Waffling

OC and I frequently recycle the same conversation. Each time it has a slight variation. It always starts with my apparent curiosity. Today we were discussing maple syrup. The real stuff. OC is a New Englander, you know.

Me: [while pouring syrup on my waffle] My uncle called this, “tree blood.”

OC: Really it’s closer to lymph.

Me: [curious look] Lymphs?

OC: [bunches of scientific techno babble].

Me: Thanks, Hon. Good English. I understood every word.

OC: [laughing] Really?

Me: Oh, yeah. [I roll my eyes.]

OC: Not so much, huh?

Me: [shaking my head] Not so much.

OC: What did you get?

Me: [smiling] You want another waffle?

Our Home

Welcome.  You’ve made it up the stairs to the third floor.

Knock …

Please, come in.

The chintz covered couch?  It was here when we arrived.  I find it is much more comfy for sitting then the floor, though I do agree the floor is prettier.

May I offer you some iced tea?

Would you like a brownie with that?  How about a tour of the rest of the place?

As you can see, it’s laundry day.  All four of my suitable outfits are either in the hamper or on me.  I hope my boxes arrive soon!   What do you want to bet that my blankets — which I don’t need — will arrive before my clothing?

Thank you, our apartment is lovely.  We certainly like it.

I am so glad you stopped by.  Please come again.

Collaborate

COLLABORATE n.

  1. To work together, especially in a joint intellectual effort.
  2. To cooperate treasonably, as with an enemy occupation force in one’s country.
  3. Two or more persons working in unison to achieve the same goal.

I am uncertain which of these definitions best suits OC’s and my efforts in creating our joint post:

  • There was a little cooperation (little being the operative word).
  • There was definately some collaborating with the enemy, though OC and I both seem to be unclear on just who the enemy was.
  • There also seemed to be more then two voices involved in the project, though OC swears it was my imagination.
  • And, I was trying very hard to keep it intellectual, but … well, see for yourself. Check out:

He Said, She Said, an O’Ceallaigh & The Quill collaborative production.

Defenestraphobia – Fear of Windows

My friend, aged 60+, decided to buy a computer. She had been fearfully using them at work and knew she could do a much better job if she gained more expertise. The day her computer arrived via UPS she called me on the telephone. “It has too many parts. How do I hook it together?”

“Everything is color coded,” I told her, but still she asked me to come and help. I went.

After hooking her computer together and making certain her programs were in operating order, I left her to play, search, and discover. I reminded her that I was as close as her phone should she need anything, then I returned home.

Forty-five minutes later my phone rang. I answered. My friend’s voice came across the line — urgent. Seriously stressed. “When will they be here? How long do I have?”

“When will who what?” I felt like I’d walked into the middle of some suspense theater episode. “Slow down and explain.”

She answered, her voice high and tense, “I don’t know what I did. I tried to open Word and a warning came up on my computer. It said I operated something illegally and my computer was shutting down! When will they be here?”

I did not laugh. Instead I asked — very dryly — ” When will who be there? The computer police?”

Several seconds of silence were followed by her rueful query, “I’m over-reacting, huh?”

Then I laughed.

I told OC the above story over breakfast this morning. He responded very formally, “Really, her reaction was perfectly understandable given the unfortunate use of the word illegal.”

I smiled. “You did the same thing, didn’t you?”

He shrugged sheepishly, “Well, pretty close — but I didn’t call anybody.”

I laughed.

“Besides,” he defended, “Windows should be illegal!”

Don’t Forget

O’Ceallaigh & The Quill

After you’ve visited here, don’t forget to check there!

Before you go, here’s a bit of something to whet your appetite:

As you know, O.C. plays his horn on the point almost every night. Usually when we walk down the hill, one ferry is already in port for the night. However the other night, it wasn’t so.

Me: The ferry is missing.

He: It’s on a training run.

Me: That’s silly. Why would they need to train the ferry? It was built to do its job.

He: Well, sometimes they need to put it on track.

Me: [clueless] Huh?

He: They need to put it on a track to train it.

Me: Oh. Of course they do. I should have realized that. Thank you for explaining, Honey.”

He: No problem.

Me: [sweet & dreamy] You’re so smart.

He: [dryly] Oh, yeah.