The Words for Snow Question Answered

Inuktitut words for snow

aaniuvak 'perpetual snow patch
aksakaaqtuq 'snowball'
aluiqqaniq 'overhanging snow'
alutsiniq 'deep snow hollow'
aniu 'snow for drinking'
apijuq 'covered with snow'
apigianngaut 'first snow'
apilraun/apilraut 'firs layer of snow'
apun/aput 'snow on the ground'
apujjaqsuqtuq 'digs it out of the snow'
aputainnaruuvuq 'has much snow on clothes'
apusialukpuq 'covered with a lot of snow'
apusimatiqtuq 'snow storming'
apusimiriikkusijuq 'has placed it on top of snow covered'
apummiungujut 'tent on snow'
aputisiut ;used for snow/snow-probe/knife'
aqilluqqaq 'soft under crust snow'
atairranaqtuq 'squeaky snow'
autturunniq 'snow pressed melted frozen'
aujaqsuittuq 'eternal snow'
auviq/savuujaqtuaq/qulluaqtuq 'snow block'
igluvijaq 'snow house'
ijaruajuq 'snow in the eye'
ijaruvak 'new soft snow (which has packed)'
illaujait 'dark ice'
illaujiniq 'candle'
illiti 'vertical snow house wall'
immiugaq 'ice water'
immiuqtuq 'ice melts'
immiugainnaatuq 'snow water'
ivrarniq 'moderately soft snow'
ivunrit 'piled ice'
ivvuit 'rough ice'
kakkikulivuq 'wind blows snow'
kanangnaq 'snow wind'
kapuqqalukpuq 'look for snow house'
kapuraq 'test the snow'
kalirraq 'sound of sled in snow'
kaniqtuq 'ice crystal fall'
kavisilaq 'roughened snow'
kijjiqpuq 'snow house drips'
kiniq 'viscous snow'
kiniqtaq 'viscous mixture of snow and water'
kusugaq 'icicle'
kuvvisiq 'sprinkles new snow'
makkaq 'snow house dome'
mannguktuq 'melting snow'
mannguuktiqtuq 'stuck in melting snow'
manngumaaqsijuq 'walk in soft snow'
makpattuq 'snow becomes flat'
maqpakitigaq 'snow blocks cut horizontally'
masak 'slush'
matsaaq 'half melting snow'
masangnaqsijuq 'wet snow'
maujaq 'deep snow'
mimiqpaaq 'knob on rod to search for snow house snow'
misaliraq 'snow and water mixed'
muranaq/muruiniq 'soft ground or snow'
murjuniq 'mixture of water and ice'
naannguaq 'snow mound'
nataqqurnaq 'sleet'
natiruviaktuq 'ground drifting'
nilak 'freshwater ice'
nilaruvak 'snow marbles'
ninniq 'pile snow'
niummak 'deep soft newly-fallen snow'
nutigiikkut 'something to prevent the snow from getting a burnt taste'
patuktuq 'ice crystal'
piiqsiliqtuq 'beginning to snow'
piiqturiniqtaataq 'ligh snow'
piqsiqtuq 'snow blowing/blizzard'
piqtuluk 'blowing snow'
puikkangajuq 'salt on snow'
pukaq 'uniformly soft snow'
pukak 'sugar snow'
pukajaaq 'granular/crystallized snow'
pukaingajuq 'harder but breakable snow'
qairniq 'flat ice'
qaniktuq 'SNOW/falling snow'
qanikkuk 'wet falling snow'
qaniaraq 'light falling snow'
qaniut 'fully snow/on the ground snow'
qanniapiktuq 'snow flurry'
qanniqtuq 'snow fall'
qannitaijaqtuq 'snow removed'
qaquviraq 'snow house roof'
qarruaq 'soft snow'
qilaktittuq 'soft snow
qilatirinaq 'snow house roof hole'
qillaaniq 'sparking snow'
qimugjuk 'snow drift/shaped snow'
qingainnguq 'brilliant ice crystals falling'
qiqirrituq 'snow squeaky once'
qiqumaaq 'snow with frozen surface'
qiqsuqaq glazed snow in thaw time
qiqsuqaktuq 'Snow crusted'
qukaarnaqtuq 'Light snow is made of small flakes or crystals of snow'
quasaq 'glare ice'
quna 'slush ice'
saligaq 'fashion snow blocks'
salittutuq 'thin block for snow'
sapgut 'rod with rounded end for testing snow for snow house'
sapgusaqtuq 'test snow with snow rod'
siiminnasiuqtuq 'sled catches on hard snow'
siku 'ice'
sikuliaq 'youngest ice'
siqumniq 'ice pan/broken ice'
sikuuttuq/immiugaksaq 'freshwater ice'
sisuuq 'avalanche'
sisaguqpaa 'compress snow'
sitilluqqaq 'harder packed snow'
taluaq 'snow screen'
tammaaqaaqtuq 'new snow house (and feels cold)'
tiluttuut 'snow rod'
tugaliaq 'ice house'
tugu 'shore ice'
tukiqsinilijuq 'harden snow into ice'
tullaaliuqpuq 'make snow house with trodden snow '
tuvaq 'ice floe/shorefast ce'
tuvaruqpuq 'ice is thick'
turuuq 'ice chiseler'
uqalujaq 'snow lump'
uqaluraq 'tongue-like snow drift'
uqqusiiqtutuq 'flurry of hail/snow'



