I don’t think I ever heard anyone else ever say that one strange little syllable, and it fell out of my consciousness until recently, when I thought to google it.  Turns out, the word is known to other people:

“Faunch is a dialectal word that’s still in use, but its origin is unknown. It’s also spelled fauch or fawnch. In the sense ‘to rant, rave, rage’ it is first recorded in a 1911 word list compiled from material reported by students at the University of Nebraska: “How she will faunch when she hears it!” “The father fairly faunched when he found that his children had played truant.” In this sense faunch is a slang term used chiefly in the Western and South Midland United States (Texas, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Indiana, Kentucky, Nebraska).

As for faunch in the sense you ask about, ‘to fret, show irritation or impatience,’ the Dictionary of American Regional English has a quote from 1970 about the term’s use in Kansas: “The verb faunch is part of my vocabulary and was absorbed, I’m sure, from my grandmother’s speech which reflected the late nineteenth and early twentieth century usage of south-western Kansas…”

The current Newsweek features a My Turn essay by Joan Houston Hall, chief editor of the Dictionary of American Regional English.  She talks about pepole in Wisconsin saying bubbler for water fountain, and golden birthday (turning 10 on the 10th, say), and kringle (a specific pastry).  She assures us that contrary to popular belief, American English has NOT become entirely  homogenized.  “DARE’s research shows that American English is as varied as ever.  The language is diversified by immigration, of course, but also by people’s creative license and the resilient nature of local dialects.  We have dozens of ways to refer to a remote place, for instance, including the boonies, the sticks, the tules, the puckerbrush, and the willy-wags.”

She even mentions a word an Italian in-law of ours uses:  the verb “to skeeve,” as in “I’ll pass on the broccoli rabe, I skeeve that.”  It’s an adaptation of schifare, the Italian verb “to disgust.”  Hence, disgusting = skeevy.  We hear it a lot in the Philadelphia area.  It’s a useful word and I like to think I’m speaking a tiny little bit of Italian when I say it.

We remember my paternal grandmother saying “tush” instead of “tusk,” which, it turns out, is Elizabethan English – preserved in Appalachia.  A tiny bit of the the language of Shakespeare, spoken by my grandmother – how cool is that?

If anyone from the Dictionary of American Regional English is reading this, I just hope they included these words from my Kansas forebears (with Kentucky roots).  It might be too late for faunch, though.  They’re now working on the final installment (Slab-Z).

Ok — we know this puppy was not easy. This Fun Monday assignment was to choose your favorite words or words. And the trouble is – it’s hard to choose. We bloggers love all words. But luckily, these are words and not people so we don’t have to worry about offending the words we didn’t choose.

Please visit all the great bloggers who raised their hands for this one. And be sure to leave them comments to let them know you checked in. Here they are:

MoB readers – tell us your favorite word or words in a comment! And here are our humble opinions:

From Emily

I love the word serendipity. Not only is it underused, whimsical, and pleasing to my ear but if you are saying or writing “serendipity” – it is only means good news. I need more happy coincidences in my life.

I also love the word sultry – but only when used to describe weather. We experience a decent amount of sultry weather in the Philly suburbs. I would rather call it sultry than excruciatingly humid.

I am partial to the word smitten – mostly because of the contented feeling it describes. To me it’s more than just being pleased with someone or something – there is an element of intimacy and ownership to the word. When you are smitten, it is a feeling that is all your own, shared with no one. An internal happiness that puts a smile on your face when no one is looking.

Finally, I love the word marmalade because it’s just so freaking fun to say. Truthfully, I could do without the condiment, but if and when it is offered at a breakfast table, I will ask everyone at the table if they would like some MARMALADE.

From Jennifer

Epiphany. I love the sound and the meaning. Much better than the prosaic “lightbulb moment.”

Hideous. A flexible word with tons of applications. My kids all learned it early.

Taboo, juju, louche. mojo, apropos. Louche means shady in French.

Fun to sprinkle these imported words into conversation.

Schaudenfreude. Taking pleasure in someone else’s misery, usually because of spite. While Germans speak a harsh and guttural language, you gotta love the way they create amazingly specific words for complex emotions.

Summer Afternoon. (not original but great choices anyway)

Years ago I remember reading the results of a poll: “What is the most beautiful word in the English language?” The winner happened to be a French word: “Mirage.”

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Special super important note: A reminder that the next Fun Monday host is The Lurchers! And one last thank you to last week’s host Mommy Wizdom for sharing her pointers on how to make this Fun Monday work!

The Scene: A beautiful late Sunday afternoon in the suburbs. Father and youngest son, Chase, age 8, are out at the last Cub Scout meeting of the year. I, mother, am in the kitchen packing up a picnic dinner. Oldest son Noah, age 10, sits on the family room sofa, happily playing his hand held video game. Dog sleeps by his side. Out the open window, birds are chirping and the sound of a lawnmower fills the air.

Noah: Mom?

Mom: Yeah, hon?

Noah: What does c – - t mean?

Mom: Uh… what was that?

Noah: C – - T

Mom: Spell it.

Noah: C – - T

Mom: Where did you hear that word?

Noah: It’s one of my Pokemon characters.

Mom: Lemme see.

I move to sofa, remove lumpy dog, sit next to son, and peer at 3 inch screen.

Noah: See, right there? That little character called C – - t Punch? (Smile) It’s really powerful.

Mom: Where did you get C – - t Punch?

Noah: I traded J for it. He got it from his sister who got it from a used game. What does it mean???

Mom: It’s a really bad, awful word. Probably the worst word ever.

Noah: (Worried) Worse than the “F” word?

Mom: Much worse.

Noah: You said nothing was worse than the “F” word.

Mom: That’s because you didn’t know about this word.

Noah: Can I keep C – - T Punch?

A beautiful mother and son moment.

So I explain the word in its literal sense which I think wigged him out just enough that he might not ever say it again. But truth be told, I am the poster Mom for bad language. I drop F-bombs around the house at a higher frequency than most Moms, I imagine. Not so much that the kids become numb to it. But on those special occasions, when used as a qualifying adjective or one-word exclamation, the F-word is quite effective to drive home a particular point or feeling. And miraculously you have everyone’s attention for a change. This is my own philosophy; I don’t expect too many to share it.

But sitting there having this conversation with him made me remember an instance when the boys were younger and I was more discreet with my vernacular. Noah, then about 7 years old, sidled up to me one day and proudly announced that he knew what the “F” word was! IT’S FAT!!! Right Mom??? I agreed. And told him he shouldn’t use the “F” word ever. Eventually he discovered what the real “F” word was – but I’m proud that he still doesn’t use the word “fat” to describe a person.

Which brings me back to the “C” word. Why is it the worst word ever? It’s worse than the “F” word because it’s unequivocally mean and vicious. You can’t use it as an adjective, exclamation, or qualifier. You use it only to be hurtful to another human being. Like calling someone fat.

I didn’t offer this elucidation to Noah because I felt the nuance would be lost on him. He is only 10 years old and I think we had already lost enough for one day.