Dirty Too Fibbing Friday

For a couple of weeks pensitivity101 gave us some unusual words to tantalise our fibbing expertise. This time she decided to turn it on its head and give us a list of familiar words to re-define.

  1. What is a broom?

It’s what my grandson said when I first taught him to ride a motorcycle.  Broom!  Broom!

  1. What is a doughnut?

It’s a method of attempted suicide, using the tight-assed car companies’ wheelbarrow-wheel excuse for a spare tire, because the bootstrap method doesn’t work.  Safety regulations say that you are supposed to travel only a maximum of 50 kilometers, at a maximum speed of 50 KmH, using one.
I’ve been on the Expressway, doing 115 Kmh in a 100KmH zone, and been passed like I was standing still by someone with one on a drive/steering wheel.  I don’t know how the drivers keep the car in a straight line, with it leaning toward me and the ditch.  I slow down, and give them lots of room.  When one of those things goes bad, it’ll take 3 or 4 other vehicles with it.  😳

  1. What is a penny farthing?

It’s the change you’ll get for a pint of Porter, at the pub out Pensitivity’s way.  The civilized portion of the country had already gone decimal with their coinage, and was leaning toward the Euro, before the rational Brexit decision was made.  They don’t cotton to that Daylight Saving Time stuff out there.  Their clocks are always set at 1890.

  1. What is a blanket?

Also known as a wet blanket, he is the death of the party, present only because he’s some sports stud’s wing-man.  He’s the one who, while everyone else is enjoying a little booze, a little grass, and some AC/DC, is prattling endlessly about the cultural significance of carved Popsicle sticks.

  1. What is a socket?

It’s a tag-line from the old Rowan and Martin Laugh-In TV program.  Would I lie to you (again)?  Don’t believe me??  Look here  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6HIzYXZzI0

  1. What is tapestry?

It is/was Carole King’s 1971 album.  I was wrong. I thought it contained the song that she wrote while she was still volunteering at the blood donor clinic, You’re So Vein.

  1. What is e-mail?

He/she/it/they are a member of the newly formed LGBTQ2S+, (A random group of symbols, almost as strange and meaningless as the name of Elon Musk’s 7th son – X Ӕ A-12) unsure whether it is more blessed to give or to receive – perhaps a bit of both if the company is congenial.

  1. What is a shower?

He’s a guy with an unbuttoned Mac, and a compulsion to display his shortcomings.

  1. What is a sandbag?

A golfing groupie  😳  (See; Tiger Woods)

  1. What is chocolate?

It is the delightful concoction that causes my tummy to get round, and the world go ‘round, but sadly, not my blood circulation system.  The plaque I want is like the one that the wife’s godmother got from the Queen, for turning 100, not the stuff that clogs my arteries.

Dirty To Fibbing Friday

The last of the career diplomats having finally vacated their all-expenses-paid, five-star Conference on how to waste taxpayers money, pensitivity101 was able to sweep up another list of esoteric words for us to test our imaginations on.

  1. What are you if you are Mabsoot?
    CONFUSED!!!
    One translation program says that it means extendedness – like a family clan – in Urdu.
    One claims that, in Arabic, or Hebrew slang, it means a happy person. Another insists that it means a life-lesson and challenge. We would have to know just which delegate spewed this gem out.  Was it a Little-Sheet-Head Camel-Chaser pull-start, or a curry-flavored, forehead-dotted push-start??
  2. What does it mean to nidificate?

That’s the scientific term for the Nesting Instinct that some pregnant women get.  What is the Nesting Instinct? It is the name given to the distinctive urge to clean, tidy, and organize that occurs during pregnancy. One of the many pregnancy symptoms that they experience, the nesting instinct generally kicks in around the fifth month of pregnancy, however it can also occur much earlier or much later.  Of course, some women have that instinct all the time.  A chocolate box, and a chocolate Lab dog, are better companions and conversationalists, than a lot of men.

