Writing in National Review in the spring of 2002, Florence King remarked upon the “six-month anniversary” of the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington. She is among many gifted writers who have succumbed to the notion that an “anniversary” is not necessarily an annual event.

The trend ought to be resisted, just out of principle, but a sensitive ear will hear the rumble of tumbrels. True, five of my six desk dictionaries still adhere to the old ways. Alas, Merriam Webster’s new 11th Collegiate says an anniversary is not only “the annual recurrence of a date marking a notable event.” An anniversary may also be “the date that follows a notable event by a specified period of time measured in units other than years, e.g., ‘the six- month anniversary of the accident.”‘

The trouble is that there is no compact alternative to “anniversary” if we are marking a period of less than a year. We could try, “Paul and Susie toasted their six months of connubial bliss.” Or, “Stockholders were reminded that in the 180 days since the initial offering …” Or, “In her report chronicling six months on the no-gin diet, she reported a loss of …” My melancholy thought is that the edge has worn off “anniversary,” just as the edge has worn off “replica” and “transpire,” but sic transit gloria. Life goes on.

Today’s theme, if I can find it, lies in the value of sharp words as opposed to dull ones. A gossip columnist remarked in The Cincinnati Enquirer that actress Gwyneth Paltrow had strutted into the Venice Film Festival, “flanked by fashion designer Valentino.” John S. Walsh of Portsmouth, Ohio, writes to say that one escort cannot a flanking make. It takes two.

Several years ago a team of reporters for Knight-Ridder Newspapers covered a 10-alarm fire in Philadelphia. “Thick black smoke bellowed up.” Nope. Bulls bellow, and city editors bellow, but black smoke merely billows.

In Luling, Texas, a 15-year-old boy died during summer football practice. The Caldwell County coroner ruled that the youth died of heart failure. The San Antonio Express-News headlined the jump to page 6, “Heat played no factor in player’s death.” I don’t believe we can play a factor. Roles, yes; factors, no.

In Warren County, Va., a couple of years ago, a golf tournament came to a sudden end when lightning flashed and the sky darkened. “All golfers were called in due to the eminent weather.” Wrong word! In Augusta, Ga., an editorial writer twice remarked upon “the power of imminent domain.” Wrong word! The storm was imminent; the power was eminent. When in doubt about a word, look it up! And stay in doubt!

A book reviewer in Buffalo voiced a generally favorable review of Robert Caro’s “Master of the Senate,” the third volume in a projected four-volume biography of Lyndon Johnson. At one point the critic said of the president that Johnson was a man “taken to using racist epitaphs when speaking with men known to be bigots.” Epitaphs? No way. An epitaph is a pithy summary of the life of a dear departed. You could carve an epitaph on a tombstone or put an epitaph on a plaque, but Caro was talking of epithets. Johnson was full of them.

In Honolulu three years ago, the skipper of a Japanese fishing trawler testified to the accidental sinking of his ship when a U.S. submarine suddenly surfaced. Headline in the San Jose (Calif.) Mercury News: “Trawler’s captain recalls mayhem when sub rammed Japanese boat.” Mayhem? Until recently, “mayhem” had a sharp edge. A fracas didn’t qualify as “mayhem” until some participant had lost an arm or a leg or an ear. If there wasn’t a crippling or mutilating, it wasn’t mayhem. Now the noun has been dulled down. Mayhem has become any “needless or willful damage or violence.” What a virile word has thus been gelded!

What is true of old houses is true of old meanings: Not all of them are worth preserving in pristine condition. We have lost “decimate,” for example, but it is not much of a loss. Yet we ought not to discard precise definitions cavalierly. Not every fire is an inferno, and not every dispute is an imbroglio. Let us preserve the beautiful words for the day we will really need them.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

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