Cinnamon: (n) an aromatic spice

Neil Young, in a burst of creative brilliance, wrote a song entitled “Cinnamon Girl.”

Many of you will not know who Neil Young is, but you certainly know what “cinnamon” and “girl” are. Let’s deal with that.

When he wrote this song, I was so impressed, because envisioning a woman as food is just divinely inspired.

Matter of fact, every time I hear the tune I imagine a lovely lass who looks and tastes like cinnamon toast–and if I lick her, I will get the sensation of great pleasure and oodles of flavor.


Not in the sense that Neil is a genius–but anytime we can connect human appetites with human feelings, to create human understanding, we are on the Road to Glory.

I’ve never had the courage to ask a woman if I could smear her with butter, cinnamon and sugar, to fulfill Neil Young’s recipe.

But believe you me, if I ever do run across a cinnamon girl, and it’s obvious that the tastiness awaits, I may not be responsible for my actions.


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Churn: (v) to move about vigorously.

It all depends what you disrupt.

If you stir up and churn milk and have the patience to stay with it, you get creamy, sweet butter. On the other hand, you can probably sit all
day long churning dirt, and even if you add water, you will end up with muddy conclusions.

It isn’t always effective to motivate people or circumstances. If there is quality, intelligence, spirit and humility, then churning can bring about a beautiful, natural change.

But if people are stubborn, angry, racist and ignorant, churning normally initiates violence.

You’ve got to judge your circumstances.

Is there enough milk of human kindness in the people you’re dealing with to see them turn into butter?


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Butterscotch: (n) a flavor created by combining melted butter with brown sugar.

I was greatly disappointed to discover that there were no butterscotch trees–not even a bush. A vine would have been nice. I enjoy the flavor, and would certainly have been willing to go to some farm and pick my own.

What a treat–stopping every few minutes from placing my butterscotch sprouts into my pail to eat a few. Did I mention that I like butterscotch?

And now I know why. It’s a combination of butter and brown sugar–similar to taking the winner of the male decathlon and the female winner of the broad jump in the Olympics and mating them to have a child. Pretty good chance it’s going to turn out okay.

But then I am swept away by the realization brought about by pure candor. Since butter is not good for me and brown sugar is not good for me, their baby will probably be a brat, too.

Nevertheless, every once in a while a piece of butterscotch in your mouth is an excellent way to get rid of the bad taste of bitterness.


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Butter: (n) a pale yellow edible fatty substance made by churning cream

Nothing tastes better than butter. It’s good on everything.

It makes pancakes edible.

It makes a delicious steak heavenly.

And it turns toast into something worthwhile to consume instead of dried-out bread for making dressing.

But it will also kill you.

High in cholesterol, high in calories, high in death toll.

Sometimes people make me laugh when I mention that butter is something I need to avoid. They say, “Why don’t you just eat a little?”

I always find it amusing when humans think they can pursue moderation. Because of the nature of our appetites, we really have two options: excess or abstinence.

Sometimes we can pull off abstinence if we get convicted or determined enough to become bratty about our decision to abstain. And of course, excess is merely allowing the human animal to rule the cage.

I’ve tried artificial butter. Surprisingly, very artificial.

I’ve tried butter substitutes. They were no substitute, by the way.

I’ve tried margarine, which is like convincing yourself that using three baby wipes to clean up is the same thing as taking a bath.

Butter is a blessing–but for me, it is one that God will have to supply in eternity, or otherwise, I will get there too soon.blished its seat of power.

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Brussels Sprout


Brussels sprout: (n) a vegetable consisting of the small compact bud of a variety of cabbage.

I was thinking about tough jobs:

Being the promotion agent for O. J. Simpson.

How about this?

Social media guru for the Facebook page of Adolph Hitler.

Or …

The marketing representative for Brussels sprouts.

This is a vegetable that has a public relations problem at nearly every turn. (Or turnip, for that matter…)Dictionary B

It is often described as a very small cabbage–not that cabbage has a great following itself. So being deemed a smaller rendition of an “also-planted” vegetable is not a “heady” proposition.

