Word: Tzatziki

 

tzatziki

[ tsah-tsee-kee ]

 

noun

a condiment or dip consisting of yogurt, cucumber, garlic, and usually mint.

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               “Come on, just try a little bit.” Jack said. Mary watched the proceedings with mild amusement.

               “No. It’s yucky.” Billy said.

               “How do you know if you’ve never tried it?”

               “Because I do.” The child insisted.

               “Come on, buddy. It’s really good, I promise.”

               Jack took a small slice of pita bread and dipped it into the paired sauce. Billy watched his father like a hawk as he ate the appetizer. The boy did not seem convinced. Since the food was not brightly colored or dinosaur shaped, he wanted none of it.

               “No.” Billy said firmly.

               He crossed his arms and pouted. It was the pout that only a young child could manage that was equal parts incredibly endearing and endlessly frustrating. Jack looked at his wife for support. She held up her hands with a smirk on her face.

               “Hey, don’t look at me. This was your idea. You get him to eat it.” She said. Jack took a deep breath.

               “Hey, buddy, do you know what this is?”

               “It’s yucky stuff.” Billy insisted.

               “No it’s not. It’s…it’s like your yogurt snack.” Jack said. Mary raised an eyebrow. Jack shrugged. “Well, it has yogurt in it.”

               Billy looked at the small container critically. “Really? It doesn’t look like it.”

               “Yup. Come on, just try a little bit and if you don’t like it, I won’t ask you again.”

               Billy looked conflicted. Jack swore the rest of the restaurant grew quiet as his son contemplated whether it was worth the risk or not. The child looked from father to food and back again. Then he took one of the smaller pieces of bread and dipped just a tiny bit of it in the sauce. It was barely enough to even see. Probably not enough to taste.

               “Come on, you can do a little more than that.” Jack urged.

               Billy looked nervous as he put more of the pita into the serving cup. It came out with just enough register as a flavor. Jack nodded encouragingly as Billy brought it to his mouth and bit into it. It looked like he was in pain as he began to chew.

               Then his eyes opened wide. Jack could see the gears turning as a whole new world opened up before his son. He immediately lashed out and plunged the bread into it and took a much bigger bite. Jack let out a breath of relief.

               “See? I told you it was good.” Jack said.

               “Uh-huh.” Billy said around a mouthful of bread and tzatziki.

               “Now, when I say something is good and that you should try it, will you do it?”

               Billy paused his chewing to think as hard as a six-year-old could. He went to open his mouth to answer, but a quick look at his mother told him to swallow first.

               “I dunno. I guess so.” He said slowly.

               It was about as good as he was going to get, so Jack would have to take it.

               “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Remember that when you pick out your dinner, okay?”

               “Okay.”

               Jack knew his son would most likely just get the hamburger off the kid’s menu. But just him trying the sauce was a step forward, so he would accept some familiarity in his son’s diet. Getting his boy to be more adventurous with food would be a long, slow journey, but one well worth taking. 

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It's not my favorite condiment, I'll admit that. It's fine every now and then, but not my go to. Then again, that may be because there's no super good Greek places near me, so I haven't really had any of the high quality stuff. That probably has something to do with it.  

Word: Xerophyte

 

xerophyte

[ zeer-uh-fahyt ]

 

noun

a plant adapted for growth under dry conditions.

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               It was hot. Jack knew how much of an understatement that was, but it was all he could think. His mind felt like it was in an oven. The rest of him felt even hotter. His skin was cracked and dry, as all the moisture meant to keep him relatively cool had long since dried up. His only saving grace was that the ground was had packed dirt and clay instead of sand and dust. It was easier to walk on and was less likely to be blown into the open wounds that had cracked open in during his trek.

               Jack could barely see. His eyes had almost completely dried up, and everything at a distance was a blur. That he could see at all was a small miracle. And it was because of that, that he had seen something that could be what saved him. A plant. A large cactus that stood tall and proud against the blazing sun. Jack did not know what kind it was, nor did he care.

               All he knew was that it was tall enough to offer a small amount of shade, and probably had some water deep inside. His feet, clad in shoes that were falling apart, shuffled along. He would have liked to move even a tiny bit faster, but he could not bring himself to do so. But he kept moving. He kept heading towards the cactus with every ounce of willpower he still had.

               He did not know how long it took, but he made it. Jack had made it. The plant really was huge. Taller than he was for sure. The needles presented a nasty problem he would have to deal with, but that was for later. For now, he lay down. He lay in the narrow band of shade the cactus produced. It was the greatest thing he had ever felt, even if the difference was not actually that large. It was still cooler than the rest of the desert.

               Jack let himself simply be for a few minutes, letting the weariness take over. Just for a little while. Then his dry throat and tongue reminded him of what else the cactus represented. If only he could get at it. He used to have a knife, but he had lost that. He had once had thick gloves, but those had long since fallen apart.

