Opps that's two videos I've posted lately that were fine when posted but on a subsequent refresh say we can only watch it on Youtube.... I can't work out what triggers it (eg is CFS really that busy. When I've just posted a thing to my own webspace and given a link, only two or three click it) but it would be helpful if owners were upfront first. Anyway, sorry about another dead video link above.
Funny, Interesting, Unusual English Words -- Like Sardoodledom
- Thread starter TezriLi
- Start date
Actaully I think it's about pneumicosis but I'm not too sure of the terms. "Rhonnda Grey" refers to the colour of the ex miners with the lung disease.
The part of Wales I lived in (North West) btw didn't have the coal mines (mostly seaside and the mountains of Snowdonia) but I've heard of slate quarries and of the lung problems.
You're just not French that is all.
Outside the Box
I wrote this for school. The first day, they always ask us to babble about what we did during the summer. This essay or memoir has a secular or Christian point of view. I think my Buddhist cousins might have similar experience. Maybe they could have written this whatever it is. I don't feel like I suffered much (That's a Buddhist thing.), except that I did disappoint the coach
Outside the box is supposed to mean original or creative, using innovative ideas. Mom would say: taking the road less traveled. Dad would say: Asking forgiveness, not permission. Don’t wait for the committee to make up its mind. Choose the best alternative at the time. Life is not a math problem.
Noah asked, “What’s a cubit?”
Dad said, “A unit of length like meter or yard.”
His father said, “Ghid honey, a cubit is a unit of length. It is about one two-hundred twentieth of a furlong. If yal remember, you bet on Rubber Ducky, and I said that Rubber Ducky would likely not get past the first cubit, a unit of length that is about on two-hundred twentieth of a furlong.”
Grandfather, who is not Gramps, is misremembering. My mother bet on Rubber Ducky when she was my age. Bad boys, like my Dad's father are a lot of fun.
During a school ice breaker, I was required to find Simon because I had Garfunkel. I had never heard of Simon and Garfunkel. Neither had any of the other students, but since the other matches seemed to be first names, I didn’t consider the possibility that Garfunkel is a family name. People call that thinking inside the box.
Last year a teacher at my school found the following math problem in a third grade textbook.
Readers who cringe at the thought of math have my permission to skip to the paragraph beginning, Maybe Robert Frost.
I’m sure that as a third grader, I could not have found a solution. Before I finished the problem, I had offered three different solutions. Again maybe I did not think outside the box.
The first rectangle has a 12 cubit perimeter. The second rectangle has an 18 cubit perimeter. What are the dimensions when the areas of the rectangles are equal?
Maybe Robert Frost had a good idea in these four lines from a poem, The Road Not Taken, which according to Gramps, who heard it live, the poet read at John Kennedy’s inauguration.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
The Road Not Taken must be about a choice that Frost made, and he thinks he made the better choice. People who think that everything has a logical or scientific explanation might wonder about Frost’s decisions and also their own decisions.
When I think about all the life decisions I have made I wonder if I made the right decisions. I know that sounds crazy. What decisions have I made? I decided to be a girl. (I don’t remember that one, but I must have made it.) I decided to be good. I decided to be Mom’s daughter. I decided to work seriously in school. I decided to have a boyfriend. (That came close to being a disaster.) I decided to train for water polo.
Yes, I decided to train for water polo. I learned to tread water. I spent the summer in weight training and throwing a ball against the garage. I learned to hit the ball like King Kong. None of that is particularly special. All the other girls can hit the ball like Wonder Woman or Vajrayogini. Well, I do have Buddhist cousins.
On Friday, the water polo coach confronted me at lunch. “Ghid, what happened? Why didn’t you try out?” He stood there with his hands on his hips waiting for an answer. Before I could answer, he beban gesticulating like my Italian cousins. “I trained you. I spent the summer teaching you. What happened?”
Somehow it was all about him. Maybe he did not remember how he spent the summer yelling at me. I had honestly believed that he didn't want me, so I said, “I’m sorry coach. I have to go to class.” And I am. And I did. And I walked to my English class. I should have at least told him that I tried out for cross country. Maybe I did have a sort of contract with him. He trained me, and for that he expected me to try out.