  1. What is a pabouch?

It is a baby, or the way a baby was carried by Indigenous American women as they performed little, day-to-day tasks, that didn’t involve being big man around the teepee.  Everything old is new again, so many modern women are using the same system, although I expect the Woke/Cancel Culture Vultures to soon start carping about Cultural Appropriation.

  1. What is quab?
    It’s the sound that a Danish duck makes. It’s a matter of accent. Norwegian ducks, like the one that Hagar the Horrible owns, pronounce it ‘kvack.’
  2. What is tacenda?
    It’s the new Iceland/Thai fusion food. Essentially, it’s a Sno-Cone with hot sauce.
  3. What does it mean to be ulotrichous?
    It’s a recently-coined neologism describing the actions and attitudes of the newly-formed Woke/Cancel Culture Thought Police. It is being judgmental and Holier-than-thou, with a side order of time travel. Remember when your teacher threatened that, “This will go on your permanent record!”??!  Well, it’s all coming true!  People are being tried, convicted, and sentenced in Star Chamber, kangaroo-courts of public opinion, of 1984-style thought-crimes – things they wrote and said, decades ago, before learning better, and changing.  😯
  4. What is waftage?
    It is a measure of how far and fast a bean and jalapeno burrito fart will spread in a closed room. If the dog gets up and glares at you, and your girlfriend’s eyes are teary, even if you’re not watching Eat, Pray, Love, you have good ventilation.
  5. What does it mean to yaff?
    That is a type of left-handed Lithuanian, or inverse, knitting, where the pattern appears on the inside. It’s not as pretty, but it is claimed to be warmer. Do not confuse this with TINK – which is KNIT backwards – where you have to rip out about 26 rows, because you made a mistake back there, and if you don’t go back to correct it, Aunt Eileen’s jumper is going to end up looking like a Moebius Strip.
  6. What is to yuke?
    To yuke is to play the uke, or ukulele. When exploring European sailing ships began stopping at the Hawaiian Islands, individual sailors sometimes traded hand-made, miniature 4-string guitars, or lutes, to the natives.

Sadly, they usually didn’t stay around long enough to explain about tuning them.  The natives developed a slack-sting playing style.  Like the oboe (below), and the Chinese two-string bowed banjo, they produce an eardrum-piercing, atonal cacophony, only exceeded when Fran Drescher played The Nanny.

  1. What is zabaglione?

It is a Music College in Parma, Italy, where the only instrument they teach is the mournful oboe.  I don’t know how much career opportunity there is in always being ‘The Duck’ in the Peter and the Wolf Symphony.  The rest of the orchestra claim that they use the oboe to tune up to.  I think they’re just trying to drown out that awful noise.

Cool Cats

sdc10369

Another post about cats, in the shameless pursuit of blog-stats – but first….let me tell you about my dog. My dog eats peanuts.

It started innocently enough, with a handful of peanuts, for me – and a forlorn, mooching dog in front of me. ‘Offer him one.  He’s a carnivore.  He won’t take it.’ But he did, and another, and another….  Now it’s a daily ritual – he gets 8 or 9 peanuts, and I get to read my newspaper in peace.

The wife decided to cut off his soft dog-food, and feed him only hard kibble, to help clean his teeth. He has allergies to grass.  I give him an antihistamine a day, to cut down on his scratching and licking.  I used to put them in his soft food – now what??  Put a dab of peanut butter on the end of a kitchen knife, embed the pill in it, and scrape it off against his front teeth.  Schlurp, schlurp!

Dogs will come when you call them. And they’ll be happy.
Cats will have someone take a message and maybe get back to you.

sdc10385

I should paint a yellow line down my spine, not ‘cuz I’m chicken, but because this guy has taken to walking on my back (and Shimoniac’s). Like the peanuts, it also started innocently.  I stopped and knelt on a step, just below the half-landing, going upstairs, to pet and skritch him.  Somehow he oozed around the corner, up a couple of steps, and walked through the railing, onto my back.

I don’t know if he’s petting me, like I pet him, or establishing dominance. Now, whenever I go to the basement storage room, he jumps up on the freezer to get ruffled, and walks all over my back.