               Jack looked around for anything that might let him bypass the spiky exterior. All he found was rocks, jutting out of the ground. They were not ideal, but they would have to do. He did not need much of the plant, after all. Just enough to keep going and find some kind of civilization. Hopefully.

               He heaved, using all his remaining strength to lift one of the rocks. Had he been healthy, such a task would have been much easier. But in his current state, he barely managed to get it off the ground. He eyed his target: a thick branch that was lower than the others, and within his reach. He struggled against the weight of the rock and brought it down, letting gravity do most of the work. The branch remained stubbornly attached, although not unharmed.

               Seeing the green interior made Jack’s heart beat just a little faster, sending a small surge of adrenaline through his body. He smashed against the branch over and over until it finally yielded. It hit the ground with a satisfying thud, breaking open more. Jack rushed forward, taking hold of a spike free area and taking a deep bite of the flesh.

               He felt it. Water. It flowed down into his throat, stinging his dry body. But it was water. He ate as much as he could, getting as much energy and fluid as possible. And then he once more lay down. He would let his starved and dehydrated body work with what it had just been given. And then he would have to move on. Although he wanted more of the cactus’s bounty, he knew otherwise. Even in his current condition. He would not kill the plant that saved him.

               He would just have to hope there were more out there, waiting for him in the dry, empty desert. 

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I can't image being in this position. I probably wouldn't last very long, what with my non-existent survival skills.

Word: Ferhoodle

 

ferhoodle

[ fer-hood-l ]

 

verb (used with object), fer·hoo·dled, fer·hoo·dling.Chiefly Pennsylvania German Area.

to confuse or mix up: Don't ferhoodle the things in that drawer.

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               The ancient hallway was filled with dust. The tiny particles danced in the electric lights that were carefully strung along the ceiling. Cracked and faded murals lined the walls, telling spotty and incomplete stories about the people who built

the place in ages past. The hall ended in a massive circular door, lined with intricate carvings. Oddly, it had weathered the ages far better than the rest of the temple, and the words carved on its surface were still clearly visible, even if there were few who could read it.

               Two of those few stood in front of it now. Both men regarded the door with a sense of awe, wondering what might be beyond it.

               “Honestly, some of the men were thinking about just knocking it down.” Said the older of the two. “Can you believe that? They have no sense of propriety.”

               “You can hardly blame them. Most of them are American. They see an obstacle, their first thought is to knock it down. I’d say the fact that they haven’t brought out the dynamite already is a sign of their restraint.”

               “Even so. You’d think they’d have more respect for the past. Speaking of, what do you make of it, Charles?”

               “Tricky. Very tricky. I take you’ve tried to solve the riddle?”

               “Several times, yes. It hasn’t worked yet. That’s why we’ve called you in. Hopefully you can see something I haven’t.”

               “Let me see your notes. I’ll see if I can’t find something.”

               The older man presented Charles with a stack of paper. The young expert looked them over, pouring over them and then turning to the door and examining it carefully.

               “Ah, I see the problem. Look here, Vic, you’ve got the translation wrong. You confused these two characters and mixed up these three.” Charles said, pointing to various places on the papers. “Don’t worry, my friend, they’re all very similar looking. It’s all a very easy mistake to make.”

               “What? Let me see that.” Vic took the papers and looked over them carefully. “Why, so I have. I can’t imagine what came over me.”

               “Probably worn out after the long journey. Like I said, the mix up is quite understandable. Anyway, now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can set about actually getting this door open.”

               The two men went to work. With the new translation in place, the actual riddle was made apparent. That did not mean the answer was obvious though. It took almost an hour before Charles finally pieced it together.

               “Why, the door’s been all mixed up. That’s the riddle. See the images? The order’s been all jumbled up.”

               “Charles, do you mean to tell me that this door was closed by one of those computer game puzzles? That can’t be right.”

               “Can you come up with a better explanation? I know it seems wrong, but it’s also the only thing that fits.”

               Vic looked at the door and sighed. “Very well. It irks me that something so important is hidden by something so childish, but if that’s what it takes, let’s see what we can do.”

               The old stone was difficult to move at first, but once it got going, the different parts of the door slid around each other remarkably smoothly. It only took a few minutes to solve the puzzle, especially with both men working together. And soon they heard the sound of stone grinding against stone hidden in the walls. Loud thunks and rumbles shook dust from the walls and floor and whatever mechanism kept the door shut now caused it to open. It moved slowly, rolling away into a hidden recess in the wall. And beyond it was the room that the two men had worked to get into.

               “Come on, Vic. Let’s see if this was all worth it.”

               Charles did not hesitate as he entered the room, with Vic close behind.

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The idea of an ancient civilization hiding stuff behind a video game type puzzle is pretty funny to think about, isn't it? Who knows, maybe they were and all the puzzles have just broken down because of the effects of time.