Granny is a lawyer. In her garage, I found stacks of transcripts, and I asked if I could read them. She told me where to look. I took some of them home with me.
Dad saw the stack, “What are you reading?”
“One of Granny’s cases.”
“What’s it about?
I grinned up at him, and I smirked, “Daddy, would you believe that a bunch of people had to ask forgiveness because they did not ask permission?”
He laughed and bugged his eyes. “Sweetie, sometime dats dah way da cookie crumble.”
In the case, a realtor claimed that he was damaged because he had told a buyer that a seller wanted to sell a $300 million building. The realtor had a pocket listing, which means that the seller had agreed to give him a listing if he found a buyer.
The realtor found a buyer, but the buyer said that his family was friends with the seller’s family and that he did not want to appear to be taking advantage of the seller’s family, so he asked the realtor to wait to get the listing until he could talk to the president of the company who was in another state.
The negotiations to sell went through several iterations before the sale. After the sale, the buyer offered the realtor a $1 million finder’s fee, but the realtor wanted a $9 million commission. The realtor sued claiming he had been denied his commission. The judge threw that out of court because the realtor had some scribbles on a legal pad paper and a typed paper in which the buyer had agreed to protect the realtor’s interest, but not a real listing contract.
The realtor sued again claiming that he had been promised a certain amount of money.
That is the argument that coach had for me. He felt that if he trained me, then I should try out. So maybe I sinned, or in my cousin’s view I didn't practice Right Livelihood. On Sunday, before mass I will confess to my mother. If she thinks it worthy, I will take in to a priest.
Priests cringe when they see me coming. I have really juicy confessions. “Padre, I almost stripped butt naked and jumped his bones, but ...” “Padre, I was so angry. I was standing there in a bikini, and I remembered how he had ogled that woman’s boobs …” Sometimes the youth director asks permission to use my confessions as what-ifs in the youth group.
When I think back on it, I’m such a brat. I think in the moment more than a I think out of the box, but I realize that life is not scientific, we make choices based as much on feelings as on logic.
I wonder if Atheists, the destroyers of supersition and the defenders of reason, wonder about making choices based on feelings. The death toll at the hands of Atheists from the French Revolution to the ISIS conquest of Iraq must make anybody wonder. Is ISIS really about Islam? I go to school with Muslms. They don't think so.
I wrote this for school. The first day, they always ask us to babble about what we did during the summer. This essay or memoir has a secular or Christian point of view. I think my Buddhist cousins might have similar experience. Maybe they could have written this whatever it is. I don't feel like I suffered much (That's a Buddhist thing.), except that I did disappoint the coach
Outside the box is supposed to mean original or creative, using innovative ideas. Mom would say: taking the road less traveled. Dad would say: Asking forgiveness, not permission. Don’t wait for the committee to make up its mind. Choose the best alternative at the time. Life is not a math problem.
Noah asked, “What’s a cubit?”
Dad said, “A unit of length like meter or yard.”
His father said, “Ghid honey, a cubit is a unit of length. It is about one two-hundred twentieth of a furlong. If yal remember, you bet on Rubber Ducky, and I said that Rubber Ducky would likely not get past the first cubit, a unit of length that is about on two-hundred twentieth of a furlong.”
Grandfather, who is not Gramps, is misremembering. My mother bet on Rubber Ducky when she was my age. Bad boys, like my Dad's father are a lot of fun.
During a school ice breaker, I was required to find Simon because I had Garfunkel. I had never heard of Simon and Garfunkel. Neither had any of the other students, but since the other matches seemed to be first names, I didn’t consider the possibility that Garfunkel is a family name. People call that thinking inside the box.
Last year a teacher at my school found the following math problem in a third grade textbook.
Readers who cringe at the thought of math have my permission to skip to the paragraph beginning, Maybe Robert Frost.
