The Case of The Arf-ful Dodgers: Who Do You Call- Lassie or Pywackit?

I was raised all my life with animals.

A grandfather, uncles, cousins,

all in the performing animal film industry-

over a hundred dogs, four horses, a few camels,

and a very famous cat-

no not the one who cha-chas backwards for cat chow.

Think more a severely Cumberbatch of a cat,

with a collar and bells.

And as to the owners-

they trained with love-

only-

If an animal won’t do it for love,

and because it is in his nature,

you can neither beat nor feed him into it.

And if you put in enough time

and love

the animals will eventually build a pack-

a clan, as my family called it,

in which any of the dogs would do anything for the others.

Which I always thought was good advice when dealing with people.

The biggest thing I learned though,

was doggy nature.

And doggy humor.

Which I personally think is infinitely funnier than ours.

For dogs are actually smarter than we think.

They just hide it well.

Or do you think it isn’t planned when they uproot every plant in the house

and plant them in the garden.

And then put their toys in the pots.

Rawhide bone in the rose-bush pot,

Biscuits for begonias,

Fox, stuffed, for fuchsias,

and chew toys for calla lilies.

Oh, and then there are the socks, used and stolen from the washer,

under the settee.

And of course,

in order to survive with dogs-

the mathematical side of whose brain is larger than ours,

relatively speaking-

and who are much bigger thinkers-

like the often demonstrated concept

that if a dog shows that he can add numbers from one to a hundred,

he and his owner can get on the Late Night or Tonight show.

And then there is cogitation-

ever watch a dog choose just which person and which object to nudge

to get maximal attention,

because they are bored ?

But most of all,

of course,

animals act.

Fire dogs drag people from raging fires,

and family dogs,

pull their family members unconscious from flames.

And our Airedale, Mugg, was famous for picking up visiting,

and wandering off,

toddlers

by their diapers,

and putting them back in the playpen set up for the purpose.

And then there are the psychic tricks.

Animals know when a storm is coming,

or earthquakes,

or a long winter,

with squirrel, moose, bear and deer

coming right up to the door.

And of course,

unfortunately,

recently there is a huge jump in the number of explosive recognizing dogs.

In fact,

in most recent times,

quite a large number of dogs have developed  a very special ability,

to recognize dangerous weirdos on the streets.

Note:  If you see a dog stare at someone’s eyes,

and take off,

ditto.

And finally,  in this age of people constantly on-line

and chasing Pokemons

or whatever,

we need the most special dogs of all,

in fact, the most special dogs ever trained-

like the guide dogs for the blind,

hearing dogs,

or the special dogs for the emotionally afraid.

A breed of dogs,

living,

or in the case of the laboratory prototypes,

android,

that will follow those in danger

and save them

from the consequences of their electronic addiction.

All hail-

K-17

the canine computer companion.

No computer should be  sold without one.

copyright dunnasead.co 2017

Dragons’ Breath, Writers’ Breath, Save Your Breath.

What is it about breath that makes people so flip out they haven’t got any to spare?

If you look at the Chinese medicine 5 element system:  wood, fire, water, metal, earth,

add in the air

from Earth, Wind, and Fire,

and you get:

our body’s warmed-air-breathing plus blood circulation.

aka

survival.

Cool.

In, out, and around.

Use it up living.

Replace it.

First boil everything down to the basics,

and then do something about it.

Yup.

And although I freely admit, I only follow the five elements when it to my advantage,

sorry to those of you who diligently care for your bodies

in the esoteric style,

I do have to concede that –

when you follow the 5 elements,

and all of the other Zone Diet, Air Force Diet, Low Carb,

eat only 2 bags of potato chip diets out there on the market-

well, maybe not the potato chip thing,

that would be irresponsible, right?

I do find myself feeling slightly more energetic.

Gasp.

Or….

you can just do a whole lot of breathing when you get up in the morning-

that’s dragon’s breath,

then sing somewhere for a couple of hours-

that’s celestial angels’ breath, thank you very much, or…

and here a quick pause for a footnote-

doctors over here actually send patients to singers like me,

it’s that or primal scream therapy-

or laugh yoga,

their choice, not mine,

to free the breathing apparatus,

circulate the blood,

raise the hormone level,

help with tumors-

yes, I am serious,

and,

if you join an a capella choir,

increase your hearing and concentration.

(Not that I dislike instruments,

but after being knocked off a stage once

by sudden pounding from a set of tympani right behind me

during a performance of Handel’s Messiah…

yes it did happen,

and

yes, this is one of the things that happens when you breathe right.

