Leslie’s Blog

May 19, 2009

Throw a rock into a pack of dogs…

Filed under: Thimk, language — Leslie @ 5:27 pm

fox-and-hounds 

“Throw a rock into a pack of dogs, and the one that yells is the one that got hit.”

I heard this expression for the first time many years ago.

 My friend Aggie told me that her Grandmother used to say it to her and her brothers when she was trying to determine who to punish for starting a fight.

“I say it to myself in Spanish, because that’s how Grandma said it, but it pretty much translates to, “If you throw a rock into a pack of dogs, the one that yells is the one that got hit”,  Aggie told me.

“She would look down her finger, wagging it back and forth at us as she said it. We all knew she would find out who started the fighting, and so the best thing to do was just to confess.”    Aggie laughed as she remembered, “It was always my brother who started the fights, so we just waited, and he always fessed up.”

 Now that she had her own daughter, the mystery of Grandma’s ability to divine the truth seemed less mysterious, but I could see her give a little shiver.

It took me a while to fully understand the expression, as I had to get past the idea of throwing rocks at dogs, or that Aggie’s Grandma would have used an expression so harsh as to imply that any of her grandchildren might be one of those deserving dogs.

 I understand it now. The expression embodies the notion that ” a guilty mind needs no accuser”, or “the lady doth protest too much, methinks”.

 I have also heard a more colloquial translation of, “He who smelt it, dealt it.”

I find myself thinking of this “rock in a pack of dogs” expression more than a bit lately, because of  all the political finger pointing, denying, and buck passing that’s been going on. 

So if you’re not guilty,  just be quiet, and let the dogs that got hit, yell.

Leslie

P.S.  Aggie, I still have the gold Cross pen you gave to me. Thank you.

May 9, 2009

Mechanical Relations

Filed under: Thimk — Leslie @ 4:46 pm

white sheets

“I just thought of something,”  I said.

My husband and I were twisted up in the sheets, draw what you will from the inference.

“What’s that?” he offered, probably not really wanting to engage in deep conversation at that very moment.

“I just figured out why I don’t get along with machines,” I said, staring up at the ceiling.

I know, I know. Probably not the most engaging of pillow talk, but I do my best pondering, après.

“You have infinite patience with all things mechanical,” I continued.  “You never  lose patience when you are dealing with them. I have never even heard you cuss out loud, not even once!  You just deal with them with logic.”

It’s true. Even the cussing part. We have recently had a bout of mechanical plague at our house, and my husband heals our machines with expertise and patience, if not lovingkindness. 

To top it off, he surprised me with a dozen roses the other day,  just because.  ~sigh~

I turned my head a bit to look at his face. I could see a hint of a smile as he stared ceiling-ward. 

” They just require that you think like a machine while you are dealing with them,” he said, responding to my odd, though sincere compliment.

He knows I think he hung the moon, but I think he likes to hear it, even if my timing is weird.

“So what was it you were thinking?”  he asked, remembering that I hadn’t completed the thought I started with. “Why don’t you get along with machines?”

He’s a brave man, too, and will wander deep into pondering conversation territory, with nothing but a twisty sheet to protect him.

“We had an old Magnavox TV when I was a kid,” I said, “and it only worked when it wanted to.  It ran on vacuum tubes, and to get it to come on, you had to give it a good whack to jar the tubes into action.  I grew up thinking that the way to get machines to work was to give them a good pounding, and, Presto, they would start. That’s not a good way to relate to machines, is it?”

“Nope.”

I never question the timing of self discovery. I just let it float down over me like a sheet that is tossed into the air, settling slowly, fluffy white on a Saturday morning.

Leslie

May 8, 2009

The time has come…

Filed under: blogging — Leslie @ 6:33 pm

My blog is fat.

My blog is sluggish.

My blog needs a makeover.

How do I know this?  Because when my blog walks down the street, nobody whistles anymore.  Heck, nobody even turns to look!

Time for some changes.

You all know I never have been one for flashy pop-ups and moving graphics, and have kept this blog ad free so that I could freely speak my mind. That part isn’t going to change.

But I do need to trim down.

I have links I never click on. I have people I don’t visit any longer.  It’s not because I don’t love them.   I do.   Just like I love chocolate ice cream, and pistachio bundt cake, and chocolate candy, and chocolate chip cookies, and M &M’s, and… well, you get the idea.

I have posts that are old and wrinkly, and need some vanishing cream. I have upload files that are slowing me down like so much junk in the trunk.

So I am going to begin slimming down.  Little by little, but relentlessly. You may not notice the changes right away, but they will be happening.

I don’t want anyone to feel hurt or slighted. That is not my intention. Most everyone will be transferred to my favorites list on my browser, so that I will be able to continue to annoy you with my comments.

But I have to lighten the load on my blog.

I need a good wolf whistle!

Leslie

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