You would not believe how long I deliberated over whether to use the word gotten in the previous paragraph. My father was scornful whenever he heard me utter it. He preferred got as the past participle of get. I could never see what the big deal was; to me, gotten just sounds old English, sort of Anglo Saxon. And, in fact, it is. I have since learned that the Brits share my father’s distaste for usage of the older form, which is now apparently relegated to the North American colonies.

Dad loved the book “Fowler’s Modern English Usage,” originally published by Oxford University Press in 1926. Its author, Henry Watson Fowler, was highly opinionated. It was clearly his opinion that grammar and word usage matter, perhaps above all else, which makes looking up words and phrases in “Fowler’s” enjoyable and sometimes humorous. I am now going to quote from my copy of his style guide, the second edition, published in 1965, noting nostalgically in passing the inscription penned across the flyleaf, “For Martha, with love, on her 20th. Mome and Dad.”

“Gotten still holds its ground in American English. In British English it is in verbal uses archaic and affected; but as a mere participle or adjective it occurs in poetical diction…and in mining technicalities (There is no current wage rate per ton gotten) and in the cliche ill-gotten gains.”

I know some people who reject the use of the verb to get altogether, but Mr. Fowler did not. Here is what he had to say about have got for possess: “Philip Ballard in a spirited defence, citing not only Johnson but also Shakespeare, Swift and Ruskin, concludes ‘The only inference we can draw is that it is not a real error but a counterfeit invented by schoolmasters.’ Acceptance of this verdict is here recommended.”

Isn’t this fun? All right, just one more: the verb dive. For the past tense, I have always used dove, as in “He dove off the cliff into the water like some kind of fool.(I would never.)” Imagine my surprise to learn that use of the past participle dove is restricted to a regional dialect found in some parts of Britain and North America, while dived is preferred. Now, I don’t know what region you’re from, but to me, dived sounds like baby talk. Not that there’s anything wrong with baby talk.

Like Buddy Holly, I’m just sitting here reminiscing. There is something about the coming of winter that pulls us together and makes us remember where we came from. Should auld acquaintance be forgot? No way.

The season is a time to think of our family and friends as well as others we don’t even know, in a spirit of peace and compassion. The trouble is, in my experience, this spirit can’t be forced. Either it comes washing over you, all serendipitous, filling your heart with fellow feeling, or-it doesn’t.

I can think of plenty of people who are not feeling it, judging by their statements, whether political or just generally cranky, as they complain about everything from foreigners to Starbucks cups. I can be pretty cranky myself, but I love it when my mood is lifted by the season and I transcend my crankiness for a while.

For me, it helps to be around children. I have a friend who tells me that for her it is just the opposite. Never is Layla so cranky as when she perceives herself to be surrounded and outflanked by small youthful persons. For her, I think being around dogs would do the trick. I like dogs pretty well too, as long as I am reasonably confident that they won’t feel called upon to bite me, but children are the greatest. I am so lucky to have grandchildren to plan presents for, and my daughter, who posts family photographs on line.

I don’t forget my grandparents, whose recipes, stories, lore and interesting regional dialects I have taken as my own, or my parents, who gave me so much, including “Fowler’s Modern English Usage” and the wherewithal to enjoy it.

All right, I have gotten unbearably sentimental, and it’s only going to get worse. I’d better sign off for now.

Have a good week.