But al the thyng I moot as now forbere,
I have, God woot, a large feeld to ere,
And wayke been the oxen in my plough,
The remenant of the tale is long ynough.
I wol nat letten eek noon of this route,
Lat every felawe telle his tale aboute,
And lat se now who shal the soper wynne;
The Knyghtes Tale, Chaucer, 14th Century England
Um.........to me sorry but dis book iz horrible i dont lyk it n tew me itz jus borin sorry not trying tew be disrespectful tew da author but i mean really. But thanx 4 writin it s0e i can read it tew n0e nt tew read it again but da 1st tym i read it it wuz ok but az i keep readin it more den 2 tyms den it gtz more borin s0rry.
Quintonya, response to blog post, 21st Century cyberspace
Language evolves. I just wish that human thought evolved along with it.
This is a picture of the gooseberry pie I enjoyed this week at my mom's house. Here is the recipe:
- Locate thick woods with wild gooseberry bushes.
- Spend at least an entire hour picking each pea-sized gooseberry individually from the thorny bushes - one pint quart* is required per pie. Humidity and voracious mosquitos are a given.
- Spend at least another hour stemming each gooseberry.
- Prepare the filling, make the crust, and bake.
- Watch the whole pie being eaten in less than 10 minutes.
I had always taken the these pies my mom made for granted until I went gooseberry picking myself once. Unlike the hybrid gooseberries that are the size of a shooter marble, the wild ones are very, very small and it takes a lot of them to make a single pie.
I guess the lesson here is to never underestimate the effort others may go through on your behalf - or a mother's love for her family!
* Common knowledge according to my brother... Sorry.