I’m sure that as a third grader, I could not have found a solution. Before I finished the problem, I had offered three different solutions. Again maybe I did not think outside the box.
The first rectangle has a 12 cubit perimeter. The second rectangle has an 18 cubit perimeter. What are the dimensions when the areas of the rectangles are equal?
Maybe Robert Frost had a good idea in these four lines from a poem, The Road Not Taken, which according to Gramps, who heard it live, the poet read at John Kennedy’s inauguration.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
The Road Not Taken must be about a choice that Frost made, and he thinks he made the better choice. People who think that everything has a logical or scientific explanation might wonder about Frost’s decisions and also their own decisions.
When I think about all the life decisions I have made I wonder if I made the right decisions. I know that sounds crazy. What decisions have I made? I decided to be a girl. (I don’t remember that one, but I must have made it.) I decided to be good. I decided to be Mom’s daughter. I decided to work seriously in school. I decided to have a boyfriend. (That came close to being a disaster.) I decided to train for water polo.
Yes, I decided to train for water polo. I learned to tread water. I spent the summer in weight training and throwing a ball against the garage. I learned to hit the ball like King Kong. None of that is particularly special. All the other girls can hit the ball like Wonder Woman or Vajrayogini. Well, I do have Buddhist cousins.
On Friday, the water polo coach confronted me at lunch. “Ghid, what happened? Why didn’t you try out?” He stood there with his hands on his hips waiting for an answer. Before I could answer, he beban gesticulating like my Italian cousins. “I trained you. I spent the summer teaching you. What happened?”
Somehow it was all about him. Maybe he did not remember how he spent the summer yelling at me. I had honestly believed that he didn't want me, so I said, “I’m sorry coach. I have to go to class.” And I am. And I did. And I walked to my English class. I should have at least told him that I tried out for cross country. Maybe I did have a sort of contract with him. He trained me, and for that he expected me to try out.
Granny is a lawyer. In her garage, I found stacks of transcripts, and I asked if I could read them. She told me where to look. I took some of them home with me.
Dad saw the stack, “What are you reading?”
“One of Granny’s cases.”
“What’s it about?
I grinned up at him, and I smirked, “Daddy, would you believe that a bunch of people had to ask forgiveness because they did not ask permission?”
He laughed and bugged his eyes. “Sweetie, sometime dats dah way da cookie crumble.”
In the case, a realtor claimed that he was damaged because he had told a buyer that a seller wanted to sell a $300 million building. The realtor had a pocket listing, which means that the seller had agreed to give him a listing if he found a buyer.
The realtor found a buyer, but the buyer said that his family was friends with the seller’s family and that he did not want to appear to be taking advantage of the seller’s family, so he asked the realtor to wait to get the listing until he could talk to the president of the company who was in another state.
The negotiations to sell went through several iterations before the sale. After the sale, the buyer offered the realtor a $1 million finder’s fee, but the realtor wanted a $9 million commission. The realtor sued claiming he had been denied his commission. The judge threw that out of court because the realtor had some scribbles on a legal pad paper and a typed paper in which the buyer had agreed to protect the realtor’s interest, but not a real listing contract.
The realtor sued again claiming that he had been promised a certain amount of money.
That is the argument that coach had for me. He felt that if he trained me, then I should try out. So maybe I sinned, or in my cousin’s view I didn't practice Right Livelihood. On Sunday, before mass I will confess to my mother. If she thinks it worthy, I will take in to a priest.
Priests cringe when they see me coming. I have really juicy confessions. “Padre, I almost stripped butt naked and jumped his bones, but ...” “Padre, I was so angry. I was standing there in a bikini, and I remembered how he had ogled that woman’s boobs …” Sometimes the youth director asks permission to use my confessions as what-ifs in the youth group.
When I think back on it, I’m such a brat. I think in the moment more than a I think out of the box, but I realize that life is not scientific, we make choices based as much on feelings as on logic.
