Sometimes, 'Language' is Wholly Appropriate

Warning: In this post, I am going to use some crude, vulgar, and indeed, foul, language.  And the reason I'm going to do so is that it's appropriate to the goal of this post -- to help you to viscerally reject using a certain word which most Americans, even Christians, have been indoctrinated over the past 30-40 years to view as just innocent fun: 'hot', in the sense taught us by that pathetic slut, Paris Hilton.

Recently, I chanced to listen to some podcasts by a YouTuber (whom I won't identify, other than to say that he's an East Coast politician).  He's a Christian, and he displays a genuine heart for the young men growing up adrift in this feminism-controlled and feminized (*) age, without real manly examples on which to model themselves.

BUT: he uses the Paris Hilton sense of 'hot', he refers to his wife as "smokin' hot!"

You, Gentle Reader, know exactly what 'hot' means in this sense, though some of you will deny that it means what it means and that you know exactly what it means.  'Hot' does not mean 'lovely/lovable' nor 'beautiful/handsome' nor anything along such innocent lines.  'Hot' doesn't even mean something as crude/crass as 'sexy'; it's worse than that: it means 'fuckable'.

If you imagine you can deny that 'hot'  means 'fuckable', consider this hypothetical: Suppose that you are a father; and suppose that you have a young daughter, 3-4 years old; and suppose that every day when you come home from work, she excitedly bursts out of the house to greet you as quickly as possible; and suppose, as doting fathers have done for thousands of yours, you pick her up and twirl her around, and say, "How's my hot little girl!"

You would *never* do such a thing, because you know *exactly* what 'hot' means.  If some other man were to remark that your little daughter is lovely or beautiful, you'd beam with pride. If that same man were to remark on how 'hot' she is, you'd consider murder -- because you know *exactly* what 'hot' means.

So, back to the podcaster referring to his wife as "smokin' hot!" -- while he may not want to acknowledge it, he is inviting other men to consider his wife as little more than a walking 'pussy', to be fucked and discarded at whim.  No respectable man, and certainly no Christian, would ever invite other men to think of any woman he loves and respects in such a manner.

To publicly refer to your wife as 'hot' is to treat her as disrespectfully and dishonorably as King Ahasuerus treated Queen Vashti, when he commanded her to display herself to his drunken friends (see the Book of Esther).

(*) Most American men, especially the ones a generation or more younger than I, have the mindsets of junior-high girls: that's why they decorate their bodies with tattoos -- "Look at me! Pay attention to me!  See how I've decorated myself!" In contrast, a man seeks attention or status by his deed, by what he has built, by what he has accomplished.

On "A Medical Procedure to Terminate a Pregnancy"

Have you noticed that the Democrats and other leftists have taken to characterizing abortion as "a medical procedure to terminate a pregnancy"?

No. This won't do. Birth might be called "a medical procedure which terminates a pregnancy", but abortion terminates a human life: the whole point of an abortion is the dead baby.

Sometimes, Impatience Works Out OK

 A few weeks ago, I bought several pounds of peaches at Meijer's for less than $1.00 per pound.  My thought was to can them as sliced peaches.

However ... I got impatient when blanching them (to remove the skin). On the second batch, I didn't let the water get hot enough before I dropped in the peaches. So, of course, the skins didn't come off.  I tried again and again on that batch, and never got it right.  By the time I gave up on blanching that batch, and just pealed them (which wastes a lot of the flesh of the peaches), the seeds themselves were warm. 

And, because peeling peaches really butchers the fruit, I wasn't getting nice, attractive slices.  So, I decided that instead of canning the peaches as slices, I'd make a peach version of applesauce or apple butter.  And again, impatience hit.  It was getting toward evening, and I didn't want to leave the peach puree simmering in the crock-pot over night, so I canned it while it was still too runny.

However ... the result is so good: it's like the "peach nectar" we were sometimes served in grade school, but thicker/pulpier.  I had sprinkled in some cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice (*), which does make a nice addition to the natural peach flavor.  I wish I could share it with you, it's to tasty.

I liked the result so much that I bought more peaches to do it on purpose.  On the second go, I didn't even bother removing the skins; I decided to see whether the immersion-blender would puree the skins after the peaches had cooked down. It was a success.

I also canned a few quarts of mixed apples and peaches.

(*) I've never bought -- or used -- any of those seasonings, myself. I "inherited" these containers from my mother back in 1988, and had never used them.

This picture is of some Asian lilies which used to grow near the front door.  But, after a doe and her yearly fawns made my yard their home-base, they kept eating the plants.  Before the deer killed the plants entirely, I moved the bulbs to the fenced-in garden, and they have finally recovered.  These things are 7-feet tall!

Speaking of deer -- the other morning when I went out to see whether the groundhog who keeps trying to get under the fence into the garden had managed to do so overnight (as it turns out, he tries several times per day during the daylight hours), this year's twin fawns were near the garden. I didn't notice them at first.  As I was pulling weeds, they came over to investigate me.  I heard/saw them and stood up.  I motioned with my hands to the braver one to come closer ... and it did, a couple of times. But, finally, the more timid one spooked and took the courage of the less timid one with it.  The fawn *seemed* to want to come closer to me, it was practically frolicking. 

And, speaking of that groundhog -- the other day, when I went out to check on his latest attempt to get under the fence, he was at that very moment so intent on getting under the fence that he didn't notice me until I was just a few feet away. And, as I hadn't yet cut back the herbs growing at the base of the fence, I didn't notice him until he spooked.

These next two pictures are of opposite ends of a bed beside/above the driveway which had gotten out of control when I worked out-of-town.  This is *after*  I cleaned it out the overgrowth (and poison ivy). I now need to rebuild the retaining wall. That's a good 30 feet from the garage around to the sidewalk, and another 20 feet past the sidewalk.

The first phase of rebuilding that retaining wall is to build some steps from the driveway up to the yard (and giving access to that side porch).  I just finished the steps today. It was like putting together a 3-D jigsaw puzzle ... but the pieces don't have pictures on them, and they are from several different puzzles. But, I'm pretty satisfied with the result:

This last picture shows the retaining wall from the new steps toward the sidewalk.  Those stones on the driveway are not from the retaining wall, but some of them will end up in it.  These are the rejected candidates for the new steps.

UPDATE (2024/07/20): Today, I got that groundhog which had been getting into my garden: stabbed him with a potato fork.

A couple of days after I first wrote this post, he finally found a place where he could dig under the fence.  So, I spent a day digging out the soil on the outside of the fence along that side, and buried lengths of cement-board siding just below the fence (**). Of course, there were still other sides of the fence where I can't dig up on either side of the fence without killing plants.

This fellow was stubborn ... and really pissed off that he couldn't get into the garden as he had before. For several days, he tried digging all along that side of the fence: he'd toss out most of the soil, I'd put it back, and he'd do it again. Then he tried the areas where in the spring I had buried cement-board on the inside of the fence.  Finally, he moved to the side with no cement-board below ground (I had planted this area before I thought of the cement-board solution).

For the past several days, he had been getting into the garden and eating my plants.  It's possible that he even climbed the fence to get in.

He was in the garden when I left for the hardware store earlier today. He was still in the garden when I got back, though I didn't realize that until after I had filled in the hole he'd dug at the corner of the fence.  So, I got the potato fork and gingerly went after him ... and, much to my surprise (and delight), he cooperated with me and let me spear him.

(**) ,,, on the outside of the wood "skirting" at ground level. Due to the fence-posts being on the outside of the "skirting", it's not a snug fit.  In the fall, I plan to move these cement-boards to the inside of the fencing