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Friday, August 17, 2012

Revealed: Where Butter Really Comes From

WHO KNEW?
I'm reading through the Good Book again this year.  As usual, I like to make things exciting and start about 5 months late, leaving myself almost no chance of finishing.  My handy dandy howmanychaptersmustIreadperday.xlsx spreadsheet says I have to bang out something like 6.6 books chapters a day to make it.  Pressure aids performance, kiddos.  True statement.

Anyway, I took the NT first, and am now in Genesis, where you learn the origins of all sorts of stuff, like women (whoa!) and NBA players (the Nephilim, look it up) and Californians (antediluvian vegetarianism) and talk radio gold bullion dealers (the land of Havilah).  Learning where everything originates is neat, let's just acknowledge that.

Speaking of origins.  So last night at dinner, we somehow got on the subject of butter.  That's right, E.C.'s favorite aid to arterial lubricity, good old mantequilla.  The conversation:
E.C.:  Jack, how's that rice?  Butter makes it taste good, right?
Jack:  *mumbling, barely audible* Yah...  Yessuw.
Majesty, from the kitchen:  Jack, do you know where butter comes from?
JackYes.  Butterflies.
It was just spectacular.  Groucho couldn't have pulled off the line any better.  No hesitation whatsoever.  I got this fleeting image of a bunch of tough-looking, unionized butterflies with tattoos on their wings, crowded around Stanley lunchboxes down at the butter plant.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Majestad literally lay down in the kitchen floor, almost in tears.

I almost forgot.  H.M. went on to say that one "stirs" milk to make butter.  While I was harassing her for slandering the butterflies in the agricultural products industry, Jack had gone to the kitchen, returned with a small pink spoon (for stirring), and was busying himself at unscrewing his cup full of milt.  "Churning" was then discussed.  And he didn't have the foggiest as to which utensil might do something like that.

In other homophone, heteronym, and polyseme news, Jack is learning the difference between handsome and a hansom (cab), tunes and tombs, and the various uses of the words bank.  It's confusing as all heck.

Three things, here:  (1) English is hard; (2) drawly pronunciation apparently makes English even more daunting to those trying to learn said English; and (3) C. S. Lewis is fifty five kinds of brilliant.  I've essentially got an Oxford/Cambridge professor reading to my child every night for like six months straight.  Narnia, baby!

We just returned from the Pac Northwest.  When we actually can get everyone back on our beloved Central Daylight Time, maybe I'll have enough energy so as to actually write about the trip.  Till then?  No.  Jack did turn four, a fact that we just can't change now.  No matter how much we try.

Butterflies.  C'mon.

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