Weetenweek

Weetenweek (pronounced ‘vay-ten-vayk’). That’s all I remember from the dream. It was written down, and I expected it to be ‘wheaten’, but it wasn’t. I checked around and apparently ‘weeten’ means ‘know’ in Dutch, but that doesn’t shed any light on it. A complaint about a budget airline’s bad service from the parents of a ‘wee ten week’ child also came up. But it’s just one of those things in dreams that don’t really have any explanation.

One time I woke up in Moshi, Kilimanjaro, having dreamed that someone was saying ‘The Church of Skullduggery’ over and over. There was a bird outside, and I continued to hear its song as The Church of Skullduggery. Skullduggery is not a word I hear much in East Africa, unlike ‘abomination’. Things proscribed as mortal sins are described as ‘an abomination before the lord’. But skullduggery could be translated as ‘chakachua’, used to refer to corruption and related shenanigans. At one time ‘chakachua’ apparently referred to a particularly bad outbreak of petrol siphoning in Kenya during a fuel crisis.

But weetenweek, whatever it is, made a good start to the day. It brought to mind a sunrise (or sunset) that was golden, like a field of wheat, perhaps even a field of golden wheat in a rich sunlight. Every week of the year could have some evocative name, every day, every month, even every year. Seasons translate into things like cherry blossom in Japan, and I’m sure there are other ways of dividing up the year with beautiful words. Thermidor was the eleventh month in the French Republican calendar before it was a lobster dish. Probably not such good connotations if you’re a lobster, though.

But, in my mind, this morning as I dressed, every day could be celebrated with a word that makes you smile. There’s no need for an agreed name or word; everyone can choose their own, or adopt someone else’s. People can confer and agree on a word or a whole set of words. Perhaps such a discussion could take place at the beginning of a month, so we have the whole month to think about it. The word ‘gargoyle’ is said to be somewhat grotesque, but it makes me think of Oxford. The word has a lovely etymology, and the sound of water gurgling doesn’t have to conjure up anything untoward.

Also in Oxford, fritillaries come out every spring, covering a whole water meadow in Magdalen College Gardens. They are a phenomenon. Many people visit the meadow every year to marvel at them. They can be pinkish purple, but there are a few that are greenish white. They are called snakeshead fritillaries because they have a scaly pattern that does have some resemblance to snakeskin. There are even butterflies called fritillaries, so the word could be used for two separate days.

Monthly discussions about a word for each day might turn out to be an enjoyable diversion for children to engage in with their parents, or with other children. Anyone could think up the words they like — 365 days of every year gives lots of scope.

A word that has happy associations for one person may have sad associations for others. No one can challenge the feeling that a word gives them, nor insist that any particular word should strike someone in any way whatsoever. Entirely made-up words, even if they are made up for their sound, should be just as acceptable as words that we hear every day.

The exercise is aimed at setting the mood of the day at a high. Not too high, but something you can recall when required. You can change the word at any time. This morning was very cold, and I was dressing as quickly as possible. But the faintest memory of the word weetenweek, which brought sunshine and warmth to mind, did more than just cheer me up. My face smiled — my outer face, not just my inner one. It’s funny how the flexing of the muscles involved in smiling, whether intentional or otherwise, seems to impinge on the mood. Customer service courses advise you to smile when you answer the phone, and it is surprising how much you can tell about a person even though you can only hear them talk. Maybe it’s just some people, or just my imagination, but I think I sound different when I smile, and I think others do too.

But this is not about customer service, keeping clients happy, being the face of the company you work for. It’s about the person who has to face the day, whatever it involves. Maybe things will be too intense for the first smile, just after you wake up, to remain for long. But you should be able to retrieve the feeling every now and then during the day. Don’t wear it out. Replace it with something else if it develops associations that don’t bring a smile to your face.

If you feel loyalty to certain words, keep them. If Friday makes you smile already just because it’s Friday, then keep it. I call it ‘Furahiday’ because furahi is the Swahili for happy. But if Monday reminds you of school, or if Autumn does, or September, then find another name for all of those. Try out a few. Capuchin may be a monk, but cappuccino means little monk, which is what the coffee looks like. So even the word Capuchin might bring to mind the warmth of coffee, especially if you’re not enjoying a coffee at the time. Or maybe it brings the beautiful prose of Kapuscinski to mind.

It’s a game that I can’t play for you, I can’t tell you which words have which associations. These things are personal. But you can share the ones you like with others. They might have words that you like, because there are thousands to choose from. You may like marshmallows but prefer the word ‘mallow’ on its own to mean February. It’s a flower, one you can eat, a place in Cork that suggests (to me) cork oak, because I love the smell of cork.

Maybe you could look for a smell for every day, a taste, a sound, a texture, or all of the above. My memory is not so good that I can hold on to long lists without writing them down. For myself, I’m going to make up the word every day, later in the day if I forget to do it earlier.

By the way, the reason a smile can enhance your mood is because it relaxes the muscles that controlled communication when humans were still living underwater. OK, I made that up. Probably. But you are welcome to contrive your own explanation. Whatever else you do, enjoy it.

Simeon McCathal writes web content, non-fiction, blogs, flash fiction, epistolary writing, short stories, and creative non-fiction; loves everyday prose with a lacquer of hindsight and occasional flashes of insight; explores themes of hope, joy, human rights, media, and life in developing countries through memoir, diary, and the creative process itself.