Brussels sprouts are fussy about being cooked. Some people like to keep them crisp and others, well-done. For those who like them kind of soggy, crisp is inedible. Likewise, the crispers choke on the “softies.”

Brussels sprouts also suffer under the dubious honor of being healthy. It would be a wonderful world if people were actually concerned about their health. Most people become interested in their well-being just about the time they grab their chest with a heart attack.

So it becomes an issue of taste. It’s gotta taste good. To accomplish that, we cover them in butter. Butter can make almost anything taste good, including snails.

But the problem is, when you put butter on Brussels sprouts, it’s like sending a choir boy to a maximum security prison to hang out. That which was good will certainly be tainted. The butter turns the Brussels sprouts into liquid death.

Do I like Brussels sprouts? Yes.

Would I serve them at a party? No.


Because deep in my soul, I really like people.


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Batch: (n) a quantity or consignment of goods produced at one time.Dictionary B

Christmas cookies.

They are delightful–and unfortunately, limited to one season instead of being sprinkled throughout the calendar.

We happened upon a great recipe for such a batch of treats which was so simple to put together, but so delicious, that we often made them in huge quantities.

All that was required were corn flakes, marshmallows, butter, green food coloring and red cinnamon candies to simulate holly.

The first batch of these delicacies were so moist, chewy and delicious that we quickly decided to make a second and then a third.

About a week later, I got a hankering for more of these sweet treats, so I opened up the cupboard. I discovered we had plenty of corn flakes, not so many marshmallows, and just a little bit of butter. We had lots of green food coloring and cinnamon candies.

I thought to myself, what difference would it really make? After all, what is a marshmallow, or a teaspoon of butter here or there?

So I stirred up the mixture, and immediately realized that this particular batch seemed stiffer. I didn’t think much about it.

I put them on the cookie sheet to set for a few minutes. When I returned, I discovered that my Yuletide yummies were as hard as rocks.

But I persisted. Honestly, I nearly broke a tooth trying to bite into one.

I was angry. Or was I disappointed? I’m not sure–but somewhere suspended between those two emotions, I lamented that my new batch had failed to fulfill my taste buds.

Someone mentioned the fact that I had altered the recipe, thus tainting this particular batch, but I pooh-poohed that idea, saying, “It should still have worked.”

I have since recanted such foolishness. I am now fully aware that if you want to make a good batch of anything … you’ve got to follow the recipe.


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Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Alfredo: (n) a sauce for pasta incorporating butter, cream garlic and Parmesan cheese.

There are very few surprises.

Well, I guess the fact that avocados are high in calories is a little alarming, considering how little taste they offer for the load. But generally speaking, you can taste–or really just look–at a dish of food and know that it is killer with everything that produces the fat and sugars which make us bounce out of the room in our “rotundness.”

Such is alfredo sauce.

It’s almost comical, isn’t it? It seems to me that the times in my life that I’ve eaten fettuccine alfredo, I have found myself screaming at the world around me, “What the hell! Leave me alone! I’m gonna go out with a fork in my hand and a smile on my face!”

  • Butter. Come on. Can anything be more symbolic of excess?
  • Cream.
  • Parmesan cheese.
  • And then, on top of that, to create a noodle that is larger and wider than spaghetti–a four-lane carb–to make sure you don’t lose one single drop of this exorbitantly-caloried sauce, is a proclamation of insanity portrayed as a declaration of eating independence.

I once walked by a plate of fettuccine alfredo–without consuming it, merely viewing it–and went to the scale, having gained three pounds. My eyeballs had absorbed the richness through visual osmosis.

It’s much like America. Watching a little piece of Dr. Oz the other day as they were discussing how to take kale and turn it into chips by baking it in the oven, a commercial came on afterwards advertising the new Wendy’s double-bacon, avocado, guacamole cheddar cheese burger.

I love this country. We talk such a good game–and then we decide never to play it.

We think putting on public service announcements about childhood obesity will cover the problem as we continue to dangle saturated fats and sugary confections in front of our children like Christmas ornaments lit up by tiny little bulbs.

They tell me people in Italy eat lots of pasta, and don’t have heart trouble. All I know is, if they’re eating fettuccine alfredo, they should be prepared … well, they should be prepared … to die.