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Two bits, four bits, six bits, a peso...
May. 15th, 2006 02:48 pmUisge Beatha...kinda
In the rearranging of Mark's belongings to find homes for my own belongings, I came up against the small mountain of brewing things in the corner of the kitchen. Boxes and boxes of honey and cider and bottles and corks and two great huge glass jugs, all neatly corralled so as not to sprawl all over the room... And hiding in behind all of this were two posters in frames and behind glass. One was a wolf. No surprise, that; it's like finding crow-things in with my stuff. But the canid behind Grandfather...
The picture's titled "Last Frontier."
I looked hard: "You," says I, addressing the image, "are neither tall nor bulky nor grey-and-white enough to be a grey wolf. Neither are you muscular or direct enough of eye to be a red wolf. Your ears are set too far apart on your head and are too large to be lupine, and the tips of your fur are black.
YOU, my friend, are a coyote..."
I stepped out to the porch, where Mark was finishing a cigarette. "D'you realise you've a picture of the Old Man in here?"
"Hm?"
I held up the poster.
"Oh, that. That was a gift, years and years ago. You mean that's not a... ?"
I smiled and shook my head.
"Hm. Where'd you find him?"
"In with the mead-makings."
"Hm..."
We both snorted small laughter, smiled, and went back about our business.
The wolves are off the floors and on the walls.
The Old Man's still in with the mead-makings.
He looks rather smug about it.
To keep two gallons of milk from souring, we turned down the temperature in the fridge. The milk's holding up admirably, but deep in the back, just under the freezer-vent, there was a bottle of Hawk/Tumbleweed's mead that kept getting cloudier and cloudier. A few days ago, I pointed it out to Mark, who looked rather stunned and hastily got out a cup and a sharp, pointy stick.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, baby, but isn't that how hard cider gets hardened?"
"Yep. How brandy gets made, too--freeze the water out of wine, and there you are."
"So... What exactly...is *that* going to be?"
Pale golden liquid trickles out of the bottle, into the cup.
"Strong. And technically illegal."
********************************************************
He'll Make a Liar of Me Yet.
Yesterday, after graduation, the lot of us went to Mama Fu's on 72 W. It's the illegitimate child of a McDonald's and Great Wall, but the food and the service are both delightful. We ordered the boy teriyaki chicken with lo mein. He was thrilled! But when we handed him a fork, he frowned. "Where's my sticks?" he asked. After all, the rest of us were using chopsticks. I blinked... "Coming right up," says I, and off I go to fetch them.
I come back to Mark and Monica discussing whether giving my boyo pointy sticks for utensils is a good idea. Mo's pro, Mark's... not exactly *against*...just hesitant. I don't blame him; I've got some doubts. But it can't hurt to try, right?
So I give the boy his sticks and he sets right in to spinning noodles up with one of them.
Turns out he's neater with a chopstick than he is with a fork.
"I give him another year before he figures out how to use both of them, though," Mark commented.
No sooner was it out of his mouth than Dae had picked up the second stick and was eyeing the way I handled mine.
Mark blinked...
"Then again, he may make a liar of me yet."
Today, I reheated some of the noodles for him and set them down on the table with a fork.
Dae gives the fork a disgusted look, picks it up with two fingers, and says "Not that one."
...
"You want a stick, babe?"
"Zjyeah."
...
"Rock on. Comin' up."
It is never dull with these two.
I'm throughly entertained.
:)
In the rearranging of Mark's belongings to find homes for my own belongings, I came up against the small mountain of brewing things in the corner of the kitchen. Boxes and boxes of honey and cider and bottles and corks and two great huge glass jugs, all neatly corralled so as not to sprawl all over the room... And hiding in behind all of this were two posters in frames and behind glass. One was a wolf. No surprise, that; it's like finding crow-things in with my stuff. But the canid behind Grandfather...
The picture's titled "Last Frontier."
I looked hard: "You," says I, addressing the image, "are neither tall nor bulky nor grey-and-white enough to be a grey wolf. Neither are you muscular or direct enough of eye to be a red wolf. Your ears are set too far apart on your head and are too large to be lupine, and the tips of your fur are black.
YOU, my friend, are a coyote..."
I stepped out to the porch, where Mark was finishing a cigarette. "D'you realise you've a picture of the Old Man in here?"
"Hm?"
I held up the poster.
"Oh, that. That was a gift, years and years ago. You mean that's not a... ?"
I smiled and shook my head.
"Hm. Where'd you find him?"
"In with the mead-makings."
"Hm..."
We both snorted small laughter, smiled, and went back about our business.
The wolves are off the floors and on the walls.
The Old Man's still in with the mead-makings.
He looks rather smug about it.
To keep two gallons of milk from souring, we turned down the temperature in the fridge. The milk's holding up admirably, but deep in the back, just under the freezer-vent, there was a bottle of Hawk/Tumbleweed's mead that kept getting cloudier and cloudier. A few days ago, I pointed it out to Mark, who looked rather stunned and hastily got out a cup and a sharp, pointy stick.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, baby, but isn't that how hard cider gets hardened?"
"Yep. How brandy gets made, too--freeze the water out of wine, and there you are."
"So... What exactly...is *that* going to be?"
Pale golden liquid trickles out of the bottle, into the cup.
"Strong. And technically illegal."
********************************************************
He'll Make a Liar of Me Yet.
Yesterday, after graduation, the lot of us went to Mama Fu's on 72 W. It's the illegitimate child of a McDonald's and Great Wall, but the food and the service are both delightful. We ordered the boy teriyaki chicken with lo mein. He was thrilled! But when we handed him a fork, he frowned. "Where's my sticks?" he asked. After all, the rest of us were using chopsticks. I blinked... "Coming right up," says I, and off I go to fetch them.
I come back to Mark and Monica discussing whether giving my boyo pointy sticks for utensils is a good idea. Mo's pro, Mark's... not exactly *against*...just hesitant. I don't blame him; I've got some doubts. But it can't hurt to try, right?
So I give the boy his sticks and he sets right in to spinning noodles up with one of them.
Turns out he's neater with a chopstick than he is with a fork.
"I give him another year before he figures out how to use both of them, though," Mark commented.
No sooner was it out of his mouth than Dae had picked up the second stick and was eyeing the way I handled mine.
Mark blinked...
"Then again, he may make a liar of me yet."
Today, I reheated some of the noodles for him and set them down on the table with a fork.
Dae gives the fork a disgusted look, picks it up with two fingers, and says "Not that one."
...
"You want a stick, babe?"
"Zjyeah."
...
"Rock on. Comin' up."
It is never dull with these two.
I'm throughly entertained.
:)
