Monday's Word: Volume 2, Opsimath
An opsimath is one who learns late in life. In other words, everybody. Otherwise, why would Shaw have said that youth is wasted on the young?
It's a nice rolling kind of word. As though one tumbled into the classroom a little late, a little out of breath, orotund and with grey wisps flying in the breeze made by one's tardy haste...an opsimath.
Yes, that's the spirit. Arrive late, but arrive. Learn, and learn some more. In the end, learning is the only solace for the inevitable slings and arrows. Especially the arrows. You learn to take them out, you learn to make your own poultices, and you pick up whatever it was you were doing when so rudely interrupted by the zing of that fletched wood with the nasty steel tip. That's why all the herbalists tend to be old ladies...
Carry on, opsimath. Or consider the alternative.
Then carry on.
Surely goodness and mercy shall catch up with me eventually in the final days of my life,
And I will dwell, if not in the house, at least in the neighborhood of God somewhere.