The Conservative Cave
Current Events => The DUmpster => Topic started by: franksolich on October 26, 2012, 03:18:44 AM
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franksolich looking to spend Thanksgiving with a primitive. The neighbor was here last night (Thursday night into Friday morning) working on a piece of agricultural equipment out in the garage, and so I kindly stayed up all night myself, to help.
I’m not much of a “help†when it comes to intricate mechanical work, but nobody objects that I hang around, probably because a “go-fer†is a handy person to be nearby.
He reminded me I’m expected to have Thanksgiving dinner with his family; him, his wife, his eight-year-old twin daughters, his six-year-old son, and his three-year-old son. I’ve been doing it every Thanksgiving since I first came up here to the eastern slope of the Sandhills; eleven years now.
The neighbor lives six miles north of here, in a large ranch-style house, half wood, half brick, built in the autumn of 2002. It’s a pretty big place, with six bedrooms and four bathrooms and all that, and what is ostensibly a modern state-of-the-art kitchen.
However, beginning with Thanksgiving 2005, the neighbor’s wife has always prepared the turkey over here, usually a bird 24+ pounds, or two of them circa 15 pounds each. She found it handy, having a large and bare kitchen with a supersized stove and refrigerator.
I myself of course use the refrigerator, but rarely the stove, because it’s natural gas, and natural gas has a propensity to explode. Whenever I use it, even for just boiling water, I kick all of the cats outside, so there’ll be at least some survivors.
Besides the big stove, there’s yards and yards and yards of counter-space, immaculately bare, nothing on them.
<<lives a minimalist life-style.
So it’s handy for the neighbor’s wife; she’s got all this room to do the turkey.
She prepares it here, and puts it into a roasting-pan, giving me the instructions.
About 4:00 early Thanksgiving morning, when I’m done checking the latest nominations for the Top DUmmies of the year, I kick all of the cats outdoors (if there’s snow, or if it’s cold, they got warm places, and know about and use them), and gingerly turn on the oven.
Then I take a book and sit at the large kitchen table across the room from the stove, and sit there reading, warily watching the stove in case something goes wrong. Nothing’s ever gone wrong, but one can’t be too careful. All that happens is that the kitchen gets warmed up and the odor of roasting turkey wafts through the whole house.
The neighbor’s wife comes over about 8:00 in the morning, after which I can breath easy.
This is done at Christmas too, and the plans are to keep doing it until this place is no more.
Anyway.
The main attraction of having Thanksgiving dinner with the neighbor was the annual visit by “Auntie,†an aunt of the neighbor’s wife, from a half-way house for nuts down in Kansas City. I’ve written much about “Auntieâ€--in fact, I’ve written about her every single Thanksgiving she’s been up here--and so no point in telling the back-story on her.
Suffice it to say, “Auntie,†born back in 1950, was a child of the Age of Aquarius, a hippie chick. But the years had done her no good; by the time I met her Thanksgiving 2001, she was grossly obese, grotesquely tattooed, her body a sieve from all the piercing, and her mind had been gone since the mid-1970s.
She reminded one very much like a Christmas tree, she was so decorated with colors and metal.
The neighbor would pick her up at the bus depot in Sioux City in the middle of the night, and bring her here under the cover of darkness. Then 24 hours later, he’d repeat the trip, but the other way, fortuitously getting by with no one seeing them (excepting at the bus depot, where she was handed over to a care-taker).
She was ferocious-looking, pretty ugly and mean-looking, but for the most part she slept, probably because of the cornucopia of pharmaceuticals she was taking. I’d rather expected more action out of a “Satanic worshipper,†but it never happened. The children spent Thanksgiving dinner with their grandparents, for fear they might have nightmares upon seeing her.
So it was usually just the neighbor, his wife, “Auntie,†and franksolich (the surplus turkey was purposely made for later dining the weeks following).
I found “Auntie†utterly fascinating; couldn’t keep my eyes off of her, and my mouth always agape.
But “Auntie†paid me little or no attention until her very last Thanksgiving here. For some odd reason by chance I recited an old speech-therapy lesson I’d used for practice thirty years ago when still in college, the Roman Catholic prayer, in Latin, for the exorcism of demons.
(I have a whole repertoire of readings memorized from speech-therapy, generally stuff from Tudor England assigned me by speech-therapists who knew what they were doing.)
“Auntie†had no idea what I was reciting, but she went berserk, bananas, freaked out, lost it.