I wonder if Atheists, the destroyers of supersition and the defenders of reason, wonder about making choices based on feelings. The death toll at the hands of Atheists from the French Revolution to the ISIS conquest of Iraq must make anybody wonder. Is ISIS really about Islam? I go to school with Muslms. They don't think so.
Thought is a funny thing Ghid. For many years I think it could be suggested that I wanted to model myself on Mr Spock on Star Trek, everything based on a cold hard unemotional logic. It took me a long while to accept that feelings, desires and past experiences all form part of my own thoughts.
When I said I would watch the video when I got home, I had forgoten that yesterday was Friday. The school year started in the middle of the week. That threw off my internal clock. I did watch when I got home, but on Saturday not Friday. It's a cool song, the kind of song that Super J and I could learn. Then in twenty years, we could meet somewhere, and we could sing it again.
Martin seemed to be fidgeting with something, like maybe his suit was full of cigarettes.
The next time I go to the Alley, I will use floc ci nau cini hil ip il ifi cate to convince the sellers that their price is too high. Maybe if I write it on a card in syllables I will be able to pronounce it.
For your pronounciation, try
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
Its a village in Anglesey, N.Wales. As far as I understand it, it is a bit of an invention and I think most people would refer to the place as Llanfair PG.
I'll offer the Wikepidia translation:
The name means: [St.] Mary's Church (Llanfair) [in] the hollow (pwll) of the white hazel (gwyn gyll) near (go ger) the rapid whirlpool (y chwyrn drobwll) [and] the church of [St.] Tysilio (llantysilio) with a red cave
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
Its a village in Anglesey, N.Wales. As far as I understand it, it is a bit of an invention and I think most people would refer to the place as Llanfair PG.
I'll offer the Wikepidia translation:
The name means: [St.] Mary's Church (Llanfair) [in] the hollow (pwll) of the white hazel (gwyn gyll) near (go ger) the rapid whirlpool (y chwyrn drobwll) [and] the church of [St.] Tysilio (llantysilio) with a red cave
I'll try it do for you Ghid but please understand I'm an English person who lived in Wales and can't sound like a fluent Welsh speaker. I'm also taking it slowly.
http://www.jonbanjo.com/cfpics/llanfair.mp3
http://www.jonbanjo.com/cfpics/llanfair.mp3
That video worked. It's a sad song. Rhonda Grey might be the same as silicosis. Environment has something to do with the diseases we get. Genetics seems to be important. Many women in my family are being tested for the two Angelina Jolie genes and then they deal with what to do if they have one or the other or both. The doctors recommendations, based on statistics, seem logical. The patient’s reactions are widely emotional.
Medicine is a career that depends a lot on logic, but I doubt that logic has much to do with deciding what disease to research or not to research. Pictures of victims of one disease are another plaster the walls of medical buildings. They are the loved ones who died, and their relatives donated the money to build the building. The donations must be more emotional than logical.
Ghid, I prehaps need to give this reservation to you r comments. I think the most difficult thing I have with science and medicine is that I quite firmly believe there is both a phyiscal and spiritual world and to be honest with you, even at 50 my mind has not been able to properly comprehend how the two may interact.
(this is not to suggest that I don't believe the silicosis things are not physical and environmental)
(this is not to suggest that I don't believe the silicosis things are not physical and environmental)
prayer, chant, medicate – they all refer to being quiet and repeating words mentally
Is that what you mean by spiritual?
Well, I admit that my Peripatetic mind has a secular bent. It must come from having my nose in a science book several hours a day. That will continue for at least seven more years. Even in the shower after a sports practice the chant continues when I and a study partner chant, “What’s a widget? A widget is …? What does a widget do? I can use a widget to …. . or A widget helps the … ?” It’s never ending.
I switch into prayer mode at church. The first time it happened, I was really afraid. Mom said, “Maybe you were talking to God.” Frankly, I think she lied. She did not understand it. I don’t understand it, but I decided to let it happen wherever it is. I am sort of aware of and I participate in the service, but I think maybe I am talking to God, and I hope he listens. Sometimes we really sort things out. I babble. He listens. Something like me babbling to you. I babble. That is what I do. I don’t leave God any time to talk. If we are going to have a conversation, the only option for him is to listen. Well, I’m weird.
