did the ancient Romans, whose name for the period is set forth in today’s post title.  I was in such a state of surprise after reading that on Wikipedia that someone could have run me off the steep side of Stone Mountain with a corn cob and a chicken feather.  Dog Days not uniquely Southern?  An impression shattered!

Guess we Southerners can’t take credit for all the world’s eccentricities, as much as we might like to.  But I’ll just betcha Dog Days on the Acropolis or in the Coliseum don’t feel anything like as oppressive as they do here.

We’re in the middle of Dog Days, folks (or about to get to them, one — it’d take someone far better versed in signs than I to know for sure), so make sure the A/C is in good order and be especially careful with knives.

By DAN LANGFORD

Talking Southern experiences, comments, ideas and opinions from Brown’s Guides readers, contributors and editorial staff. Readers may also comment on past posts. Look for previous posts in “Categories,” “Archives,” or “Tags,” all accessible in the left-hand column.

By DAN LANGFORD

Two successive stops on the sliding scale of Southern eccentricity, curious and peculiar were once heard right often in the Southland.  Today, with TV’s pervasive influence and the second Yankee invasion, about all one hears is “weird,” which is a much broader and less descriptive word than the two I mention.

“Peculiar” is the stronger of the two words, and probably comes closest to today’s “weird.”  I can almost hear my late grandmother saying about a particularly offbeat member of a right eccentric family, “All those Stinchcombs are right curious, but Martha’s plumb peculiar.”

It’s okay to be “curious” in the South.  In fact, it comes close to being a badge of honor.  We cherish our eccentrics, and the most lovable of them tend to fall in the “curious” basket.  “Weird” is simply too strong a word for these folks, and is liable to get you cut.

“Peculiar,” though, is on the other side of the line — a continental divide, if you will.  Somebody who’s peculiar has so flaunted or outright ignored the rules of society that folks tend to keep their distance.  The brand of peculiarity with which one is afflicted tends to govern whether it’s a shying away or a downright shunning, but folks who are peculiar have basically taken good old Southern eccentricity a little too far and made spectacles of themselves.

That’s my take on these two words, which are ever more descriptive than today’s generic “weird.”  Let’s not let them fall out of general usage.

By DAN LANGFORD

My last post was on gumption, that wonderful Southern word which describes someone with backbone and courage.  In a similar vein is the term “stem-winder,” which I’ve heard in the South all my life.  It’s used to describe someone who is an interesting and usually entertaining character, as in the following true three-sentence story about a former mayor, now deceased, of my hometown of Brooks, Georgia:

“I can’t believe Allen Putman had those truck tires dumped in the middle of town back in ‘86, and after pouring kerosene on them and setting them afire, stood down both the county fire department and sheriff, telling them he by-God was mayor of Brooks and could do whatever he damn well pleased.  You couldn’t ever tell what Mr. Allen was going to do.  He was a real stem-winder!”

While the terms “gumption” and “stem-winder” don’t particularly go hand-in-hand, I cannot recall a single stem-winder I’ve ever known who didn’t also have a healthy dose of gumption.  Thus, I believe they are related.

There are other terms for “stem-winder,” of course.  I’ve covered “spizzerinctum” in an earlier post, and though it’s a slightly stronger term in my judgment than “stem-winder,’ they’re awfully similar.  One might also hear, “He’s a real caution,”  “she’s a sight in this world,” “he’s a cutter” (which I presume stems from one who “cuts-up”), or “she’s a mess.”  Usually all of these are said with exclamation points at the end.

I have no idea of “stem-winder’s” derivation, and while the following hypothesis is nothing more than a guess which I hope is somewhat educated, I suspect it comes from mechanical toys which one winds and watches go.  “She’s a real stem-winder!  Wind her up and watch her go!”

Maybe I’m wrong, but who really cares?  “Stem-winder” is a time-tested Southern phrase, and it frankly describes a lot of Southerners one meets.  Enjoy watching the stem-winders in your own personal orbit.  They’re almost guaranteed to make one laugh…and laugh…and laugh, and they’re usually the folks one remembers most.

By DAN LANGFORD

My Webster’s says this word is of unknown origin, but it reeks of Southernness to me.  It means good shrewd common sense and get-up-and-go, and it’s the word generations of Southern mamas used to teach their children what separated the survivors from those who lost everything in the wake of the War Between the States and Reconstruction.

In more modern times, it’s been used to spur kids on, to give them ambition, to get them going on a task they dread or fear. ”Have some gumption and get to it!”  It’s also been used in admiring terms in discussing the attributes of a person who’s endured a tough experience or series thereof.  “Helen really has a lot of gumption to have gone through all she has had to deal with and come out smiling like she did.”

Both men and women used the word, which was perfectly acceptable for utterance in polite society.  A less elegant variation, usually employed by the menfolks when the ladies weren’t around to object, was “piss and vinegar.”  Both are great terms one seldoms hears anymore.  That’s a shame.  I hope we haven’t lost our gumption and simply don’t recognize it any longer.