So where were we-

oh yes,

dragon’s breath,

celestial breath,

writer’s breath-

that moment when you are living with your character,

breathing along with each breath she takes,

and discover that your heroine has a pulse,

as does each of your characters,

easily measurable with a metronome,

which can be set, for real,

to get you back to that tempo the next morning,

when you get up,

kill your dragon’s breath with meditation,

or prayer,

and black tea,

add in a little celestial  breath,

rockin’ to the beach boys is good, good, good,

and go for it-

Writer’s breath.

Metronome setting 110 mm for a conductor character of mine,

about 130 for a fast-movin’ teacher.

Oh, about the save your breath…

that’s for all the worthless computer stalkers out there.

I would be happy to give you therapy:

Just get a life.

And breathe for once.

copyright dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: What’s The Plogli Word For ‘Take A Hike?’

When I went to college,

all of us language major types,

high-minded as we were,

did our bit for world unity,

by learning Swahili.

Don’t ask me.

It was the thing at the time.

Then, in grad school,

after I met my mathematical other half,

we moved to Cologne,

where it was de rigueur

to learn Celtic.

Yup. I’m serious.

Germans are mad for all things Irish.

If you doubt it, read Heinrich Böll’s Irish Diary.

Fascinating.

So there I was.

Trying to learn Celtic.

From a book called “Teach yourself Irish”

used in a course

taught by a marvelous seventy-five-plus year old comparative linguist,

Bavarian by birth,

and with the strongest, most undecipherable Bavarian accent I had ever heard,

when he wasn’t speaking perfect Irish.

Or Oxford English.

Or one of about 28 other languages he spoke.

And brilliantly too.

But just, unfortunately for me,

not German.

And,

after discovering how many words in Irish

actually “had Bavarian roots,”

if you just derived it, indo-germanically speaking,

and skipped about three evolutionary steps…

except of course, for the Irish words like bin,

which ends up in English as bin (think dust bin)

-Or was the thing about evolution the other way around?

Hey, it’s been a while, ok?

(In case you are interested, there is a fantastic book,

by Karl Amery, Das Königsprojekt,

which you can probably find in English translation,

about how the Vatican actually used HG Wells’ Time Machine

to go back in history,

to get back the throne of Scotland,

actually stolen from the Bavarians…

Where was I…  ?

Ah yes…

So…

After I actually, really, truly, indeed, did get my required course papers for linguistics,

(application language Irish)

surely highly useful outside of Ireland,

hmmm-

and promptly recognized that although I could derive a lot of words,

like whiskey,

I would have to wait till I spent time in Ireland

before I really learned to speak Irish.

From this page, to God’s ear.

So…

moving right along,

my next stop on the language learning trail was…

yup.

Esperanto.

Which, although the idea is good,

in my opinion, has just far too many words from standard European languages,

like English, Spanish, French, etc.

Hey, exotic ought to be exotic, right?

Besides, by that time, I was teaching, writing, making music,

broke,

and without time.

Until…

enter the livelihood-killing competition…

Klingon for beginners.

Three times as many per class as my pitiful “you ought to speak German if you live in Germany!”

A huge success among free-lance language teachers.

And travel agents.

Register for the course and the comic con on the same day!

So…

since the university I was  originally working for suddenly closed its local operations,

and the preferred language for other English language teaching posts over here

is Scottish, London, Welsh, Irish, Jamaican,

or any other variation you can think of except for…

American,

I left the field of English as a second language, German for foreigners, etc etc.

With a heavy heart, I have to admit,

since the people in my courses fascinated me.

Hope you have as great a time as I did, nephew mine,

who we are proud as punch of

for just graduating in linguistics,

with top honors,

despite full-time work,

and a family.

You are the best.

Oh, and since I just read this morning

that the University of California at Berkeley

“will offer a summer linguistics course inspired by Dothraki,

one of the fictional languages spoken on Game of Thrones…”

Jump in fast, everyone,

because,

Hey, who knows.

Maybe if the linguistics field keeps developing like it is,

one day, to get a job,

you will have to have a language degree from

Chraratch,

or

K*ell,

the Plogli words for

Harvard,

and Yale.

Happy Summer Semester, everybody.

Copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: Since When Is A BLT Mathematical?