I have no knowledge of my birth mother, but I have read about this tribe, the Ifugao, in the Philippine Islands. They find (maybe not now, my source is pre WW2) the answer to important decisions by going to the shaman. He kills a chicken, examines the chicken’s organs, and decides between the alternatives. Is killing chickens a God given alternative along with logic and emotion, and yes also, prayer for making decisions. I have no idea. I just don't understand any of it.
Actually I think on that occasion above I was thinking for example for miracles, things that would defy any scientific study but lets say I believe Jesus turned water into wine.
Re your second paragaph, I don't think you are weird. Perhaps you are quite a deep thinking person? That plus (although I once had the diagnosis schizophrenic and have to be careful what I say), I think many of us can babble at God. At it's perhaps simplest level we do believe he is for real and can want to blurt out everything on our minds to Him - your thoughts on that?
Re your second paragaph, I don't think you are weird. Perhaps you are quite a deep thinking person? That plus (although I once had the diagnosis schizophrenic and have to be careful what I say), I think many of us can babble at God. At it's perhaps simplest level we do believe he is for real and can want to blurt out everything on our minds to Him - your thoughts on that?
miracle -- a wonderful thing to behold
Well, I did get the details wrong about the wine at the wedding. It was water become wine, not go to the store and buy wine.
In eight grade, American students study American history. I read about William Jennings Bryan who was a three time candidate for President of the United States. You could say that he was the first Barak Obama. He is supposed to have said that Jesus made grape juice not wine. He was a prohibitionist.
Grapes use water to make wine. I think that is a miracle. Since the work of Louis Pasteur, scientists have learned how grapes use water to make wine. For me, the fact that we have an almost complete explanation about the process does not change that fact that grapes changing water into wine is a miracle.
I would not call myself a deep thinker, but I do think that God listens.
I’m not like the Jewish man whose son became a Christian. The man went to the Rabbi, and the Rabbi said, “I too had a son, and he became a Christian.” The Rabbi and the man went into the temple. They prayed about the fact they had sons, and the sons became Christians. Lightning struck the altar. The thunder shook the building. The voice of God called out, “I too had a son, and he became a Christian.”
My experience is not like the Jewish man. I don’t hear tunder, and I don’t hear God in the Magnolia Trees like Billy Graham. One time I asked God for a pony. When I told Mom, she said that God would let me have as many Ponies as I want, but more than likely he would insist that I get a job and earn the money to buy them.
My mother has a some Laurel and Hardy movies. When I have time, I will watch them.
Have you heard of Richard Attenbough? He is supposed to have died today. I know that he was the cuddly grandfather in Jurassic Park.
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@Ghid, My first husband was a sweet, gentle, innocent soul. His major characteristic was honesty: he could not bear a dishonesty: it always surprised him,and he always wanted to squelch it. Further, he was always amazed that someone would have the audacity to lie. He had to get used to lies, however, because he was a grocer, and things happened in his business that he had to deal with.
Some of his favorite movies were those old ones made by Laurel and Hardy. Looking back, he kind of reminds me of the innocence of those two. The difference, however, was that Laurel and Hardy came across to me as having innocence that was most often unintelligent in their shows. Unintelligent -- my husband was not.
But my first husband had a strong sense of comedy, of humor. We lived in Minnesota, where it was either very, very cold or very, very hot. One hot summer day, he saw a teenage girl stealing popsicles by sticking them in the waste band of her shorts. He called out a friendly "Hello" to her and walked up. He engaged her in talk about her school, her grades, and school activities. They chatted awhile, as he noted that the top of her shorts were turning all kinds of colors, and she began to shiver. He asked her, "Do you want to go call your parents?" She did. They were very embarrassed and took custody of her.
I can just imagine him through this. He was very good-looking, had a great smile, and his eyes bluer than the sky. Think of Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. Give him light brown, curly hair, and you've got him. (Hee-hee!)