The satirical list of words written by Phil James for the online ezine, Word, entitled “The Eskimos’ Hundred Words for Snow”.
tlapa powder snow
tlacringit snow that is crusted on the surface
kayi drifting snow
tlapat still snow
klin remembered snow
naklin forgotten snow
tlamo snow that falls in large wet flakes
tlatim snow that falls in small flakes
tlaslo snow that falls slowly
tlapinti snow that falls quickly
kripya snow that has melted and refrozen
tliyel snow that has been marked by wolves
tliyelin snow that has been marked by Eskimos
blotla blowing snow
pactla snow that has been packed down
hiryla snow in beards
wa-ter melted snow
tlayinq snow mixed with mud
quinaya snow mixed with Husky shit
quinyaya snow mixed with the shit of a lead dog
slimtla snow that is crusted on top but soft underneath
kriplyana snow that looks blue in the early morning
puntla a mouthful of snow because you fibbed
allatla baked snow
fritla fried snow
gristla deep fried snow
MacTla snow burgers
jatla snow between your fingers or toes, or in groin-folds
dinliltla little balls of snow that cling to Husky fur
sulitlana green snow
mentlana pink snow
tidtla snow used for cleaning
ertla snow used by Eskimo teenagers for exquisite erotic rituals
kriyantli snow bricks
hahatla small packages of snow given as gag gifts
semtla partially melted snow
ontla snow on objects
intla snow that has drifted indoors
shlim slush
warintla snow used to make Eskimo daiquiris
mextla snow used to make Eskimo Margaritas
penstla the idea of snow
mortla snow mounded on dead bodies
ylaipi tomorrow's snow
nylaipin the snows of yesteryear ("neiges d'antan")
pritla our children's snow
nootlin snow that doesn't stick
rotlana quickly accumulating snow
skriniya snow that never reaches the ground
bluwid snow that's shaken down from objects in the wind
tlanid snow that's shaken down and then mixes with sky-falling snow
ever-tla a spirit made from mashed fermented snow,
popular among Eskimo men
talini snow angels
priyakli snow that looks like it's falling upward
chiup snow that makes halos
blontla snow that's shaken off in the mudroom
tlalman snow sold to German tourists
tlalam snow sold to American tourists
tlanip snow sold to Japanese tourists
protla snow packed around caribou meat
attla snow that as it falls seems to create nice pictures
in the air
sotla snow sparkling with sunlight
tlun snow sparkling with moonlight
astrila snow sparkling with starlight
clim snow sparkling with flashlight or headlight
tlapi summer snow
krikaya snow mixed with breath
ashtla expected snow that's wagered on (depth, size of flakes)
huantla special snow rolled into "snow reefers" and smoked
by wild Eskimo youth
tla-na-na snow mixed with the sound of old rock and roll
from a portable radio
depptla a small snowball, preserved in Lucite, that had been handled
by Johnny Depp
trinkyi first snow of the year
tronkyin last snow of the year
shiya snow at dawn
katiyana night snow
tlinro snow vapor
nyik snow with flakes of widely varying size
ragnitla two snowfalls at once, creating moire patterns
akitla snow falling on water
privtla snow melting in the spring rain
chahatlin snow that makes a sizzling sound as it falls on water
hootlin snow that makes a hissing sound as the
individual flakes brush
geltla snow dollars
briktla good building snow
striktla snow that's no good for building
erolinyat snow drifts containing the imprint of crazy lovers
chachat swirling snow that drives you nuts
krotla snow that blinds you
tlarin snow that can be sculpted into the delicate corsages
Eskimo girls pin to their whale parkas at prom time
motla snow in the mouth
sotla snow in the south
maxtla snow that hides the whole village
tlayopi snow drifts you fall into and die
truyi avalanche of snow
tlapripta snow that burns your scalp and eyelids
carpitla snow glazed with ice
tla ordinary snow

Thank you to Shelly and Dean for the picture and Inuktitut list. I have no idea who took the picture. If anyone does, please let me know.