Today, while typing away at a long piece I am working on,

and getting a bit “Peckish”-

Harold and I grew up on Monty Python-

the derivation of which name I once had to explain to an English class of mine,

to much amusement,

and a whole lot of questions about the historical Monty

(General Montgomery)

he who never went into battle without a full breakfast,

versus the American concept of “the whole nine yards”

(football, of course)

which “whole nine yards,” in British,  is “the full Monty”-

which brought us to a discussion of the film-

a PG about human spirit and survival,

(and male strippers, in case you don’t know)

very popular over here,

And then,

since this language course I was giving is advanced,

and I had to show some value for money,

I taught them the differences between British and American pronunciation,

including the fact that python- pie-thon in American,

in British is pronounced pithin,

which, of course led to-

huge amounts of amusement,

and laughter,

and questions I really didn’t want to answer,

about synonyms for “pithin”

categorized by dialectical origin, if you please,

like I said- advanced,

and finally,

me going home and making myself a BLT.

Well, actually, a haloumi cheese, lettuce and tomato,

and very tasty it was

but still…

So, before I was so rudely interrupted

by trivial,

but educating-

(I is a teacher, remember)

memories from the past,

loop back to the top with me, if you will.

To find our heroine,

me,

typing away,

frantically,

trying to remember where it was I left H,

my heroine,

I’ll explain some time,

and whether the church is high enough for…

well, you’ll just have to read it,

when,

there is a sudden call from the master’s lair-

“Oh good grief, not BLT’s again.”

“Well, actually, I was planning corn for supper, sweetie, but….”

“no, not that kind of BLT”

“with peanut butter and bacon?…  Cheese and salad?”

“It’s mathematical.”

“Oh”

“Bounded Linear Transformation.”

“uh…”

(it’s best not to disagree when these math fits come over them…

his look said it all:

“It’s functional analysis.”

“I think I’ll go get some ice tea to go with that.”

“No. BLT. You know…”

Oh my, yes. I do know.

Like the conference I accompanied him to-

section topic:  donuts and sombreros,

as in “a topologist is a person who can’t tell a donut from a coffee cup-

But can tell a donut from a sombrero.”

Hey, at least Colorado Springs is a beautiful place to take long walks in,

and the Chinese buffet supper was extraordinary.

Especially since we almost didn’t get to eat it,

since the conference participants refused to leave the table to go to the buffet,

until someone had solved a problem from that year’s Russian math olympics.

So…

Almost an hour later….

Oh well.

When you’re a “math enabler…”

you learn that,

should the hot session of  “quo Vadis Analysis,” heat up,

and the writing on the paper doilies under the drinks become more important

than your Shirley Temple,

you can almost always get a BLT.

From room service.

Somehow though,

since they are really good guys,

and always good for a blog story,

you just gotta love a mathematician.

Copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: Of Pigs’ Heads, Gaussian Libations, And Ascension Day Incense.

It’s bridge week here in Gutenberg Land.

And that means:

On Thursday last week,

all the male Gutenbergers-

(male only, because Thursday,

Ascension day,

is also father’s day here,)

went to high smoky mass with the wife and kids’

no disrespect meant, but when it comes to incense,

we Gutenbergers don’t mess around.

Especially when large amounts of the blend,

made specially for the grand cathedral,

started in the first couple of centuries,

are seen as the best possible preamble to the rest of the day-

grill heaven,

characterized by:

gathering up all the members of the local clubs-

Gutenberger have an average of 5 memberships each-

singers start with membership in at least five choirs,

then add the chicken raisers, computer clubs, at least two sport clubs,

stamps, star wars-

(there’s a choir over here called the next generation, if you can believe it)

historical putting on of armor and marching around like a gladiator club,

or a goat’s beard hat and short leather pants to play Bavarian club.

Either way, on father’s day, all pandorum breaks loose.

As in

after church, as I wrote, you gather the hoards.

And get into busses.

With a half a large pig per bus-

the head will be grilled separately and served with hat and sunglasses.

Then you add in a few members of the accordian club in each bus,

a few huge pots for high alcoholic “punch”

and set off.

Singing.

Spend the night grilling,

and growling,

and offering up ancient Teutonic-

aka Klingon, Viking, or, if mathematicians are along,

mathematical

libations to the powers that be:

Oh Gauss, bless these theorems,

as we deliver them orally,

because we are too potted to write them down.

Then you put on the pig’s hat,

and slide down the hill in the empty pots,

singing the Gutenberg’s equivalent of

one blue fly flew up the flew the other blue fly flew down.

And then you get back in the bus,

and head back home.

