Primrose Path

Day 166: Semantics is the science of verbal communication, more specifically of the exactness of any particular meaning when a certain word or words are used. Recent events have set me to thinking about semantics, because no matter how carefully we choose our words, someone is bound to misinterpret. I'm sure you've all read in the news about President Biden's unfortunate ad-lib remark where he said that Putin cannot remain in power, which many people viewed as a veiled threat against Russia. It could also be read as, "He can't keep doing this. It's unsustainable," in the same manner that one might say, "We can't keep doing this forever." A second circumstance is more personal. Only a few days ago, a neighbour misinterpreted an unguarded remark by a sheriff's deputy to mean that a violent crime had been committed in our neighbourhood. If you recall the children's game variously called "Washtub" or "Telephone," you probably remember how radically a simple statement can be distorted after it is repeated several times down the line. In fact, in repeating what I had been told by the neighbour, I perpetrated another semantic error, and only when friends seized on it did I realize that I had used a word with a different implication than what I had intended (and, be it noted, I fancy myself something of a semanticist!) People hear what they want to hear, and often if an interpretation furthers their own ends, that is the interpretation they will apply.

So what does this have to do with primroses? Aha! Let me ask you a question (and it is by no means a simple one): What colour is "primrose?" Originally, the term meant only a light, clear yellow, but later, it was applied to any yellow of the same hue, regardless of value. Subsequent developments suggest that we can lay some of the blame at the feet of horticulturalists who, not content with a limited palette of blossoms, hybridized a wider range of colours. Our language evolved accordingly, adding "primrose pink," "primrose purple" and "primrose green" to the lexicon. Nowadays, if you tell someone you'd like to use "primrose" as the theme for your wedding party, it is most likely to be interpreted as a fuchsia shade.

Mind what you say. Don't let your words carry you down the primrose path of misinterpretation.

Gilbert And Sullivan

Day 174: How's your opera knowledge? In which Gilbert and Sullivan opera do we hear:
The flowers that bloom in the spring -tra la-
Breathe promise of merry sunshine!
As we merrily dance and we sing, -tra la-
We welcome the hope that they bring, -tra la-
Of a summer of roses and wine,
Of a summer of roses and wine.
And that's what we mean when we say that a thing
Is welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring.

Why, "The Mikado," of course! It's "The Flowers that Bloom in the Spring." I learned the song (piano and vocal) when I was very young and invariably sing it when the first blossoms appear in my garden. Like much of Gilbert and Sullivan's work, it has a tendency to stick in the mind, not quite an ohrwurm in that it doesn't become annoying before my brain moves on to another tune (hopefully not "The Modern Major General" which I have a hard time getting rid of, or Tom Lehrer's spin-off, "The Elements").

Currently, my Flowers that Bloom in the Spring include the Primulas which have been part of my inaccurately-designated "lawn" since I moved here, the Grape Hyacinths (another enduring resident), and the Snowflakes (Leucojum) which I planted a few years ago, as well as Hellebore, a few freshly opened daffodils, heather and red currant (in bud). Ah, the hope that they bring, tra-la! It does my heart good to see colour in the garden after the long, grey winter.