The phenomenon was awesome.
Anyway, “Auntie†died last year, and so the neighbor’s whole family and franksolich gathered around the dining room table. It wasn’t the same; I got bored.
So during this past night, I told the neighbor to put a “hold†on his invitation, because I’m scouting around for someone who’s going to have a primitive relative for Thanksgiving dinner, and contrive an invitation for myself.
He understood, and besides, the business partner and I always go over there Thanksgiving night for leftovers.
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But “Auntie†paid me little or no attention until her very last Thanksgiving here. For some odd reason by chance I recited an old speech-therapy lesson I’d used for practice thirty years ago when still in college, the Roman Catholic prayer, in Latin, for the exorcism of demons.
Too funny.
I would have loved to see the reaction.
I don't know why but every time you mentioned the "Hippy" Aunt, I thought of Anne Pritchett.
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I love these stories.
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But “Auntie†paid me little or no attention until her very last Thanksgiving here. For some odd reason by chance I recited an old speech-therapy lesson I’d used for practice thirty years ago when still in college, the Roman Catholic prayer, in Latin, for the exorcism of demons.
(I have a whole repertoire of readings memorized from speech-therapy, generally stuff from Tudor England assigned me by speech-therapists who knew what they were doing.)
“Auntie†had no idea what I was reciting, but she went berserk, bananas, freaked out, lost it.
The phenomenon was awesome.
Sometimes the old ways are the best...
:lmao:
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Coach, leave the cats indoors. They're much like the canary in the mine thing.
They're also useful to take in helicopters during really bad weather.
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Sometimes the old ways are the best...
:lmao:
I wrote about that after it happened; it really freaked me out, her reaction.
I've never knowingly seen a person going nuts, and it was a great startlement.
Of course, people "lose it" all the time, but because I can't hear, I'm sort of insulated from the phenomenon; I've probably seen it but not known what it was.
This was the first time I've seen someone go bonkers and known what it was. My eyes grew as big as saucers, watching.
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Coach, leave the cats indoors. They're much like the canary in the mine thing.
They're also useful to take in helicopters during really bad weather.
Had Auntie not died I would have paid to join the table. What interesting holidays you have had.
Mine were interesting, Men would argue politics, Aunt Nelly would run upstairs if few ate her clam chowder and cry, We knew she dug her own clams in the out tides mud and did not clean them very well.
Us kids would run outside to ice skate, yes, the weather was colder then. The men in the last years would abandon the table when the football game came on and hoot and holler in the next room. Who is Refrigerator Perry ???
Woman were left to clean up and put food away.
Today as all the kids have other places to go for family meals , the last few years we mosey on down to the Truck Stop for some good eats and fun show.
Some how all the interesting old folks have died and now at Holiday meal is no fun at all.
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Coach, leave the cats indoors. They're much like the canary in the mine thing.
They're also useful to take in helicopters during really bad weather.
They are usless without the duck.
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They're also useful to take in helicopters during really bad weather.
:lmao: My cat freaks out in the car. I can't imagine what he would do in a helicopter.
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Whenever I use it, even for just boiling water, I kick all of the cats outside, so there’ll be at least some survivors.
:-) :-) :-)
“Auntie†had no idea what I was reciting, but she went berserk, bananas, freaked out, lost it.
The phenomenon was awesome.
Auntie?
(http://beehivehairdresser.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/exorcist.jpg)
Who is Refrigerator Perry ???
(http://www.jeffpearlman.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/William-Refrigerator-Perry-234x300.jpg)
Member of the '85 Bears *genuflects*
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:lmao: My cat freaks out in the car. I can't imagine what he would do in a helicopter.
There used to be a children's toy that was a clear plastic dome type thing on wheels. It had a handle on it. There were little colored balls of some sort inside the clear plastic dome. When the child would push it with the handle, the turning of the wheels would cause the little colored balls to bounce around like crazy inside the dome.
I had a cat that would always like to get in my car when I was cleaning it. She would especially like to lay behind the rear seat. I guess the sun coming through the back glass felt nice to her. One day I needed to run down the road for some reason just after cleaning the car. She was in her spot behind the rear seat so I didn't want to bother her. I figured she could just ride with me. I shut the door. I turned the ignition. As soon as the car started my car became that children's toy and the cat was the little colored balls.