Head being the integral word here,

since every window has two singing male heads hanging out of it,

and the carcass of the pig is displayed below them,

roped to the outside.

And how do I,

a mere mortal woman,

know of these wonders of the  male universe?

Well, firstly, I am married to a very male singer-mathematician.

And secondly, I once conducted a male glee club,

whose members refused to hire me until after father’s day,

after having regaled me with these tales,

and having me only remark “oh, how interesting.”

Did I mention, I took a few courses in German ethnology?

Ps. It’s called “bridge week” because, by taking a strategic Friday,

and a couple of midweek days off,

you can bridge the gap to Pentecost,

where you:

go to high mass,

then collect a few busses,

and a half a pig….

copyright Dunnasead.com 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: Hey, We May Survive After All.

Yesterday we took a couple of hours off to meet a distant cousin

in a gorgeous botanical Garden in Frankfurt.

Called the Palm Garden,

you can not only walk the huge area,

and enjoy the lake,

and the flowers,

and the sunshine,

you can also absorb the sounds.

And the smells.

And learn a lot.

About plants.

And, in our case,

from the cousin,

who is an early retiree,

couldn’t stand it and went back to work type,

teacher,

we learned a lot about kids.

And what is really going on in education at the moment

Namely:

That working with all kinds of kids

in the very very difficult Frankfurt school system,

with umpteen languages and cultures,

and umpteen views of God and the world,

literally,

is…

it all depends on the parents.

Yup, parents.

Meaning,

according to her,

and her years and years of experience,

if the home has more books,

and allots more quality time for books

than tv, or,

more importantly today, computers,

the kids will make it.

‘Nuff said.

Ditto for alternative parenting sources like religious institutions,

which, whatever the religious direction,

needs a program that gets the kids involved.

ie a program in our church, for example,

to watch, and discuss, a Blues Brothers film

from the standpoint of what the actors were really saying.

And what the kids thought of the ideas.

And why.

And then they did a kids choir program where they sang a couple of blues brothers songs-

very popular over here.

Or, in the case of a choir project I set up, the old-time gospel John the Revelator,

and Riverside, which is as well-known over here as in the US,

and even O Happy Day, just so the kids heard it, just once, when it wasn’t being used

as a soap commercial, if you can believe it.

So there you have it.

Saving the world, according to E…

Which makes a lot of sense to me.

Namely:

First: parents,

and then church as addendum to the parents,

and then…

of course the schools.

And here I have to admire his cousin.

She has been hit by all the “new and innovative” programs thrown at her,

weathered them all,

and still believes

schools are there to bring kids in touch with books.

When working with a book, the kids have to separate themselves off from the gang,

no computer pings

no others telling them what to think,

and just be still.

And listen,

and think

before they discuss.

Quietly.

And in tolerance.

Not to dispute, but to learn.

And then you have juice.

And graham crackers.

And a short nap.

Play with the class’ rabbit.

And life is good again.

And all that from a couple of hours without a computer.

Copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: What To Do On National Kumquat And Dried Salted Tuna Day.

I admit it.

I’m the kind of person who occasionally looks at a recipe,

while looking for anything,

anything

to read

in the magazines they provide in a dentist’s office.

Then i study it carefully,

decipher the secret,

or two secret ingredients-

gee, it has condensed milk instead of milk and margarine.

Ok.

And then I register that for the next time I get tired of all the healthy soups we eat,

lentil farmhouse,

chicken with glass noodles and coriander-

anything that doesn’t cost much,

take too much time,

need to be cooked instead of microwaved,

while still not coming out of a can or packet.

You get the picture.

So what do you do when you are emptying your mailbox,

so you have room for the other two hundred people who want to sell you a condo,

in Alaska,

In January-

“high tourist time, book now”

and discover-

be still my heart-

today is national kumquat, pickle and pineapple pie day.

As agreed on by the Senators of the great state of….

(Anything to get a vote)

And so,

while madly clicking all the new candidates for the spam file,

I start fantasizing-

since today is national buttermilk biscuit day,

and I am totally fed up with leftover tofu chili with saltines,

I could…

fry a round steak,

fried chicken style,

like in all the old Irish-American survival recipes-

round steak and mash,

corned beef and cabbage…

Then you make milk gravy with the pan drippings,

pour them over the buttermilk biscuits-

and give them to the dog for breakfast,

who will work them off with the twenty kilometer walk you take,

to work off the chicken fried steak.

Or…

you can simply add a pinch of sugar,

and a few raisins,

and invite the neighbors,

or relatives

to coffee,

and impress them with your “scones.”

