Month: June 2016

A New Frenemy

I haven’t said very much about a new acquaintance that followed us home from London.  Remember Cuddles, the octopus who accompanied us on our tour of the science museum?  He inveigled himself into the human female’s carry-on luggage and has been residing in our home.  I would not call him an easy houseguest.

He is one cranky cephalopod.


Let Sigyn go, you hateful lump of as-of-yet-unfried calamari!  I don’t care if she changed the television channel to watch a vintage romantic comedy on the Old Black and White Movie Channel–you weren’t really watching the golf anyway.  Don’t lie to me!  You hate golf!

Play nice, now.


That’s better.  I know you always say a cuddle is a smother you haven’t finished yet, but if you want to remain in this household, there will be no suckerage or constricting of the occupants, is that clear?

I’m surrounded by idiots.

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Good Thing There’s a Label

This was among the humans’ purchases on that ill-totaled shopping trip.  I’m glad there’s a label on this box…


…because just by looking at the pasta shapes there is no way in all the Nine Realms that I’d have identified those squiggulous abominations as bovines.

Sigyn thinks they’re “cute” and is producing those knee-jerk mooing noises that she always makes around cattle.  Personally, I don’t think they’re cute or funny at all.

And what is it with humans that they have to make their food into silly animal shapes before they will eat it?  You won’t find Asgardians making pies shaped like bilgesnipe or Jotuns freezing popsicles in the shape of ice sharks.


Seriously, people, what is the deal?


After action report:  The cows are an utter failure.  After cooking and adding the contents of the sauce packet, the contents of this box can best be described as “Classic Amoebas and Cheese.”


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Making the Shopping a Bit More Surreal

It’s no secret that the humans like to eat.  Or, in the female’s case, eat and eat and eat. It’s no surprise, therefore, that their grocery bills are, while somewhat north of Volstagg’s, not insignificant.  When last week’s purchase rolled into triple digits, no one thought much about it.  It was, after all, a stock-up shop, replacing staples and household products depleted before and just after our trip abroad.

This morning, the human male is recording the purchase in the checkbook.  Hold!  What is this?


Eleven-plus pounds of pitted dates?  Who buys that many dates?  What on earth did they need with that many dates?  More to the point, why did Sigyn and I not get any of them?

The humans do not remember buying any pitted dates.  In fact, the male doubts that their market has such a quantity at any time, except perhaps for Yule.

Oh, ehehehehehe!  I know what has happened!  The checker (waving at you, Darrel!) has mistaken the PLU or produce look-up code of dates (4263) with that of Russet potatoes (4072).  Because, you know, the two numbers are so close.

Now the humans will have to call the store and probably go stand in line at Customer Service (sic) to obtain a refund of the price difference between boring, starchy stew ingredients and delicious, sticky morsels of drupey delight.  It is is good to know that my checker-training program is bearing fruit–of a distinctly Arecaceous kind!

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A Well-earned Breakfast

We were all so sticky and sweaty after our little botanical jaunt that we had to have a quick wash before going out again for breakfast.  Here we all are at a local establishment called Fuego.  “Fuego” means “fire,” Sigyn, and there are little flames all over the menu, so I think we must be very careful about our selections…


Sigyn is intrigued by the Cowboy one.


Dr. Pepper?  Chipolte cream corn?  Sounds revolting. I am leaning a little toward ordering the Widow Maker for the human female.  It would solve a lot of problems.


We are number 51.  Sigyn is very excited because they just served number 49!


Well, rats. The human female sneaked behind my back and ordered boring old potato and egg.


What, no cheese?  I do, however, approve of its piping-hotness.

The human male is going to liven up his order with this sneaky-looking green sauce.


I don’t trust it.

Mmm. Breakfast tacos are a good thing.  Messy, though.


Nothing eight or ten yards of paper towels won’t fix.  Be very careful, dearest, that you are not bundled away with the table trash!

(discreet burping)  Sun, flowers, and lots of food.  I do believe it is time for a nap.

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Loki’s Mostly-Accurate Vine Primer

While the humans are finishing up with their photographs and questionable nomenclature, I’ve decided to review what I learned about the local vines.  You will see that I know quite as much as the human female.  Probably more.  For each vine, I will provide a handy mnemonic jingle.

