Word For The Day 6-21-2017

jobation

jo·ba·tion \jōˈbāshən\
Popularity: Bottom 30% of words

Definition

A scolding; a long tedious reproof.


Exmples

When he had gone I gave Umslopogaas a jobation and told him that I was ashamed of his behaviour.
Allan Quatermain

It is difficult for me to justify to myself the violent jobation which my Father gave me in consequence of my scream, except by attributing to him something of the human weakness of vanity.
Father and Son: a study of two temperaments

Julian would gladly have fought it out with his imperative father; but, nevertheless, it was a comfort to have to fetch pale Charles for a jobation; so he went at once.
The Complete Prose Works of Martin Farquhar Tupper

After all, there’s no place for a cock to fight on like his own dunghill; and there’s nothing able to carry a fellow well through a tough bit of jobation with a lawyer like a stiff tumbler of brandy punch.
The Kellys and the O’Kellys

Mr Green was presented, and ushered into the service much in the same way as I was; but he had not forgotten what I said to him relative to the first lieutenant; and it so happened that, on the third day he witnessed a jobation, delivered by the first lieutenant to one of the midshipmen, who, venturing to reply, was ordered to the mast-head for the remainder of the day; added to which, a few minutes afterwards, the first lieutenant ordered two men to be put both legs in irons.
Percival Keene

“I can understand, father,” answered Ida, struggling to keep her temper under this jobation, “that my refusal to marry Mr. Cossey is disagreeable to you for obvious reasons, though it is not so very long since you detested him yourself.”
Colonel Quaritch, V.C. A Tale of Country Life


Origin

jobe (to harangue or rebuke in a long-winded or drawn-out way)

-ation (an action or process)


https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/jobation

Friday Fictioneers 4-18-2017

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dale-rogerson-pizza

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Friday Fictioneers 

Chris leaned back with a sigh of contentment. Dante lay on the bed, groaning. Jay, on the floor. The hotel room was a wreak; not torn apart, just a constant scattering of things here to there.

“Good pizza,” Jay managed, saxophone laid beside him.

“Have more.”

“Piss off, Chris. If I eat more, I’ll explode. What then, huh?”

Dante grunted in agreement.

Chris sipped his wine, pleasantly buzzed.

“Where are we?” Jay asked.

“Frick if I know. Somewhere with good pizza.”

Chris snorted, finished his wine. Touring was hell, but he’d never been happier.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 3-12-2017

photo-20170206154748327

photo-20170306154630013This week’s photo prompt is provided by Mike Vore. 

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

 

Chris whipped the cover off the piano and sat down, fingers running lightly over the keys as he waited for the rest of the band to settle. He’d been awake the last 72 hours in a frenzy of writing; never a good sign in the studio.

“So,” Dante asked, having drawn the short straw, “what’s on the agenda today.”

“Same as yesterday,” fingers stroking ivory. “We have to get it right.”

“We got it right yesterday,” Jay put in.

Chris stopped playing. “Once. Out of how many times?”

The rest of the band simultaneously cleared throats, sighed.

“Once,” Jay admitted, “if I remember correctly, out of …hum-ah… many times.”

“All right then.” Chris started to play again.
.
“I thought once we got famous, we were supposed to enjoy, not slave away.”

When Chris looked up, no one claimed that statement.

“We are not famous enough.”

The rest of the band shared a look.

“Ah, silly me,” Dante muttered.

Another long day in paradise.

Word Of The Day 2-23-2017

eddish

 

An aftergrowth of grass (or other plants) which grows after it has been been mowed; also, a field of such growth.

The hay was gathered from the fields, and cattle were turned on to the eddish.
Sons and Lovers

‘When wheat upon eddish (stubble), ye mind to bestowe Let that be the first of the wheat ye do sowe’; and
A Short History of English Agriculture

In Leicestershire and Cambridgeshire the name _eddish_ prevails, I am told, and hence _eddish cheese_, made from the milk of cows which have grazed eddish.
Notes and Queries, Number 196, July 30, 1853 A Medium of Inter-communication for Literary Men, Artists, Antiquaries, Genealogists, etc

The origin of ‘eddish’ is uncertain; but probably from Middle English ‘eddish’ (found only in compounds: e.g. ‘eddish-hen’ (quail), ultimately from Old English ‘edisc’ (an eddish or aftermath; pasture; enclosed pasture, park).

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Maddening

Maddening

 

He set the book in his lap and leaned back, nape of his neck resting against the rough horse-hide of the chair. Not his choice of sitting accouterments, but then again, this wasn’t his place. More a borrowed place.