Hey, fair is fair.

Coffee cake over here is just pizza dough with a large dose of white sugar,

and fruit and whipped cream on top.

So you don’t really taste the crust.

And then, of course, there is the fantasy method.

Make some buttermilk biscuits.

Top them with anything you think might possibly work-

basic:

liverwurst, poached egg, half a hot dog,

add a sauce-

if catsup, mayo, and pickle is good enough for a certain parabola burger chain,

it works for me.

In a pinch it also works on salad,

as “thousand island”

Make a buttermilk biscuit sweet variation-

put them upside down in caramel sauce and walnuts,

sprinkle with cinnamon.

(hey, if you study cooking anthropology,

you will find out that almost anything called  “national cooking”

is based on a mathematical pattern:

Cajun cooking is basically a roux, for example,

no, not that you rue the day…

most of it really actually tastes pretty good-

(a roux is a flour and melted butter paste,

add water,

and lots of hot sauce,

and you have basic more or less Cajun-

don’t write letters.

I know there is a lot more to it.

Then there is German.

Take a potato.

yup, that’s it.

Take a potato.

Potato salad, hot or cold, dumplings, boiled potatoes-

from all the incredibly many types of potatoes here in Gutenberg Land-

baked potatoes only if someone is cooking “British”

Or wants to show they know what goes with “steak.”

Potato pancakes at the market in winter,

fries used to come from a small cart that came through the neighborhoods on a Sunday morning,

right before the two p.m. ice cream truck came around.

Today you mostly buy them “oven ready” in the frozen department.

Or make them yourselves in the mini-friteuses that are so popular here.

Also used for frying mars bars,

in case someone was in Scotland on vacation.

So,

in summation, students,

what can we learn from national kumquat and dried salted tuna day?

The next time you go to the store,

buy a jar of peanut butter,

and a jar of grape jelly.

And then…

Copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: What Do Isis, Osiris, And The 05 Soccer Team Have In Common?

One of the things you have to learn,

preferably fast,

when you move to Gutenberg Land,

is the fact that everything here has a solid tradition,

rules,

values,

and all are written in stone.

Like the legend that the symbol of Gutenberg Land,

Gutenberg University,

and the Gutenberg 05 soccer team,

a white letter y,

contained within a white circle,

and emblazoned on red background,

is the symbol for a wagon wheel.

The personal

“remember how far I have come”

story of a cartwright’s son,

who, somehow, mystically-

as in, “so how did he learn to read and write-

and in Latin, no less?” –

got himself trained, consecrated,

and made head bishop of the Dom-

the major cathedral in Gutenberg Land.

Except, unfortunately, that he didn’t.

I mean, of course, he somehow was trained.

And consecrated.

And became bishop,

If the history books are right,

Of the Gutenberg Dom.

Where his picture was placed in stained glass.

Much later, I assume.

With his symbol of the wagon wheel

to remind him of his simple beginnings.

Could it be that one of the monks found a secret copy

of the story of Dick Whittington’s Cat

in the secret library

set up by that famous Name of the Rose monk

William of Baskerville?

For,

you see,

the secret

that has been blasted out for years,

by historians,

but never really heard by anyone,

because the locals like the legend of the wagon wheel,

and it makes it easier for locals to remember the names of the bishops,

which you have to recite when you take a visitor to the Cathedral,

or they revoke your right to take place in the Carnival  parades on Rose Monday,

is that:

get ready:

the “wagon wheel”

which is now proudly worn on the shirts

of the famous Gutenberg 05 soccer players,

and is on the buses,

and on statues,

and in front of the University,

is not,

gasp,

a wagon wheel.

For

it is actually,

get ready,

The Celtic symbol for Mogu,

the sun-god,

which,

through the centuries,

popped up everywhere here,

and,

since no one, not even the Catholic Church

wanted to destroy ancient monuments,

like the ancient Isis-  Magna Mater temple

which brings in thousands of tourists each year….

And so,

ta da.

Once was Mogu,

now is Willigis.

Worn proudly by the red and white-clad,

including parallel red and white combat stripes across their cheek bones,

grandmothers,

six-year olds,

and dogs in full soccer uniform,

fans of the famous “Willigis wagon wheel” wearing

Gutenberg 05.

And now you know

The Rest Of The Story.

Copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: Of Slitheens, Raxacoricofallipatorian, And The Eurovision Song Contest.