Sigyn, don’t touch that!   I know the new growth is shiny and red,


but this is Poison Ivy.  Some people can be immune, but it’s best not to push one’s luck.  Leaves of three, let it be!  Frost Giants are immune, so I’ll just pick a bit to put in the human female’s next lunchtime salad.  (She’s always complaining that her packed lunches at work are boring.  I’m just trying to help.)

This plant, greenbriar, is scarcely less pleasant to deal with.  Sigyn and I have run into it several times before.


Look at those prickles!  It is the botanical equivalent of barbed wire!  Smilax vine makes you whine!  It can make some very dense, flesh-shredding tangles and has left its mark on every field botanist in the South.  (Do not ask to see the human female’s scars.  Some things are better left to the imagination. )


This plant looks like greenbriar, but it isn’t  prickly.  I’ve heard it called snailseed, but I can’t remember why.  I really never listen very closely when the human female talks.  Snailseed does no mean deed.


Oops, back to prickly things.  This is our local blackberry or dewberry.  It has both prickles …


And little red glandular hairs.


Dewberry, dewberry, make me a pie.  Beware of the prickles, it WILL make you cry!

Are you keeping score?  That’s one poisonous plant, two prickly plants, and one not-prickly plant rather cryptically named for a mollusc.

Our last vine of the day is Creepy Virginia.  It has leaves sort of like poison ivy and sort of like dewberry.  It climbs like poison ivy, but belongs to the grape family.  No prickles.


Five leaflets, harmless, up trees it will climb./ For words like “Virginia” there isn’t a rhyme.

Hey, there’s nothing to this poetry stuff!  Bet I can do a limerick.

A mighty Frost Giant named Loki/  Taught vines while the humans were pokey./  She won’t have a hunch/ P.I.’s in her lunch/ My mischief is naughty and joke-y.

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Dubious Posies From a June Walk

Sigyn and I have grown bored with the basket flowers and are poking about to see what else is here.  Besides heat.  Norns’ nighties, it is scarcely 9:00 a.m. and already it feels like Muspelheim out here.  Apparently, we did not start early enough.

This yellow-flowered flax looks as if it would rather be some place cooler.  You and me both, little one, you and me both.


Slanty Latin names are very confusing.  The basket flowers are Centaurea, and these little pink ones are Centaurium.  No relation.  Now I ask you, how does that help anything?  When I take over the world, I am going to let Sigyn re-name all the plants with words that make sense.


(Actually, I already have a brilliant plan.  I can recognize the genus Rosa when I see it, so I will keep that and place all the rest of the plants in the genus Other.  That way, any idiot–the human female included–will be able to sight-identify any plant on earth to genus.)

This third pink thing is related to the second pink thing.  The human female identified this one for me once, now let me think…  It’s…um…Sebacea.  You know, like pimples.  What a horrid name!


It makes Sigyn look tiny.

This yellow flower is weird-looking.  It has ten stamens, but they don’t all match.


The human female has finished with the basket flowers and is now snooping into what we are doing. She says it is called Partridge Pee, which doesn’t sound very nice.  Sigyn, maybe you don’t want to touch that.

This lavender one seems harmless enough, though.  Does it have a gross name too?


Oof. The sun is climbing quickly toward the zenith.  We can look at a few more plants, love, but then I will be ready for some breakfast.  But after handling pee and pimples, you should definitely wash your hands before eating!

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A June Walk in Familiar Territory

Sorry for the typos in yesterday’s post.  I was laughing so hard it affected my typing.  On to today!

Missing looking at gardens every day as we did in London, the human female has lost no time in getting back out into “the field” to see what has come into flower in our absence.  However, I scarcely think it counts as “getting out into the field” when you don’t go more than six blocks and are never more than 100 feet from the car.

But look at that!  It is basket flower time again!  For some reason, the humans (accompanied today by the blue-haired goddaughter)   like to take photographs of this plant every year.  Why?  Do they expect it to do something different?

They are strangely alluring.  If somewhat difficult to climb.




Sigyn has summited this bud on her own.  They really do have the most peculiar phyllaries.  (I am ashamed that I know that word.  The human female’s nerdy botanese is wearing off on me.  I think I need to go blow some things up to get my “cool” back.  Query:  Do the humans really need to own two vehicles?)


Sigyn, the humans will probably be quite some time trying to get the perfect photo.  Might as well find a spot in the shade and have a little nap…


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