Can a door have scruples?
"Can you hear that noise?" I asked my daughter.
"Yes," she replied. "I've been hearing it all day. It sounds like something mooing."
"Mooing? Nothing that big, I hope. A bird, maybe?" I suggested.
"Yes, I see what you mean. Possibly a goose," she said.
I glanced at the open screen door and brightened.
"It's the screen door...squeaking." I stopped myself from using the word scruple; I'd learned long ago in elementary school that scruple is not a noise caused by lack of lubrication.
"There's that old door scrupling again," Mom would say. "I must get Dad to put some oil on it." But my teacher would have none of it. A scruple was not a noise, she explained; it meant hesitating to do something on ethical grounds.
I wanted to argue for my mother's Newfoundland usage, but the dictionary failed to back me up and I had to accept the embarrassment of having defended an idea that was wrong. At the same time, deep down, I believed in my mother. When I went home and asked her what a scruple was, she told me it was a squeaking noise made by wood or hinges.
It was a lovely word. Only I'd learned a regional usage which made no sense in BC. I don't think of it often, but Mom's use of the word has stayed with me. It sounds like it should be right.
"Yes," she replied. "I've been hearing it all day. It sounds like something mooing."
"Mooing? Nothing that big, I hope. A bird, maybe?" I suggested.
"Yes, I see what you mean. Possibly a goose," she said.
I glanced at the open screen door and brightened.
"It's the screen door...squeaking." I stopped myself from using the word scruple; I'd learned long ago in elementary school that scruple is not a noise caused by lack of lubrication.
"There's that old door scrupling again," Mom would say. "I must get Dad to put some oil on it." But my teacher would have none of it. A scruple was not a noise, she explained; it meant hesitating to do something on ethical grounds.
I wanted to argue for my mother's Newfoundland usage, but the dictionary failed to back me up and I had to accept the embarrassment of having defended an idea that was wrong. At the same time, deep down, I believed in my mother. When I went home and asked her what a scruple was, she told me it was a squeaking noise made by wood or hinges.
It was a lovely word. Only I'd learned a regional usage which made no sense in BC. I don't think of it often, but Mom's use of the word has stayed with me. It sounds like it should be right.