In case you read the above title,

didn’t have a clue what I am writing about,

and therefore squealed

“Eeeew. I don’t think so”

and went back to reading the news about political Armageddon,

the above is from Dr Who.

Well, maybe not the bit about the Eurovision.

That will come later.

But, should you still be thinking,

having now stopped for a moment to read my intro,

that you still just reeeeaaallly aren’t sure –

about reading this blog I mean-

Dr Who is a political satire-

started about fifty years ago

by someone who wanted to free Wales from (tyranny? Old ladies in crowns? Corgies?)

And more important,

entrance into what the first writer felt was an unjust war.

And taxes.

Social mores,

after school science tv,

history….

Weeelll,

fifty years later….

Life, the universe, and everything, right?

So last night-

after one of those days you just want to stuff back in the bottle

and wait for it to turn into something besides vinegar,

we turned on the tube,

sat down on the yoga pillows-

no muscle strengthening, no tube.

Life the universe, and everything,

and watched:

a beautiful little fable about a slimy dinosaur-like being,

from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorian-

(is it just me, or does that sound like someone falling down stairs?)

who is evil, political, a banker,

from a family of bankers,

and wants to use the world for personal purposes.

Oops, sorry,

that was the eight o’clock news.

In this case,

we had a dino

who destroyed people,

to create a rift in the magic stones on the waterfront of Cardiff,

and was de-developed

(spoiler alarm)

into an egg,

the size of an ostrich egg,

with antenna.

After first divesting itself of a suit of human skin,

that,

being too small,

causes it to burp,

and pass wind,

in public.

Loudly.

Sort of like the group of red-scarved football fans

you meet on the narrow-gauge trains

on football game days here in Gutenberg Land-

eating chicken Mcnuggets under a sign that says

“absolutely no eating in the trains”

drinking beer,

under a sign that says

“absolutely no beverages”

and burping loudly

and passing wind.

And all we need is a subsidy

from the national health,

that would allow us to buy a sonic screwdriver,

to transform them back into ostrich eggs,

and send them to that planet

that makes every person automatically laugh out loud

and feel eminently successful,

when he gets the name right.

And you thought this blog wasn’t going to be political.

Oh,

PS

And then there is the Eurovision Song Contest.

Right??

copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

And Gutenberg Lived Here: Residuum On A Bed Of Rocket

Whoever would have guessed that

when I made a quick end run around the leftovers in the fridge today,

-hey, we made it through the weekend-

with guests-

what more do you want?

that I would.

on a Tuesday,

be:

One:

making a huge  statement

as part of the flash movement

ie

of the millions of people each day

who minimize their world,

by tossing together anything they can find left,

after guests, taxes, an attack of refrigeratoritis-

that disease that suddenly eats anything not locked down

in the middle of the night-

when the fridge’s door is closed,

and the light is off-

yeah, yeah, the dog ate it.

So anyway,

it was Tuesday.

And there I was.

Making a flash movement statement,

when suddenly I realized:

not only was I making a statement-

and proving what I good manager I was-

forget that-

but also,

I was doing my bit as a concerned burgher-

to support the cause of potassium.

And green.

No, not that stuff on the top of the yogurt-

No, I was,

Yup, you guessed it.

celebrating the fact that today is national zucchini day.

At least I thought so.

Until I did some research.

And discovered that today is actually…

do pickled onions count as green?

So, first you make the end run through the residuum,

then you make up a statement to hide the fact

that you don’t really want to go to the grocery store,

Then:

You get creative.

Place six leaves of rocket in ice water-

that’s actually British for radicchio,

hey, anything sounds fancier in British, don’t you think?

Even wilted lettuce.

Then you top it with ants on a log-

that’s celery slathered with peanut butter

and topped with raisins-

thanks star restaurant chef nephew of mine with a three-year-old son-

then you take a hard roll from the freezer,

toast it so many times you get zwieback,

and smear it with the remains of a jar of mint jelly-

from the Easter dinner.

I was thinking of a soup made of catsup for a first course,

when I found a cube of dried pea soup-

made in lumps over here, not powder.

We had an orange

with leftover pieces of chocolate Easter rabbit,

for desert.

And coffee from a special “happy Easter, try this” sample

from a coffee roaster here in town.

All in all,

it tasted great.

AND it even motivated me to clean the fridge,

since it was so nice and empty.

Now comes the big question:

for tomorrow:

McDonald’s,

or the chicken that seems to have something to do with the US civil war?

Will let you know.

Copyright Dunnasead.co 2017