Last night's post was titled "puttin' along," and was meant to refer to a motor going putt-putt-putt. I think the context makes that clear. It occurs to me, however, that "putting" (the motor sound or golf stroke) and "putting" (as in Puttin' on the Ritz or what one does in the Shot Put) are spelled exactly the same, with no indicators of how the U is to be pronounced.
The double-T is what makes you realize how "putt" is pronounced. But the T is doubled when adding the "ing," so that "put" gets a double T. And if one spelled it "putin'" in order to avoid that possibility, people would pronounce it like Vladimir Putin's last name ("pootin").
Yeah, I know that's "breast," not "beast," but who cares. The organ repair man came today to service my electronic organ (and then go on to service the church's).
Sassy barked vigorously at him. It's her job, and she's good at it. Then she went out. Meanwhile, Cuthbert hung around, fascinated like the techno-cat he is, with all the tools and moving pedal stubs and vibrating sounds coming from the man's work. He crept very close to see what was going on.
The doorbell rang, and the serviceman was suprised that Sassy could do that. She didn't bark anymore (once is enough); instead, she lay down on the couch and encouraged me to pet her. As Mark Twain said, anyone who pets a dog has a full-time job. Eventually, I had both pets hanging around me to be petted, until the guy finished up.
My old Conn organ sounds really good now, though I don't know when I'll have time to play it. (I can't stay in practice on the various instruments I play.)
Okay, so all seven Lenten vesper liturgies are in the bag. All the Sunday mornings are planned. I just roughed out our taxes sufficiently for collinsmom to file her FAFSA on line tomorrow. All my sick calls are caught up.
I am way frazzed, man. But wait! there's MORE!
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, which means I have evening commitments. It's also collinsmom's birthday, so I've got to do some scrambling for that. Plus, need to drop by the hospital again for a call. I really, really need to get my oil changed. And, oh yeah, I didn't get the palm leaves burnt today, so that's the morning's job. I'll do that before I take a shower, so I won't stink like burnt palm fronds all day.
Man, dried palm fronds make a terrible stench when they burn, and the oil in them means it just hangs on wherever, whatever, and whoever the smoke comes in contact with.
I broke down and bought Cuthbert a mini-skyscraper for cats today and put it downstairs in the computer area, hoping that he'd climb that and stay off the computer desks, light table, etc. Right now, I'm clattering away on my keyboard, and he is on the highest level of the skyscraper, batting at a swinging ball suspended below.
I think we've got a winner here. I certainly hope so.