An exposed back is not safe! The day he leapt from the landing as I bent over at the bottom of the stairs to put my boots on, was….interesting.  I often kneel when I clean out the litter tray in the basement.  To have him pounce is not unusual.  To have him do it, just as I stand up, has him clinging to my shirt.

Then one night I did it with no shirt on, That required almost a whole tube of antiseptic cream, and sleeping on my stomach for a couple of days.

Matthew & Tonka

If I walk past this needy big fellow on a table or TV stand, he often reaches out to pull me in. He’s the most trusting, and loving of my cats.  When we snuggle (almost every evening as I read), he licks my moustache and eyebrows, and rubs his face against my glass frames.  He lies on the back of my chair and licks/grooms my hair.

Picture 163

Our little female has helped herself to some of my chocolate milk a number of times, when it’s sitting on the end table beside my chair, minding its own business.  She’s lost a lot of teeth, so liquid nourishment is good for her.  A couple of Christmases, she’s also sampled eggnog.

I’ve left out one of my cats, and I have lots more interesting information about cats, but you’re already looking at me the way I look at Jehovah’s Witnesses, when they come to call, so I’ll just end with a bit of feline humor.  Have a chuckle or two at the expense of cat owners/lovers, and come back soon.

Signs that your cat is the owner and you are the pet:

  1. You get up as many times as they demand to be let in and out of the room.
  2. You feed them tiny pieces of food, which you go through the trouble of cutting up, whenever they stare at your plate of food.
  3. You run the faucet for them whenever they feel like playing with water (never mind the fact they have a filtered water fountain).
  4. You hold them for however long they desire to stare out of the window (usually 5+ minutes).
  5. You let them redesign the household any way they want. (Books on the floor instead of shelves? OK!)
  6. You feed them treats whenever they forlornly play with their empty interactive treat toy.
  7. You get up to play with them whenever they pounce on you, even if you are in the middle of writing an important email/blog/essay, etc.
  8. You let them choose the side of the bed they want to sleep on first and sleep on whatever space they designate to you.

If more than four of these are true, you are the pet.   😆

 

Something’s Cooking

Baking, actually.  It’s a good thing I have a few posts ahead in the drafts file, or I wouldn’t even have been able to put out the desperate few I did, the last week or so.  We’ve been making Christmas cookies.  We two fruitcakes also made two fruitcakes.  I can’t figure out how to Email the second one to KayJai, so I guess we’ll be forced to eat it ourselves.

In the last couple of weeks, the wife and I, with some help from both daughter and son, have made up 80 to 90 dozen cookies.  First we laid in supplies, a flat of 2 ½ dozen fresh eggs, ten pounds of butter, two 10 lb. bags of flour, plus nuts, flavoring, decorations, chocolate, and stuff even I don’t know about.

We made up 11 different types – two different versions of Scottish shortbreads, three flavors of hard meringues, thumbprints, Yule logs, oat delights, several shapes of cookie-pressed spritz, some decorated sugar cookies, and a batch of ginger snaps.  I know ginger snaps don’t seem like a Christmas cookie, but I’ll try to explain later.  Each different batch yielded 6 to 8 dozen little bite-sized gems.

It all started because my wife is the youngest of nine children in a Bad Good Catholic family.   Well into her late twenties and early thirties, she was treated as if she couldn’t cook, despite her next oldest brother, a trained Chef, admitting that she cooked better than him.  For the summer family picnic, she was told to “Just bring chips and dip.”  For the Christmas celebration, it was, “We’ve got the main courses.  You just bring cookies.”  So she learned how to make homemade cookies.

My good Scottish mother taught her how to make real Scottish shortbreads.  The secret is working the dough by hand, so that the skin warmth causes the butter to meld with the flour and sugar, to produce a literal melt-in-your-mouth Ambrosia.  This year, instead of using white sugar, she produced a second batch with Canadian Maple Sugar.  If the Americans ever invade Canada, it will be to get those cookies.