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The Chickenman

He hath arrived, the Chickenman. He emerges from the depths of the tunnel system and prowls the hospital campus subterranean corridors, guided by his flattened nose. The waft of cooked food causes this behemoth to present itself for inspection under pale neon lights; his eyes seek only the dark golden brown of fried meat poultry and haven’t a glance to spare for any people in the vicinity. It is not as if the creature were blind, although one would suspect some visual impairment as they attempt to locate the eyes, which themselves are small, watery and partially concealed behind hillocks of flesh surrounding the ocular opening.

He slips between steam tables like a Hummer H2 easing into a compact car parking spot. Small salt and ketchup packets maintain their geocentric obit around his mass before being thrown briefly out of trajectory as a meaty fist swats them away. Food service workers slowly curl their fingers into their palms, in much the same way that a zookeeper would protect stray digits from the maul of a carnivore. Small children, sensing imminent danger, fly to the safety of their parent or grandparent, and survey Chickenman warily as he makes his way to the chicken counter.

The Chickenman is not to be trifled with. 6’ 5” and weighing in around the same as a VW Bug, his size intimidates other canteen patrons. He grunts and snatches a large Styrofoam take-out container in one hand and a large plastic dinner plate in the other. He assaults the stainless steel “dark meat” chicken bins, leaving only crumbs in his wake. It is nothing short of chicken brigandage.

Into the container go every last moist and tender thigh and leg. It is packed beyond capacity, bulging in protest to the unnatural amount of cooked carcass parts encased therein. Onto the plate goes the same, and the plastic moans ominously under the hefty burden.

Chickenman waddles to the cashier, who seems apathetic toward the (daily!) event and she rings him out to the tune of $40. VAMC Canteen chicken is slightly less expensive per piece than the average gumball at your local convenience store. Chickenman rummages through his pockets and locates a thick was of cash, neatly peels a few tens from the roll, and fumbles once again to pocket his valuable money.

Chickenman ambles towards a booth and squeezes his mass between table and bench. His generous frontage, be it man-breasts or displaced belly meat, mounds over the lip of the small Formica table. His breath comes in grunted puffs as he situations himself, rolling left to right in an effort to situate the bulging rolls of fat on his thighs and buttocks. The bench creeks ominously and then Chickenman rests, the lower portion of his gut overlapping his kneecaps and the upper portion taking up too much space on the table top. Chickenman doesn’t care.

He sets upon the plate of chicken. He eats at an alarming rate, dark lips and yellowing teeth pulling breading and flesh from bone and sucking them into a cavernous hole. The air is peppered by wet smacking and slurping sounds, and small food particles scatter across the table. Chickenman finishes a thigh, carefully gnawing the last vestiges of cartilage from the ends of the bone, and then dabs each greasy finger on his tongue. He starts on a leg. The activity is indecent.

In less than twelve minutes the carnage has come to an end. Twenty stripped bones lay bare on the plate as Chickenman noses about for anything that might have made a bid for freedom. A fat finger presses down on crumbs, forcing them to stick to the end of the digit so that they might be easily lifted to the mouth. Satisfied that nothing edible can be had from the bones, Chickenman’s shoulders lean back and he proffers a growling, gritty belch of chicken-flavored air.

He heaves himself out of the booth and departs, clutching the carryout container possessively as if daring Frodo Baggins to snatch it away from him and throw it into the cracks of Mt. Doom. Back into the darkened tunnel system he goes, taking refuse in the crumbling underground network connecting all the buildings on campus.

This is his existence, this phantom of the canteen, this freakish creature of Highland Drive. I see him depart and I take inventory of my own fingers and toes, and vow to only consume salads from this day forth.

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A Sad Tale

Every now and then I stop to read the news. I chastise myself afterwards; it seems that the world is filled with horrific circumstances that only seem to validate my decision to remove myself from the bustle of a major city.

Teen Charged in Bizarre Missing Dog Case is one such tale (I caution my kind-hearted readers to skip this article.) My heart breaks for this gentleman. The worthless teenager will most likely receive a slap on the wrist. No punishment will bring back the beautiful dog.

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Christmas Eve, a reflection

The daylight on Christmas Eve seemed to shine a little brighter, and the air became somewhat crisper. This is perhaps only my own personal perception of the day yet I feel as if things were much more in focus. The melodious peal of a finely crafted silver bell would surely have been a timorous footnote tucked in as an afterthought to the profoundly overwhelming glory my eyes did feast upon whilst I went about my morning. I enjoyed distant birdsong instead, and the eerie whoosh of the wind through the unclothed boughs of my maple tree.