Regardless of ownership, he loved this place. It allowed him to escape the endless ebb and flow of the world. Of reporters and paparazzi; a million people calling his name, pulling him in a million difference directions. The second leg of their tour started in two weeks and he was wiped out. He loved touring, loved interacting with the fans, but the older he got the more downtime he needed if, for nothing else, the fragile thing he called sanity.

Not that he considered himself anywhere near sane. Life in the music biz had never been sane. His parents had called him high-sprung; his friends crazy and the band members, probably, an arrogant prick.  Which, he was. He was all of the above, but fronting a band like The Secret Agents and being the main creative genius, didn’t tend to engender one towards sanity.

Jay walked in and sank down into the other chair, shifting around to get comfortable. “I hate these chairs.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “And you are sitting there why?”

“To bug the hell out of you.”

Chris snorted.  “Well done, Jazzman. Well done.”

“The call earlier was Kerry,” Jay said, leaning over to look at the book in Chris’ lap. “He’ll be back by the beginning of next week.  Rudy should be here by then, too.”

Kerry was thir bassist. Rudy the drummer, both coming in upon the departure of an original band member.

“So why the hell are you here and not amongst that gypsy band you call kids.”

“It’s so not a gypsy band,” Jay protested.

“How many kids is it now?” Chris asked.  “Ten… twenty?”

“Seven.”

“And one on the way.”

“Well, yeah.” Jay blushed, faint redness spreading across brown skin. “I’ll be heading home for few days so I can be back with the others.”

They fell silent.

“Are you all right?” Jay asked.

“Yeah,” came the answer, more upbeat than was the truth. He was never wholly all right, but he’d learned to keep himself to himself. It made things easier all around. No one need know the maddening world inside him.

He felt Jay watching him, figured  he wasn’t fooling the other man.

“No more broken mirrors,” Jay said, suddenly serious.

“Nope.”

“Make sure you eat.”

“Yep.”

“Sleep.”

“Yep.” He was lying and they both knew it.

Rising, Jay lay a hand on his shoulder.  “Call me.”

“Yep.” He didn’t watch Jay walked out. Heard the faint sound of the outer door closing behind him.

Alone folded him inside. Hidden, sinking into the disorder of his own mind.

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers 12-15-2016

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horses-in-snow

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He watched the horses through the snow, Winston whining at his feet. This was the life he’d wanted: his own man, beholden to no one, but not like this. He’d been lost when Sandy died, not sure he wanted to go on, but what then would happen to Denny and the other horses?  To Winston?

“Come on, boy. Let’s get the stock in the barn. Ain’t got enough sense between’em to get outa the snow.”

The air outside hung fresh and clean and crisp, scented with pine needles and the growing storm. He stepped into the pasture, horses raising their heads to watch him come.

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Sacred – 12-4-2016

Sacred

“Is nothing sacred anymore?” I asked. peeved.  I hadn’t meant to show my irritation, but I was much better at promising not to show my emotions than actually not showing them.

“It’s not like it’s a national secret or anything,” Jay replied, looking at me with the look which said he wasn’t interested in anything I had to say on that subject.

Bastard.

Not that I’d ever say that out loud. Jay was one of my best friends, and I didn’t really meant it. He had a point. Nothing was sacred anymore, not when one was a ‘celebrity.’ I should be used to the reality by now.  Not only was my public life the domain of the people but, apparently, my private life was also.

Sighing, I leaned back in the chair.

“I know you don’t want to go,” Jay continued, “but you don’t have much choice.”

I rolled my head to the side to look at him.  “How come nobody does shit like this for your birthday?”

Jay laughed. “I am not a Music God.”

“Phuff. I thought gods didn’t have to do anything they didn’t want.”  But I was smiling. I didn’t want to go to this very public birthday party, didn’t want to deal with the red carpet and the screaming fans and the push and shove of paparazzi. It was, however, part of the job and it was the part that didn’t give a shit if I’d just gotten divorced or not.

“Look at it this way,” Jay pointed out. “If you go out and about, it should dim the rumors over the divorce.”

Just last week, I’d finalized the divorce from my second wife. Another sacred down the drain. My first wife had turned into a jealous psycho and left me. Well, I guess she hadn’t really left since she still stalked me everywhere I went.

Bitch. And that I meant.

“Besides, how many groupies and starlets are going to attempt to crawl into your bed?”

I sat up.  “Dozens, I hope.”

We both rose, bumped fists.

“We got your back, man,” Jay said. “We all do.”

“I know.” And I did. The whole band had my back, had had it, did have it, and would have it.

“I’m going to get dressed,” I said, heading for the stairs up to my room.

“Don’t forget to wear your tux!”

“Bastard!” I shot over a shoulder and this time I did meant it, in a funny buddy kind of way.

Somethings were still sacred after all.