Fancy Schmancy, Know-it-all Nancy.

For someone who only knew how to make grilled cheese sandwiches and brownies for the first half of her life, I've developed a surprisingly intimate relationship with cooking magazines in the past decade or two.  Granted, simply subscribing to a magazine does not guarantee that a person becomes a master chef--or even a passable one-- but I have certainly learned a thing or two from these publications over the years.

. . . although I've never quite figured out how to say the word "Savuer."

Which is probably why I let that subscription expire recently.

As though it wasn't bad enough that I once had to look up the words "haricot verts" (what us simple folk would call "green beans"),  I don't even know how to properly reference the magazine that used that hoity toity term.  Yeah, I'm a fickle subscriber who actually expects to understand most of the words tucked between the glossy covers.

Truth is, I have always been suspicious of fifty-cent words stapled to penny-candy items.  And, really, who can blame me? I mean, I'm the daughter of a journalist, as well as a journalism teacher. That means I break out into an asthma attack simply glancing at a paragraph that includes more than 25 or 30 words.

All the more reason to pity me, considering that I swim in the professional sea of education, an ocean whose waters are gleefully stocked with polysyllabic poppycock.

Why say "work friends" when you can say "colleagues?"  And who wants to tell people "what I did today" when you can enlighten them with an impromptu lecture about your "pedagogical philosophies?"  Did I ever tell you how much I hate the word "pedagogy?"  The mere sound of it sends proletarian paroxysms shivering through my body. (Yeah, I know.  Those are big words.  Never said I was a purist)

I have the same reaction when Alex Trebek--who has all of the answers typed out in front of him!--has the gaul to say "Gaugin" like he just walked out of a Parisian pastry shop.

I'd originally set out to blog about the joys of savoring things, the pleasure of taking the time to take our time.  But nooooo,  I had to find some clever "in," a lead that would catch and captivate. Thus, the reference to Savuer Magazine.  And now look at me.   I've gone and blathered about fancy words instead, wasting my time on the top-tiered fancy cats and their two-dollar terms.

Alex Trebek would be proud.  But me?  I'm feeling a bit queasy.  Or "indisposed," if you will.