Zing

  • Gelukkig Sinterklaas!

    ByJohn Brown

    I’ve got about 20 folks in The Netherlands and Belgium who visit this site regularly. I just wanted to say I hope you wonderful kaaskops and frites find your shoes full of good gifts this Sunday! 

    For those who don’t know, folks in the low lands celebrate Sinterklaas on the 6th of December and Sinterklaasavond (Saint Nicholas eve) the night before.  The name is a contraction of Sint (Saint) Niklaas (Nicholas). Yes, the real Santa. In America we give gifts on Christmas. But the Dutch and Belgians do gift giving on Sinterklaas. Christmas is a more religious celebration.

    However, Nellie and I figure we can catch Santa coming at the first of the month AND going at the end (no need to miss any opportunity for presents), so, of course, we will be putting our shoes by the door Saturday night. Hopelijk zal Sinterklaas niet stilletjes ons huisje voorbij rijden.

  • Mumma, Cat of Death

    ByJohn Brown

    PIC02680

    I figured regular readers would want a break from all the book release news, as fascinating as it is. And so I present to you my photograph, “Mumma, Cat of Death.” (I need a new camera. The quality of this piece of junk is so stellar.)

    Mumma was a stray that showed up in our garage one day, freaked many of the long-timers, and then got pregnant. Up here in the ranch lands there are no such thing as spaying and neutering. There are a number of Toms, and, well, we were too slow with our communist population control program. So she had five cute kittens. Up until that time she was satisfied with catfood and an occasional bird or mouse. After that, she became Mumma, Cat of Death.

    What you see above is only PART of the catch of ONE day: a packrat, a ground squirrel, a bird (she ate it, what you see on that piece of white paper is what she left–one leg), and a rabbit. Notice, she’s looking away from her catches. I think she was eying a visitor’s toddler at that moment, deciding if she could take him down. Every day she hunted up a few meals. And these were not for show, not nice gifts left on the doorstep for the master. No, she’d bring them up from the fields, let them ripen a bit, and then start in at the head. But she wouldn’t always eat the whole thing. Sometimes she’d leave it for the kittens. Sometimes, she’d just leave it for the next day. She turned our garage into a scene of blood and carnage.

    So again: Mumma, Cat of Death.

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    Testicles and the Zing Life

    ByJohn Brown

    Diana Rowland of MagicDistrict.wordpress.com invited me to guest blog. I was happy to provide “Testicles and the Zing Life.”

    Testicles do not taste like chicken.

    I know this thing. At least the ones taken from cattle don’t. But this Nobel prize-winning discovery is not what’s important. What’s important is why I know this. Read more.

    Enjoy!