Poetry & Tarts


I wish I could have peeped into your mind as you read just the title – I bet the image (for some) was a tad salacious.

Sorry, it’s rather less exciting… “Poetry & Tarts” refers to an event for New Zealand’s 2016 National Poetry Day, for which the Rotorua Mad Poets Society planned a month of poetry related activities for the community.
The event offered poetry readings by Mad Poets or the public – their own or other poets’ published works; and the only “tarts” available 9671_mini-raspberry-tarts
were not among those participating,
but sitting on plates for the refreshment break.

I’m hoping Poetry & Tarts will be included in 2017’s poetry celebration!
Maybe they’ll allow costumes to be worn!

Are there poems on the Tart theme? One jingle comes to mind:

“An empty gut, an aching heart –
Both fulfilled by a lovely tart.

(origin unknown)

If you know of others, feel free to either add them to the comments (accessible once you have clicked on the title of this post), or if a longer piece, post it at your blog then please pop back and leave a link to it in the Comments.
I Really hope to see more Tart poems (of either connotation)


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Toilet paper from the bottom


Although I prefer the roll to unroll from the top, when Sharon mentioned “from the bottom” and “cats” in her post, I remembered our clever little kitty.

She came to us from the SPCA via my daughter, and had the LOUDEST PURR you can imagine (I wanted her to be named Harley).  Both daughter and I had places to go each day, so Hayley had to learn to use a litter tray. As we were flatting, the litter tray was kept in the bathroom cum shower cum laundry.

Hayley sometimes opened the door and would watch me on the loo, even putting her paws on the seat and peering down into the bowl! (I can laugh now…)

Daughter occasionally forgot about clearing the tray each day. I came home to the flat one day to use the ‘facilities’ and nearly gagged on the tray’s odour.

Then discovered that, beside the loo, there was a pile of toilet paper (as Sharon mentions).

On picking it up to drop into the waste bin, I realised Hayley had in fact pulled down a pile, dropped her own pile, then pulled down another pile to cover her doings. Clever wee kitty! Needless to say, it was all flushed away.

I’ve sometimes wondered why we didn’t smooch her into doing it all the time…who knows, she may have learned to actually perch on the seat for her daily doings. What a time saver that would have been, and So much more healthy.


A memory recalled by Sharon Hughson’s blog post Epiphany on the TP Roll
Click over and have a read.

 

 

How to “Burn” Your Hubby*


* and destroy kitchen equipment.

A five-part series of instructions…with notes and photographs of evidence

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 1

  1. Decide to assist in preparing for cooking the evening meal
  2. Choose to prep for cooking the quickest vege option—frozen mixed vegetables
  3. Prep the Pyrex jug
  4. Prep the wax paper ready to be used to cover the veges.
  5. Tear off the roll a square of waxed paper, fold it in four—wax surface inside
  6. Mould it over the base of the jug

1 mould  the wax paper 1 ready for food to be added

7. Place it inside the jug, ready for veges to be added. Place in obvious sight.

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 2

Leave hubbby to the cooking.

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 3

  1. Hear hubby rage: “[expletive]! It’s burning!”
  2. Watch hubby burn hand as throws open the microwave door and grabs the smoking jug’s handle
  3. Wait as he waits for it to cool
  4. Watch hubby as he lifts the jug—and the microwave dish is stuck to it.
  5. Watch as he places them onto the plastic cutting board.
  6. Notice the burnt wax paper
  7. Notice he’s right – no veges had been added
  8. Listen to him blaming you for leaving the paper in the jug as if the veges were in there already.
  9. Refrain from pointing out he could have checked, or noticed the light weight of the empty jug.
  10. Decide to eat the meat and potatoes.

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 4

  1. Listen to the “crackle” as the cooling glass cracks.
  2. Watch hubby struggle to separate the jug from the microwave dish
  3. Watch hubby as he forces to separate the microwave dish from the plastic cutting board
  4. Tell hubby you’re going to take photographs and blog all the instructions, with illustrations
  5. Wait until he’s gone out for a walk and take photographs

Below and right, burnt wax paper, melted Pyrex jug

3 after cooking non-existent food 4 wax paper and jug

Below and right — close up of the melted, crazed Pyrex,
and its size can be seen under the right pic of its off-balanced effect

5 base of jug 6 bubble on the bottom

Below, the melted dimple where hubby placed the lot to cool down.
Below right, the melted dimple in the microwave dish

7 plastic chopping board 8 microwave dish

Close up of the microwave’s new dimple

8a dimple in the dish

Post-event review next morning

  • The “half-bubble”, concave dimple in the dish is cracked—“work-around” until replacement found?
  • Place an inverted pyrex casserole dish upside down over the turnatble centre. Back to stirring and turning over food while cooking.
  • The jug’s swollen crackled “bubble” has crumbled. Jug totally “expletive”
  • The cutting board is “expletive”.
  • Buy replacement turntable dish online and await delivery

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 5

  1. Blog it, with illustrations.
  2. Include in the blog a Poll “Whose fault was it?”

_____________________________________________________________

A:         Your’s — you should have left the jug with the paper cover beside it.

