Generational Misconduct

petitparadis generations

Gran opened the fridge door, took a hearty dollop of chilled, gelatinised bone broth from the container and dumped it on her morning porridge.

“I thought it was stewed fruit.” she said.

“No, it wasn’t. It was bone broth.” said Mrs PP.

“It didn’t taste very nice.”


None of us could dispute that.

It is however just one of the weird and wonderful occurrences in our household. Sometimes things are done that are just funny. Pa one time drank some of our sour dough starter that was sitting on the back table. He thought it was yoghurt. He acknowledged that it tasted different. But he still drank it.

The Little Fellas come out with some weird stuff too. Mr T told his older brother A Remarkable Thing yesterday while he ate some sultanas.

“The brown sultanas come from brown grapes and the black sultanas come from black grapes.” It appeared to come out of nowhere and Master J and myself just kind of looked at Mr T and blinked, trying to digest the marvellous information that had spilled forth to us from – as Mrs PP calls it – the Stream of Consciousness. We both chose not to do anything in particular with the information divulged to us.

The banter between Gran and the Little Fellas is quite amusing sometimes. Gran doesn’t quite hear what they are talking about and comes out with some pearlers of comments which gets a mixed reaction most times.

“It’s my Lego Secret Agent.” says a Little Fella, to which Gran replies “Who’s had a bike accident?”

“I made something pretty.” says another Little Fella and Gran comes out with “You had sausages, did you say?”




About Petit Paradis

I am on a journey with my family to transition as closely as practicable to a state of self-reliance in suburbia. I practice permaculture principles in our house, garden and community. We are on the southern coast of Western Australia. To our north is the rest of the world. To the south, Antarctica.
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3 Responses to Generational Misconduct

  1. tonytomeo says:

    Goodness! My friend down south and I have a whole list of misused words; some of which are pretty naughty. One is the bag that people who are unable to use the toilet must wear to collect their bad stuff. Brent thought it was a Pentacostal bag (colostomy bag). When my sister #4 was very young, I took her to see Santa Clause in a mall. She saw him from a distance and yelled as loudly as she could “Menopause!” . . . So, I took her to sit on Menopause’s lap and tell him what she wanted from Christmas.


  2. Pingback: DIG – And a Day in the Life | Petit Paradis

  3. Pingback: Post 400 – Welcome & Thank you, Cabbages & The Full Moon – Petit Paradis

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