Photo Credit: Rodney Margison © 2017
Today’s word strings random phrases and cliches and memories through the eyelets of my mind.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” says one hypocrite to another. My favorite pot or kettle was always my mom’s olive-green Dutch oven that she reserved for homemade popcorn and deep-fried delicacies.
“Gee, gosh, Linda! Crap or get off the pot!” If you knew my grandma, then you also know I sanitized that memory. I grew up playing all sorts of cards and games, but our go-to was 500 Rummy. My grandma loved to play cards, but she despised waiting, especially when she thought the kids just weren’t paying attention to their turn. I liked to take my time and strategize, so I found myself at the receiving end of some quite colorful language.
With any mention of pot or marijuana, my mom—every single time—referred to it as “wacky tobacky” and giggled like a schoolgirl.
Pot-ato. I miss potatoes. I can’t eat them because they set off a horrible autoimmune response. I thought I could start eating them again recently, but was wrong. I’m still trying to fully recover from that regression.
Pot-ential. I have potential, but I don’t always fully reach it. Like with this entry.