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imponderables; things that cannot be precisely determined, measured, or evaluated: the imponderabilia surrounding human life.
There are not very many seven-syllable words in English, which makes imponderabilia a really weighty word. It’s Latin for “imponderable things, imponderables.” It comes from New Latin imponderābilia, a noun use of the neuter plural of the Medieval Latin adjective imponderābilis “unable to be weighed or measured,” ultimately deriving from Latin ponderāre “to weigh.” Imponderabilia entered English in the early 20th century.
… the imponderabilia,—those obscure but all-powerful factors like sentiment, public opinion, good will, affection, and so on. You can’t weigh or measure them, nor get at them by any rule of thumb.
Bronisław Malinowski, called [them] “the imponderabilia of actual life.” These are, he wrote, “small incidents, characteristic forms of taking food, of conversing, of doing work, [that] are found occurring over and over again.”
of or relating to dreams.
The English adjective oneiric derives from the Greek noun óneiros “dream, the god of dreams.” Óneiros itself is a later derivative from the noun ónar “dream, fortune-telling dream; in a dream.” Oneiromancy is divination through dreams; oneirocriticism is the interpretation of dreams. Ónar has relatives in only two other Indo-European languages: Albanian ëndërrë (the ë represents schwa) and Armenian anurj, both meaning “dream” (linguists have recognized for nearly a century features of phonology, morphology, and vocabulary shared only by Greek and Armenian). Oneiric entered English in the mid-19th century.
The clouds are pregnant and always in bloom, like oneiric cauliflowers ….
Leonardo’s world was atomistic, volatile, constantly in flux. At the same time, it was also surprising and oneiric, like scenes from a daydream, and this is how he depicted that world in his art.
verb (used without object)
to stretch oneself, as after sleeping.
The verb rax “to stretch oneself, as after sleeping,” is used in Scotland and Northern Ireland. Rax comes from Middle English raxen, rasken (Old English racsan, raxan). Raxan is from the same root as rack “a bar, framework of bars” and is akin to the verb reccan, reccean “to stretch, extend.” Rax dates from the Old English period.
The quenis dog begowthe to rax …
On easy chair that pamper’d lie, / Wi’ banefu’ viands gustit high, / And turn an’ fauld their weary clay, / To rax an’ gaunt the live-lang day.
like an orb; circular; ringlike; spherical; rounded.
The uncommon adjective orbicular ultimately comes from the rare Late Latin adjective orbiculāris “circular, orbicular,” which occurs in zoological and botanical texts. Orbiculāris is a derivative of orbiculus “small disk or ring, small wheel or pulley.” Orbiculus is a diminutive of the noun orbis “ring, disk, hoop, millstone, table, tabletop (i.e., a two-dimensional figure), sphere, ball, globe (i.e., describing a heavenly body).” In English, orbicular is about as restricted in usage as it is in Latin, occurring in anatomy, physiology, botany, and zoology. Orbicular entered English in the 15th century.
The whole orbicular World hangs by a golden chain from that part of the battlements of Heaven whence the angels fell.
What would be thought of a zoologist who should describe the feet of the web-footed birds as orbicular disks, divided to a great or less extent?
an informal variant of well used to indicate disappointment, resignation, or acceptance at the beginning of an utterance: Welp, this might not work out for us after all.
The etymological explanation of welp is accurate, if wonky: welp is a form of well as an isolated or emphatic utterance, with an excrescent p representing closing of the lips, creating an unreleased labial stop, as also in nope, yep, and yup. Excrescent consonants are pretty common: the usual one in English is t, as in amongst, midst, and whilst. Excrescent t also occurs in ancient Greek and Sanskrit. German Sekt “champagne” derives from French vin sec “dry wine” and shows the same excrescent t. Welp is first recorded in English in the mid-1940s but doubtless has been around far longer.
Pitt smiles and bluntly states, “There is no future.” Welp.
Knowing that I’ll get to retire is such a “Bitter Sweet Symphony.” Welp, time for another day of answering e-mails.
winter quarters, as of a hibernating animal.
Hibernaculum comes directly from Latin hībernāculum, a derivative of the adjective hībernus “wintry,” itself a derivative of hiems “winter.” Nowadays hibernaculum is restricted pretty much to zoology, especially referring to the winter quarters of a hibernating animal (some students of Latin may recall reading about Julius Caesar leading his troops to safety, if not comfort, into their hībernācula “winter quarters”). The inflectional stem of hiems is hiem-, which is close to Sanskrit hima– in himālaya “abode of snow,” a compound of himá– “snow” and ālaya “dwelling, abode.” Hibernaculum entered English in the late 17th century.
It retires to its hibernaculum when the cold weather has fairly set in, and comes generally out in early Spring.
The bears spent the winter in a hibernaculum—basically a big box.
a frolic; revel; carousal.
The Scots excel at having words and phrases of obscure origin, and splore is one of them, but because Robert Burns uses the word, it’s a keeper. Splore may be a shortening of explore, but that is just a guess. Splore entered English in the 18th century.
… it’s only a hunter’s shanty, but it has seen many a merry splore in its time ….
The morn’s Auld Yule, you know, and like enough the folk have kept him to join in some splore.