B:         Hubby’s — he should have checked before he baked it all
_____________________________________________________________

Readers are welcome to respond ‘A’ or ‘B’ as a Comment.

Why stop at sixty? Why not one hundred twenty?


Twenty-Five Seven ?   Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/twenty-five-seven/

__________________

Sixty minutes, huh? Well, b’jasus, why stop there? Why not one-twenty – then I could really get stuff done…

Two Bodhran practice session, half an hour each. I just bought one, and have, at You Tube, subscribed to every set of Bodhran lessons there are. Determined to be able to drum it up on St Paddy’s Day.

Then there’s the Tin Whistle – bought that too, a while back. Again, subscribed to every set of Tin Whistle teachers on You Tube. What holds me back is – I cannot for th’ loif of me read the music. And having had to learn the recorder at primary skoowel doesn’t help at all, at all. Now play a tune for me, give me a day or two, and I’ll have it down pat.

(No, I didn’t say ‘I’ll have it down, Pat’!)

So dere’s anudder t’irty minutes left? Dat’s easy.
Guinness Yoga. Ye meditate for as long as it takes for th’ chill to leave th’ pint glass or th’ head to go, whichever’s first. Then meditate peaceful-like between each sup, until yer own head goes, if yez know what I mean.

 

A Writer’s only as good as her Observation skills


And, watching and listening are the major part of observations.

Here are some observations made while watching the Le Mans motor racing event in the weekend.

——————-

Watching, with Hubby, the Le Mans motor racing via streaming video down from the web, the commentary fed me with some hilariously amusing dialog and sound blit’s that I just Have to figure how to write them into a book.
Examples…

Two commentators of the Irish kind, let’s call them Com1 and Com2:
Com1 – Andy Baker’s here. … Actually, both the Baker brothers are here.
Com2 – Eah, yeahr – they’re here–both of them.
Com1 – Tha’s right–both the brothers are here.
Com2 – Aye, both the Bakers.

I’m cracking up by then – such an intelligent commentary! LOL

Com3 (discussing a well known racer) – do you know what he does when he’s flying?
Com4 – Go on, tell us…
Com3 – He waits until the passenger next to him falls asleep, the he leans on him and takes a ‘selfie’ of the two of them, and straight away posts it on Twitter.
Com4 – Eah, good craik, that!

Again, I’m laughing myself silly

With the glitches in the sound track, the commentary sometimes would go into a loop. So these are a couple of the more amusing ones …

Com1 – Ooh, look, that’s quite a delay-delay-delay there in the pit.

Com? – and of course, here’s the Ferari-rari-rari coming around-round-round the tightest bend.

Someone in the house said…
“Jaysus, that’s a helluva stutter he’s got there!”

And I’m falling off the arm chair laughing !
And there were so Many of these loop glitches! I have Got to work these into Some story or the other!

Origins of an old expression – R18


A- He doesn’t know diddly squat.
B- He doesn’t know ‘diddly’ from ‘squat’.
C – He doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.
D – He doesn’t know whether he’s Arthur or Martha.

Probably most of you will have heard of one at least of these expressions, each conveying the ignorance  or idiocy of ‘him’. Any one of them could be used for a ‘she’, in fact.

Have you ever considered the origins of the expressions themselves?

What seems to be simple amusement are in fact slightly ‘lewd’ in their origins. And they all share the same basic idea – ignorance of maleness vs femaleness, or of excretory orifices of either sex, or of one’s position or opinion in a new or strange situation.

‘Diddly’ was a euphemism in another generation in England for the penis, so someone who didn’t know diddly from squat had no idea of how a person being watched or admired would carry out what was required, as women of course have to ‘squat’ to urinate.
Then again, a man used his diddly to urinate but also would squat to defecate.

Doesn’t know diddly squat? A shorter version of B above.

Doesn’t know if he’s coming or going? Is he ejaculating or pissing? What a sorry specimen he is – or a really, really pre-adolescent.

He doesn’t know Arthur from Martha? He isn’t sure of the choices around him, as he isn’t sure whether he wants an Arthur or Martha for sexual intimacy, or if he, himself, is homosexual, heterosexual or bisexual.
Or, in a drunken moment and place, he’s selected a partner of the wrong sexual tendencies – a cross-dresser, perhaps.

 

This post arose from …
http://aidhoss.wordpress.com/2007/05/29/arthur-or-martha/g

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