My grandson Parker, going on four, loves going to the park.
That is, not the small Conestoga Park itself, but very specifically, its playgrounds only qualify for this appellation
(it also happens to be located in the Appalachians).
Lately, he has taken (me) to the
To my embarrasment, I often cannot find the right name for this simple device.
The most likely reason for this phenomenon is probably subconscious sexual suppression.
By way of explanation, my mind picks the word that first comes to mind when it slowly starts its choochoo of thought.
In this case, that happens to be the Dutch term "wip", derived from the verb "wippen."
It so happens that Dutch is still an evolving language.
A few decades ago, when I visited my sister, she laughed loud when I innocently used the term under discussion in its original sense.
It appeared that - in my absence - the old usage had been discarded for an acceptable alternative meaning refering to sexual intercourse.
My basic puritanical spirit does not seem to accept that easily, whence my search for an acceptable alternative to that alternative meaning.
So I let Parker solve the dilemna: "What's that thing called?"
"The ingbaltest," he announces without any hesitation.
We enjoyed the ingbaltest for a few minutes before I ask him once more.
"The ingbaltest," he shrugs with an overtone of irritation; grownups can be so difficult!
Back home, I fail to find the term or image authenticated by GOOGLE
I call Parker on the carpet about it: "What is an ingbaltest?"
"What do you call it, OPA?" "People here call it a seesaw," I said, shifting the responsibility.
"Well, then from now on I will call it a see-saw and you can call it an ingbaltest," is his final Solomon solution.
BLO fecit 20021213 - stories