Smidge, Smudge, and Smithereens
The Irish have a great way of describing little things, and so did Grandma
My grandmother’s people came from rural Connacht, along the border of Counties Mayo and Sligo near the Ox Mountains, where Irish had been spoken for thousands of years, and many people with the name Haran (her surname) still live. The way that Irish was (and still is) spoken was carried over the sea to create uniquely American words. Because the English alphabet does not carry the same sounds as Irish, the words had to be spelled in a way to convey the correct pronunciation.
In Irish, when the letter “d” is surrounded on either side by an “i” or an “e,” the “d” is pronounced like a “j.” Similarly, when a “t” is surrounded by these two vowels, known as slender vowels, it is pronounced like “ch.” For example, the word for God in Irish is Dia, and in Irish, that is said as “Jee-uh.” (It’s where we get the American phrase “Gee whiz” which is from the Irish greeting “Dia dhuit” or “God be with you.”) Similarly, the word for house is teach, and though it looks like an English word that we all know, it is pronounced “chahk,”
Three Irish words, smid, smúid, and smidiríní came into English as smidge, smudge, and smithereens (the “j” morphing into a “th” blend), and Grandma used them frequently.
Smid is a lovely word which means just a breath, just a puff, just a syllable, or just a small word. There are many Irish sayings which use smid. My grandma used it to minutely describe just how much of an ingredient to add to a recipe, how gently far over a picture needed to be moved on a wall, or how just a bit closer or further away you needed to move yourself on the sofa (which Grandma called the davenport). If you were almost there, it was “a smidge farther down the road.” If you resisted taking your medicine, it was “just a smidge more.” A smidge is an endearing way to express a miniscule measurement, but it was a huge part of my Grandma’s vocabulary.
Smúid is the Irish for a bit of dust or grime. It also describes a shady, darkened space or atmosphere. Grandma used it to describe a stain on a surface (“you’ve got a smudge of something on your shirt”), or the act of applying a bit of a color (“just smudge your cheek a bit”), or even figuratively referring to a decline in someone’s reputation (“that’s a real smudge on his family name”). It’s another word that has become part of the American vernacular.
Smidiríní indicates very small bits or fragments, and to break into very small pieces. Grandma used it frequently to indicate that “the vase broke into smithereens,” or “those boys reduced that pot roast to smithereens,” and a wild wind storm, or a gang of unruly children, “blew the whole house to smithereens.” It’s a wonderful, terrible word that draws pictures in your mind.
Grandma attended Mass each Sunday, and prayed a rosary every night at bedtime. As Advent begins, I think of the Advent wreath she would put out with candles as they awaited and looked forward to Christmas. I also remember the story my mother told me of the particular Advent season in December of 1941, when my Uncle Dick was stationed in Pearl Harbor. I’ll share that story in my next post.
Until then, thank you, Grandma!