We forwent the usual Christmas Eve dinner and made do with our local Chinese restaurant tonight. Steubenville is a peaceful town even on Christmas Eve. We needed a few sundries from the grocer and my hair was in dire need of a trim and so we ventured out into the cold.

I would never have dared to leave the house and approach any shops had we lived anywhere other than here. It is as if this were the town that never learned how to be rude. There were a few people whom I wished had a little more goodwill towards their fellow man (or children!) but most of the people that we encountered were as upbeat as a merry carol.

We were out of the beauty parlor in a short amount of time and the only thing that held us up at the grocery store was perhaps my indecision in regard to some cuts of meat and a pair of trouser socks (I should have picked up a cheap pair while we walked through Sears, but it slipped my mind.)

The evening air is tranquil now, broken now and then by a distant siren or the laughter of a neighbor welcoming in guests from the cold. Jewel boxes glimmer over hill and dale, a myriad of festive lights outlining merry homes. The world seems pensive.

Better Half and I will snuggle up with each other in the living room (he found a copy of “The Iron Giant”) and struggle to keep awake until it is time to prepare for Midnight Mass at Holy Rosary. How glad I am to be able to attend this year! (Our vehicle was at the dealership undergoing repairs during the holidays in 2006.)

These are the memories that I will savor everlastingly. This tranquility is what carries me through the year. I wish you all the best on Christmas day, and throughout 2008.

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Kiwi (A Master Thesis)

Better Half comes to mind -

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Wine Tasting

It is time for the annual Christmas Picture of Autrice. I have pasted it above so that you might break a rib or two in laughter.


We attended a splendid wine tasting this evening. Better Half thought it would be a romantic change of pace (he was correct) so we bundled up and headed over to Valley Wine Cellar.

Kim and Mary, the proprietors, outdid themselves. I absolutely adore their shop, if only because the colors match the colors in my own house. They are a sumptuous blend of deep reds and golden silk, pared with whimsical wine posters. It speaks of Northern Italy (or Southern France) and they have furnished it with rich drapery and an “orgasmicly” comfortable couch. Tonight the glass coffee table was laden with a plethora of fine cheeses, crackers, vegetables and dried fruits.

The Presenter, Erika Young, provided us with a sampling from France, New Zealand, Chile and Italy. I have never given much though to Chilean wines however I did find the Santa Rita “Reserva” Caernet Sauvignon to be surprisingly refreshing.

The Petalo Moscato Spumante was the crowd favorite (I am quite fond of Spumante, personally.) It has a magnificent golden color and a fine, persistent perlage. I found the rose aroma to be a delightful prelude to the sweet taste of the apple and peach flavoring.

I was smitten with the 2000 Chateau Larose-Trintaudon. 2000 proved to be a fantastic growing season in the Bordeaux region and this wine stood as an unblemished testament to that fact. We promptly purchased a bottle before they sold out.

The Macon Lungy “les Charmes” captured our fancy, and Better Half procured a bottle for Christmas day. I absolutely adore this perky Chardonnay.

Granted, these are all rather inexpensive but only a boorish wine snob would spend more than $30 for an everyday table wine. I do wonder how many people actually do use wine every day. I also wonder if I will remember to pick up a new corkscrew at the grocery store tomorrow. Our old one has taken to shredding corks.

It was a cheery evening spent with charming people. We have an open invitation to visit a neighbor’s pond (Better Half and I have toyed with the idea of putting one in our own backyard.) We also received an invitation to a Christmas gathering a week from tomorrow.

In other news:

Truffle has made a complete recovery and has spent the last few days being an active puppy. She frolicked in her first snowfall yesterday and today.

Better Half hauled all our holiday boxes up from the basement and we put together the Christmas tree. We shall spend the weekend decorating it.

It is not often that an owner can say that their hairstyle matches their dog.

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A Different Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,

Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,

"I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."

"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,

I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."

My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..

Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

(Author unknown)

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The start of the Holidays, 2007

I am filled with a certain dread: the holidays are upon us and my home is not ready. Ten years ago, it would have been completely festooned the day after Thanksgiving. This is 2007 and I finally got around to putting up some garland today.

Better Half hauled up the Box of Indoor Garland this evening and I busied myself with hanging everything to perfection. The boughs must drape in just the right manner. The ribbon and beads must crimp and flow precisely so many inches per arch. The lights must spread evenly throughout the swag with no bunching or dark spots. I am either anal retentive or bipolar/OCD!

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