Demilunes and Ice   Sometimes you perceive big changes through the little ones. When we remodelled our New York apartment before moving in, we had to allow for desk space for two people. Our granite peninsula countertop seemed to fit the bill. The kitchen side served for food preparation, and the living room side, with two bar chairs, served adequately for the laptop and telephone, and work space for two. As time went by, Bev could do less and less. Eventually, I didn't try sitting her up on the bar chair, thinking a lower chair was safer. She'd watch me work. I would be facing inward, and on many occasions I'd spy an ocean liner going by in the mirrored backsplash for the sink, and knew to spin around and go take a look.

Well, now I need desk space for only one, so why continue facing inward, and why not leave the entire counter for kitchen use? There was underused space between the spiral staircase we had had installed and the double window to the right of the slider at the dining area. I wanted a nice desk which would fit in this space well.

I found online a demilune desk, with chair, and bought it. Consider that demi+lune would have to mean half-moon, and that's the other name for this kind of C-shaped desk. It sits facing outward. Without moving along the side of the desk, but just turning, I can face the phone, or the laptop, or the work space, always with the view through the windows. If you're going to have a desk for one, then this is perfect. While working, I won't miss any ships going by sitting here.

Sitting at the demilune desk, and looking at the Hudson River, I had a thought that combined history, travel, and language, but I doubt that that surprises anyone.

In 1609, fifteen years before Nieuw Amsterdam was founded in 1624, Hendrik Hudson, in the service of the Dutch, traveled into New York Bay and up the river later named for him. So where's the language connection or demilune desk connection? He sailed on the Halve Maan, and, as any good student of Dutch can at least guess, that translates as the Half Moon.

We always get good views from these windows, but I suspect most people imagine warm-weather views. They are splendid, but most people can't imagine how nice the winter views can be. With shorter days, when the sun sets you can get incredible winter sunsets. Even before sunset, late in the day, the sun casts a bright shining image across the river's surface.

If the winter weather is just right, we get ice floes. I remember Bev and me watching the entire mile-width of the river covered in briskly moving floes. Once we watched a seagull riding on a particularly big floe. This January there were floes on maybe only half the river, some days largish, some days just looking like slush.

The Hudson is a very tidal river near its mouth in New York Bay. I've heard that when the tide comes in, salt water can reach Poughkeepsie, and hour and a half north up the Hudson Valley. Yet you don't perceive water movement when looking at the river. It just looks like a big lake.

Unless there are ice floes. We look west to New Jersey, so the river flows from right to left. Those floes, and therefore the current, move so fast that it just takes a few seconds for them to pass our windows. That might not seem impressive, but when you otherwise have no perception of water movement, the revelation is amazing. Remember, there aren't floes every winter, just when conditions are right, and this winter I must have been watching more than usual, because I noticed two things for the first time. One time I looked out and the floes were sitting perfectly still. The tide had turned, literally.

On another occasion I was amazed to look out and see floes zipping along from left to right. The tide had turned earlier, and the floes were going back upstream! These windows are a mirror of nature.

Commercial Friends   In recent years, Bev and I started developing some acquaintences, which, for want of a better word, I can call commercial friends. With one exception, these are people in restaurants; owners, headwaiters, waiters, chefs. It's nice to be recognized, and to have a chat with people running the venue. Sometimes there are side benefits, like the headwaiter slipping you a freebie dessert, but that's not the purpose for doing it.

Two recent, pleasant examples: in January I took the whole family to I Trulli in Manhattan, where we've taken several friends on earlier occasions. Nicola, the owner, who had steered us to a restaurant in Italy two years ago, wasn't in, but Gianni the headwaiter met the whole family. When I told him about Bev, he ended up treating all seven of us on a nice moscato dessert wine, and on leaving, he and I had a big hug.

Some readers will remember Bev's 60th birthday party (almost eight years ago!) at Caffè Paradiso in Tampa. The headwaiter there, a cousin of Paolo the owner, opened up his own trattoria down the street, and Bev and I have been going there a lot more. He's Spartaco Giolito, and the trattoria is called Spartaco's. [A ristorante is a bit more upscale, while a trattoria is more of a neighborhood restaurant.] I went to Spartaco's last week. He was in the doorway and greeted me with his usual "Signor DiNapoli!" Then I told him about Bev.

When I got back from the restroom, the waiter was pouring a huge bell glass of red wine, which was refilled later. "Compliments of Spartaco." Then an appetizer arrived. "Compliments of Spartaco". At least I paid for my own entree and dessert, but when the waiter asked about coffee, I told him I was planning on ordering a glass of moscato. One arrived, "Compliments of Spartaco". Of course, I saw this, too, as a tribute to Bev.

Spartaco's mother comes over from Rimini regularly, staying for months, and helps out in the kitchen. She also makes her own pasta, which Spartaco stocks up on. Bev and I met her two years ago, when I had to fumble in Italian to say hello. When the waiter said this time that the special for the day was tortellini made by the mother, I knew I should order that. When leaving I told Spartaco I had ordered what I decided to call the "tortellini della mamma", that ended in a big hug, too.

New Coinages   I have enough language confidence in myself that I have no qualms whatsoever coining new words where needed. I don't care if they didn't exist before, and may even need explanation (and may not). If they're needed, I'm ready to coin them. I mentioned once earlier that since Bev and I place our interests principally in Europe and North America, we have a Euramerican point of view. I don't think that word needs explanation, even if I'm the only one that uses it. It will not be surprising that all the coinages deal with things I'm involved in.

You occasionally come across words lacking in a language. I know one word that English needs, and I'm providing it.

When talking about language, the stem comes in two variations "lang-" with an A and "ling-" with an I. For instance, the science of language (with an A) is linguistics (with an I). That sort of thing is not really all that odd and doesn't bother me. The problem comes up here when talking about people.

A person knowledgeable about linguistics is a linguist. (A linguist knows a morpheme from a phoneme.)

So what's a person who speaks several languages? One commonly used word is, unfortunately, also linguist. I hate that. It causes confusion. A waiter in Paris may be able to take your order in several languages. It does not mean he can discuss Noam Chomsky's theory of generative grammar.

On occasion some people use the word polyglot. The meaning is accurate, but I think it’s an ugly-sounding word, and I refuse to use it. Poly+glot is Greek for many+tongued. Well, using Latin roots, you get multi+lingual. Therefore one possiblity is to call a person who speaks several languages, not a linguist, but a multilinguist. That works, and I'll coin it here and now, but it's not my favorite, partially because it's kind of long, and isn't as much fun as my favorite coinage, which follows.

Let's go back to the A/I distinction. If a person who knows linguistics is a linguist (both with I's), then a person who knows several languages should be a languist (both with A's). So now, as far as I'm concerned, that French waiter is a languist, and Noam Chomsky is a linguist. Case closed, in my book.

Ah, but why end there. Some languists may specialize in Semitic languages, perhaps Polynesian languages, perhaps Native American languages. Bev and I specialize in the languages of Europe, as spread around the world. I declare myself a eurolanguist.

But languists frequently travel the world. For those languists for whom travel is a particularly important element of the language experience, I offer my last coinage (for now). I am a travelanguist, with just a single L. And you are presently reading the