The word was "piet", and as I scrolled through the various definitions, I was delighted to find that one of them was "the magpie, Pica pica."
I loved learning that a piet was a magpie. The only other piet I knew of was Piet Hein, a Danish polymath whose poetry I'd been given by my sixth grade teacher, one Mrs. Gordon. They're tiny little poems, snips of wisdom perilously close to doggerel, but fun none-the-less.
That book of poetry is somewhere in my house; I know not where. Happily, his "grooks" are scattered hither and yon about the intertubes. Here's one, silly but full of truth:
TIMING TOAST
There's an art of knowing when.
Never try to guess.
Toast until it smokes and then
twenty seconds less.
So true about the toast.
ReplyDeleteI didn't know that piet could mean magpie, either. That is fun. The only Piet I knew of previously was Piet Mondrian.
I think every piece of toast my mother ever made used this recipe.
ReplyDelete;-)