The grandson is allergic to wheat flour, so she found cookies with no flour, not just for him, but he loves them.  Hard meringues are just lots of egg whites and sugar, whipped till they’re stiff.  Three different batches, all with different stuff mixed in, one got shredded dark chocolate and hazelnuts, one had slivered almonds and Skor bits, and the last received finely chopped glazed cherries and coconut.  Dollop on a sheet of parchment and bake low and slow, till firm.

Oat delights are melted chocolate, shortening, rolled oats and coconut, mixed together.  No need for baking.  Form into small globs on a cookie sheet.  When the chocolate solidifies, they’re ready to eat.

Yule logs, thumbprints and spritz cookies all have a shortbread-like base.  Yule logs are rolled to finger-like size and shape, and baked.  The next day they have the tops dipped by hand into chocolate and set aside to harden.  Thumbprints are rolled into ping-pong balls, dipped in egg-white, rolled in chopped walnuts and half a glazed cherry pressed into the tops, then baked.

Spritz cookies are dispensed by a cookie-press, so that they, but not me, are fresh-pressed.  Variously sized and shaped bottom dies give crosses, Christmas trees, and lobed discs.  These have colored sugar balls and other shapes pressed in by hand before baking.

While making cookies for the family gathering years ago, the wife threw out her back.  We had just received a flyer from a new chiropractor, working from the basement of his home, a half a mile away.  I called and he said to bring her over.  It’s 9:30 at night!  You mean, in the morning, right?  No!  No!  Bring her now.  We went over.  He cured the problem, we took along a card-box of cookies as a thank-you, and a tradition was born.

When the wife was forced to give up her family, because they were toxic, en masse, we needed somewhere to put all these cookies.  Each year the number of cookies given to the doctor and his family grew, as his family increased.  Sugar cookies were added to the mix, specifically for the kids, and the Christmas cake recipe was developed for the adults’ more refined tastes.

Sugar cookies, rolled out flat and baked, are bland and uninteresting.  As with so many things worth doing, the wife decided to improve on them.  We began icing them, not just with a sugar glaze, but with a colored, flavored glaze.  Bells are coated with a gold, maple flavor, stars, snowflakes and snowmen get white, almond.  I slather green, mint on holly wreaths.  Stockings get red, cherry, except for a white cuff.  I stripe candy-canes red and white.

The wife makes sure bears and reindeer look natural in brown, gravy?  No. Peanut butter? No!  Sugar beads, bells and bows, along with other shapes, and coarse, colored sugar, are all added to dress them up.  Their stockings all have their names in burnt-sugar coloring on the cuffs.  We cut out boy-shapes and girl-shapes.  The daughter, with the best eye, the steadiest hand, and the most artistic flair, turns these into representations of the kids.  Kids?  Hah!  They were when we started, 25 years ago.  The cookies have grown with them.

Two of the girls are married.  She made one girl-cookie into a young school-marm, with a book on the front of her pretty frock.  Another married daughter is also a teacher, but more of a free-spirit, so her cookie looked more like a hippie in a flow-y skirt.  The third was dressed in a ball-gown, with a string of pearls.  The son, the youngest, and studying to be a pharmacist, got his cookie with a pharmacist’s jacket, and his studious glasses.  One new husband is a painter.  His boy-cookie came with a paint spattered sweatshirt and blue jeans.  The other is a bit of a gamer, so his showed a controller on the tummy.

The kids have loved these personalized presents for years.  Even now, *grown-up*, they and their spouses still want the fun, and the recognition.  Pictures are taken and stories are told to friends and co-workers.  The family has built a Christmas tradition.  First they exchange and open presents, then they all sit down to pots of tea, and our cookies for a family brunch.  While making this mass can be a bit (lot?) of work, it’s also fun, and what we do to release tension.  The joy and appreciation make it all worthwhile….and there’s leftovers till February.

Oops, almost forgot.  We found that the chiropractor’s favorite cookies are Ginger snaps, so we include a canful, for him.  He claims he takes them downstairs to the office, and the rest of the family doesn’t even know about them.