At first I wasn't sure what was happening. It was like I was being attacked by a herd of hellspawn with razor sharp claws. In reality it only took a second for me to get my wits about me, but at the time it seemed like forever. I shut the car off and opened the door. The cat and I both vacated the vehicle like we were leaving a burning building. I don't know which of us was more pleased to be out of the car. I do know that after that time I never turned the car key if she was inside the vehicle.
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Oreo associates the car with the vet, and she lets her displeasure be known in yowling. As soon as it's shown that we're not going to the vet, she shuts right up. Moving her to the townhouse should be interesting.
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:-) :-) :-)
I must say that was certainly an unnerving experience, watching her reaction; I'm sure that if "Auntie" hadn't been so old, so fat, and so drugged up, she would've mauled me.
After seeing that, I decided that if I ever have to go down to Kansas City, I'm going to take along a gallon jug of Holy Water and an industrial-strength crucifix, in case I run into the Die alte Sau, the "Proud2BLibKansan" primitive.
As reality is Infinite, and the human capacity to understand is finite, there are some things that transcend our understanding.
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I must say that was certainly an unnerving experience, watching her reaction; I'm sure that if "Auntie" hadn't been so old, so fat, and so drugged up, she would've mauled me.
After seeing that, I decided that if I ever have to go down to Kansas City, I'm going to take along a gallon jug of Holy Water and an industrial-strength crucifix, in case I run into the Die alte Sau, the "Proud2BLibKansan" primitive.
As reality is Infinite, and the human capacity to understand is finite, there are some things that transcend our understanding.
If you run across P2B, piss on her. That will save you.
http://www.nightbringer.se/witch_protection.html
Urine
During the 16th and 17th centuries, wizards and cunning women and men used urine for diagnosing and curing illnesses caused by witchcraft.
Boiling a person's urine helps determine if and how bewitchment has occurred. Urine is thenused to effect cures, usually by boiling, baking, burying or throwing it upon a fire. Ann Green, a witch or cunning woman of northeast England, said in 1654 that she cured headaches caused by bewitchment by putting a clipping of the victim's hair in his own urine, boiling it and throwing it on a fire. The fire was supposed to destroy the spell.
Boiled urine also was said to cure nephritis. Urine boiled in a pot containing crooked pins was a common remedy for bewitchment.
A case in Yorkshire in 1683 involved a sick man whom a doctor said suffered from bewitchment. To break the spell, the doctor prescribed a cake made of the patient's urine and hair, combined with wheat meal and horseshoe stumps. The cake was to be tossed in a fire.
One of the most effective counter-charms against witchcraft was to secure the witch's own urine: if it was bottled and buried, the witch would be unable to urinate. During the Salem witch trials of 1692, a local doctor named Roger Toothaker claimed his daughter had killed a witch with urine. The daughter spied on the witch until she saw the woman go to her outhous. The daughter collected the witch's urine and boiled it in a pot until the foul-smelling smoke blocked the chimney flue. The next morning, the witch was dead.
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I love these stories.
So far I got one potential invitation.
There's a young chick in town who spearheaded the Democrat shove for Barack Milhous in this county four years ago.
She's the high-falutin' artsy type, 24 years old. She got a degree in fine arts from a private college up in Minnesota about a year ago, and has since been working as a file-clerk in some governmental office until her big break comes.
She'll be back here for Thanksgiving.
Her parents are more than just acquaintances of mine, but less than friends, so this might take some doing, to get an invitation from them. But when desperate, I can be charming and seductive to get what I want.
I imagine there'll be more, maybe one better than this one, but this is the first prospect to pop up.
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So far I got one potential invitation.
There's a young chick in town who spearheaded the Democrat shove for Barack Milhous in this county four years ago.
She's the high-falutin' artsy type, 24 years old. She got a degree in fine arts from a private college up in Minnesota about a year ago, and has since been working as a file-clerk in some governmental office until her big break comes.
She'll be back here for Thanksgiving.
Her parents are more than just acquaintances of mine, but less than friends, so this might take some doing, to get an invitation from them. But when desperate, I can be charming and seductive to get what I want.
I imagine there'll be more, maybe one better than this one, but this is the first prospect to pop up.
Coach! :naughty: I'm inpressed! So, the 24-year-old is in your sights?
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Coach! :naughty: I'm inpressed! So, the 24-year-old is in your sights?
Hardly. I'm not looking for another airhead like what the sparkling old dude has.
I'm just looking for a primitive, period.
I'll stick with the femme I already have.