But life goes on. I loved that man, still love his memory, but I love my present husband of 27 years. What a life I've been given! Two great husbands. Incredible.
Some of his favorite movies were those old ones made by Laurel and Hardy. Looking back, he kind of reminds me of the innocence of those two. The difference, however, was that Laurel and Hardy came across to me as having innocence that was most often unintelligent in their shows. Unintelligent -- my husband was not.
But my first husband had a strong sense of comedy, of humor. We lived in Minnesota, where it was either very, very cold or very, very hot. One hot summer day, he saw a teenage girl stealing popsicles by sticking them in the waste band of her shorts. He called out a friendly "Hello" to her and walked up. He engaged her in talk about her school, her grades, and school activities. They chatted awhile, as he noted that the top of her shorts were turning all kinds of colors, and she began to shiver. He asked her, "Do you want to go call your parents?" She did. They were very embarrassed and took custody of her.
I can just imagine him through this. He was very good-looking, had a great smile, and his eyes bluer than the sky. Think of Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. Give him light brown, curly hair, and you've got him. (Hee-hee!)
But life goes on. I loved that man, still love his memory, but I love my present husband of 27 years. What a life I've been given! Two great husbands. Incredible.
Yes. I've not seen Jurrasic Park though.
That's quite refreshing to read I'd guess there may also be some sadness to you but so often with ex partners we seem (and I'm not saying there can't be bad relationships or for example that someone should not be allowed to comment on how they struggled with an adulterous relationship) only to read how awful the other party was. I feel I'm putting it clumsily but I'm struggling as to how to word things and it does strike me as quite rare that someone may have had two great husbands.
Boltardy, I'm not writing that either husband was perfect, of course.
However, I came into both marriages as damaged goods. In the first marriage, he was way too near perfect, but I was not. I put that man through h and had no idea how to stop, how to be better, how to even be a wife. Fortunately, G-d gave us children; through them, I began to learn about love. Only after I had "fallen in love" with them could I "fall in love" with my first husband. That was toward the end of our 7th year together, but he was killed when we'd been married 8 years and 5 months. I was a horrible spouse. I cannot put it more plainly. But when he was gone, I knew I had to do something. I determined that I would not marry again until I was healed, whole, and able to be a decent wife. I threw my life into rearing our children and learning how to be human. After 10 years, an old friend's wife died, and my heart hit my stomach. I knew we were to be married, and while I felt ready to be a decent wife, I was not ready for marriage. We married a year later, however, and I found out how UNready I really was! But determined to learn, I threw myself, reluctantly, into learning.
Through my present marriage, I learned that my husband came with baggage. While I worked on myself, I found I had to help him. Now, we have been married 27 years, and I could not possibly even imagine a better husband than he is! He has repented completely! He is...well...wonderful! All the glory goes to G-d, and my husband is the one who decided to be the man I thought he was when we married. He takes Ephesians 5:25 very seriously.
Thanks for that. I don't think I was ever destined for a partner and I think you've probably read that my only brief experience was an affair with someone who had a boyfriend in prison. My thought's tend to focus on how I lusted for her and (as was the case, not that we got together but really fell for someone who shared my interest in folk music) and can debate the term "love" with myself. I think in the second case I did get as far as knowing her at least to know she'd not had an easy life and I liked her fondness for animals). One of her complaints about me was that she wished she could change my "naivety". Also, I don't think she liked that even at say 5" 2" she could comfortably beat me at arm wrestling - conversely I found her strength an attraction. I think she was looking for a strong "man of the world" that I wasn't. Also, we didn't share the same faith and I don't think I'd ever again attempt to go with someone who was not Christian - I think it can only lead to disaster.
It's probably 15 years on but me ready (also in view of my later struggles with drink), at 53, I'd say there's no way I'd be capable of a relationship. Perhaps fortunately,. I don't yearn for one either.
It's probably 15 years on but me ready (also in view of my later struggles with drink), at 53, I'd say there's no way I'd be capable of a relationship. Perhaps fortunately,. I don't yearn for one either.