stormy, as the sea.
The rare English adjective procellous “turbulent, stormy (as the sea)” comes via Middle French procelleux from Latin procellōsus “stormy, squally,” a derivative of the noun procella “violent wind, gale.” Procella is related to or is a derivative of the verb procellere “to throw forward with violence,” a compound of the preposition and prefix pro, pro-, here meaning “forward, outward,” and the verb –cellere (occurring only in compounds) “to rush, drive, set in rapid motion.” Procellous entered English in the first half of the 17th century.
I likened myself to a sailor navigating shoals and … besought her to anoint me with her glance and so hearten me to brave the dangers of that procellous sea.
A cloud of adversity so gloomy and procellous, has rarely overshadowed a military leader.
The informal plural noun shenanigans “mischief, pranks” is more common than the singular shenanigan. Shenanigan was originally an Americanism, first appearing in print in two California newspapers, Town Talk (San Francisco) and Spirit of the Age (Sacramento), in the mid-1850s, toward the end of the California Gold Rush. The fact that shenanigan first appeared in newspapers with no explanation demonstrates that it had already been around in conversation for a while. There are at least 11 recorded spellings for the singular noun (but only one for the plural); there are at least five suggested etymologies: French, Spanish, Erse (Irish Gaelic), a Rhenish Franconian dialect of German, and East Anglian (modern Norfolk and Suffolk in the U.K.). As the lawyers say, non liquet “it isn’t clear.”
One of the “new” old books I recently took out was “The Cat in the Hat,” by Dr. Seuss, the 1957 classic about two siblings stuck at home and the shenanigans that they get up to.
An odd episode, this. The first half contrasts Captain Scott’s ill-fated exploration with modern Antarctic research, while the second is essentially cameraperson shenanigans.
Nimiety is a bit much, literally. It comes from the Late Latin noun nimietās (inflectional stem nimietāt-) “excess, overabundance,” a derivative of the adjective nimius “excessive, immoderate.” Nimius in its turn is a derivative of the adverb and noun nimis “too much, unduly; an excessive amount or degree.” Nimietās first appears in the Metamorphōsēs (“Transformations”) of Lucius Apuleius, who may have coined the word. Apuleius was a Roman satirist and Epicurean philosopher who was born in Madaurus in North Africa and lived in the 2nd century a.d. His Metamorphōsēs is a bawdy, picaresque novel, the only ancient Roman novel to survive intact. St. Augustine of Hippo (a.d. 354-420), also from North Africa, disliked Epicureanism (most ancients did because of its atheism) and derisively renamed Apuleius’ Metamorphōsēs the Asinus Aureus (“Golden Ass”), an alternative title that has persisted till this day. Nimiety entered English in the first half of the 16th century.
But of course there were problems of upkeep, and an oppressive feeling of nimiety, or too‐muchness. I have suffered from it all my life—too many possessions, too many books, too much to eat and drink.
The additions to the template may be broadly inconsequential … but the execution is unrivalled—the humorous animations, the high-contrast vistas, the nimiety of customization options. Video games have been this detailed before, but rarely to such unwaveringly joyous effect.
ice crystals formed in turbulent water, as in swift streams or rough seas.
The relatively uncommon noun frazil “ice crystals formed in turbulent water, as in swift streams or rough seas,” comes from Canadian French frasil (also frazil, fraisil), an extension of French fraisil “coal cinders, coal dust.” French fraisil is an alteration of Vulgar Latin adjective facilis “pertaining to a torch or firebrand,” a derivative of the Latin noun fax (inflectional stem fac-) “torch, light.” It is unsurprising that frazil first appeared in the Montreal Gazette in the winter of 1888.
Sea ice begins as tiny, needle-shaped crystals, about a tenth of an inch long, known as frazil.
First the wind churns up the surface, and the spray and droplets freeze into frazil. Murphy describes this as a collection of “spicules,” or needle-shaped pieces.
a gift or token for good luck or as an expression of good wishes, as at the beginning of the new year or when entering upon a new situation or enterprise.
The noun handsel “a token given at New Year’s for good luck; a payment or reward,” is used mostly in Scotland, Ireland, and Northern England. Handsel comes via Middle English hansel(l)e, hancel, handsell (and several other variant spellings). The Middle English forms come from Old English handselen “manumission,” which literally means “hand-gift” (the Old English noun selen “gift” is akin to the verb sell). The Middle English forms were influenced by Old Norse handsal “handshake, handclasp (for sealing a purchase or a promise).” Handsel entered English before 1000.
A handsel is a gift made to celebrate a new beginning, as a coin might be placed in the pocket of a freshly-tailored coat.
It was the principal day of the whole year for making trials and forecasts of the future. Every visitor to the house received a “handsel,” i.e. a gift.
seize the day; enjoy the present, as opposed to placing all hope in the future.
The Latin sentence carpe diem is usually translated “seize the day,” which is a concise but inadequate translation. The sentence comes from the 1st-century b.c. Roman poet Horace in the first book of his Odes, published in 23 b.c. Carpe is the 2nd person singular present imperative of the verb carpere “to pluck, gather, pull (fruit, flowers, etc.); diem “day,” is the accusative singular of diēs, and the direct object of carpe. A more accurate but tedious translation is “pluck the fruit of the day (while it is still ripe),” which completely demolishes Horace’s conciseness. Carpere comes from the very complicated Proto-Indo-European root (s)kerp-, (s)karp– (and other variants) “to cut, pluck,” the source also of Greek karpós “(cut or plucked) fruit.” The Germanic noun harbistaz, from the Proto-Indo-European superlative adjective karp-ist-os “best suited for plucking or reaping,” yields hærfest “autumn” in Old English (English harvest) and Herbst “autumn” in German. Diēs comes from the very, very widespread Proto-Indo-European root dyeu-, dyu-, diw– “to shine,” and by extension “sky, heaven, god,” source of Latin Juppiter “Jupiter,” actually an old vocative formula meaning “Father Jove,” and the exact equivalent to Greek Zeû páter “Father Zeus,” and Sanskrit dyā́uṣpitā́ “Father Heaven.” Carpe diem entered English in the first half of the 19th century.
I asked the now-66-year-old Valerie Carpenter what she would say to the 18-year-old Valerie Glines. “Carpe diem,” she said. “Seize the day. Don’t mess around. Follow your heart.”
More than anything, the pandemic has shown how quickly things can change if they must. Carpe diem.
Sayonara comes from Japanese sayōnara, a shortening of sayōnaraba, which means literally “if it be so (that the time for parting has come).” Sayonara consists of sayō “thus” and naraba “if it be.” Sayonara entered English in the second half of the 19th century.
First of all, Joey is terrible at Nintendo. As little brothers go, he’s probably the worst. If he gets to play Zelda, you can say sayonara to your rupees.
Turchin published one final monograph … then broke the news to his UConn colleagues that he would be saying a permanent sayonara to the field, although he would continue to draw a salary as a tenured professor in their department.