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Hot Wheels Cake Design

hot wheels cake design

    hot wheels
  • Hot Wheels is a thirty minute Saturday morning animated television series broadcast on ABC from 1969 to 1971, under the primary sponsorship of Mattel Toys.

  • Hot Wheels is a brand of die cast toy car, introduced by American toymaker Mattel in 1968. It was the primary competitor of Matchbox until 1996, when Mattel acquired rights to the Matchbox brand from Tyco.

  • Hot Wheels is a Hardy Boys novel.

  • Do or plan (something) with a specific purpose or intention in mind

  • the act of working out the form of something (as by making a sketch or outline or plan); "he contributed to the design of a new instrument"

  • an arrangement scheme; "the awkward design of the keyboard made operation difficult"; "it was an excellent design for living"; "a plan for seating guests"

  • plan: make or work out a plan for; devise; "They contrived to murder their boss"; "design a new sales strategy"; "plan an attack"

  • Decide upon the look and functioning of (a building, garment, or other object), typically by making a detailed drawing of it

  • A flattish, compact mass of something, esp. soap

  • An item of savory food formed into a flat, round shape, and typically baked or fried

  • patty: small flat mass of chopped food

  • An item of soft, sweet food made from a mixture of flour, shortening, eggs, sugar, and other ingredients, baked and often decorated

  • a block of solid substance (such as soap or wax); "a bar of chocolate"

  • coat: form a coat over; "Dirt had coated her face"

A Milestone Of Time.

A Milestone Of Time.

Here, I post a short story as the photo description.

---Bruce Parkin

The earliest recollection of my friend Joe was that he was old. I don't mean old, like Mum and Dad, but really OLD. Positively ancient. Calculations done in later life put him around sixty when I started to take notice of him. His eyes were a deep brown, with flecks of gold in them, watery with age, but kind and perceptive. What little hair he had left was grey and hung over his ears. Most of the time his face sported at least a day's growth of beard and he had a paunch, despite the fact that he would ride around on a decrepit and rickety bicycle.

He lived just a few miles away in the next village. To my mother's horror, he smoked a pipe, although he never did so indoors whilst we were there. I always recall that his house had a wonderful sweet aromatic scent derived from years of smoking fragrant tobacco. How he achieved this heady perfume I do not know, but I do know that he grew his own tobacco. He did a lot of things for himself that you or I would not think of doing. He tried, as far as he could, to be self sufficient. He had made a solar panel from an old central heating radiator to supplement his hot water. He had a small orchard at the bottom of his large garden with apples pears, plums, peaches and blackberries. He grew all his own vegetables, kept chickens, so had a constant supply of fresh eggs. He baked his own bread, grew his own grapes and brewed his own wine from them and made his own ice cream, of which he gave me huge amounts.

He was a fount of wisdom, general knowledge, jokes and fantastic tales.

His wife had died some years before I got to know him. He had an old brown and white dog which, when I saw him out on his bike, would run alongside him as he trundled along the narrow lanes. When I was tiny and we all three went for walks, he made me a wooden jointed dog on wheels that I used to pull behind me. Later in life he made me a treacle tin steam turbine, candle and cotton reel tanks and elderberry branch peashooters.

Mum used to tell me not to bother him so much, but he always seemed to have time for me. As I used to go past his house on the way to and from school, I used to call in to see him after school and she would pick me up from there. He would give me some of his home made cake or biscuits and, when the weather was hot, some of his home made lemonade. He always used to tell me that it was his wife who had taught him how to make that delicious drink.

In the Winter time, he would have a large black saucepan bubbling gently on his large solid wood range emitting wonderful odours as incredible tasting soups simmered on the hob. A bowl of that along with a couple of thick slices of bread and butter and I was set up for the hardships of winter. When I was about ten, we had a very hard winter with lots of snow so he made me a sledge. He swore to me that the first one he had made was a "Blue Peter" design and he still had it in his shed. He took me sledging and we had the most wonderful time. Since then, the winters have never produced enough snow, but his sledge still hangs in our garage.

In the Spring, he would take me for walks in the woods with the dog, and, even though I was not all that interested at the time, he would show me all sorts of things; the rabbit warren, the fox's den, the badger sett, dozens of different flowers, which he either knew by name or could find from a little book he carried with him. When I got bored with that, we would play hide and seek and similar games. We would build dams in the stream and make small boats from conker shells and sail them down small waterfalls to see who's could go furthest without capsizing. I would tell him about school and what I had done since I had last seen him and he would suck on his empty pipe and gently ask all sorts of questions about my lessons. Sometimes he would ask me to teach him about something I'd done in class and I would go through it with him. I know now that he knew more about it than I did and was just helping me to learn. Sometimes, when Mum and Dad got on my nerves and upset me, I would go to him to tell him all my troubles and he would always listen carefully to my highly distorted point of view and then, without malice or criticism, he would straighten out the story and then offer different ways for me to sort out my problem.

In the Summer, he would take me fishing in the local ponds and, when I was older, the river. I would return home with frog spawn, tadpoles and small fish all in jars, much to Mum's disgust. She would make me take them back and release them. When we were fishing, he would light up his pipe to keep away the midges and we would sit on the bank in the sunshine. We both wore hats against the sun as I have fair hair and he had none. Whilst we waited for the fish to bite, he would tell me stories about the past, when he was little and about his father and grand

Day 143/365 - Buon Compleanno!

Day 143/365 - Buon Compleanno!

Today was the sixth and final day of my trip to Venice. It's also my birthday. It was a day spent largely disguised as someone cultured and refined rather than as an uncouth Midwestern bumpkin. I got a bit of a late start this morning, but I kicked things off with a trip to the Ca d'Oro Museum (14th-16th Century paintings, sculptures, and tapestries) and then wandered around the last neighborhood of the city I had yet to explore, the residential area of Cannaregio. I saw a church full of Titian paintings and lots of Venetians doing their shopping at the market on a Saturday and then it was time to head back to the hotel and get dressed up for an afternoon at the opera.

Before I left home I found an on-line ticket broker and bought myself a ticket to see the opera "Romeo et Juliette" at Teatro La Fenice, a theater that has certainly earned its name of 'The Phoenix' given that it has burned to a shell and been rebuilt. Twice. It was an afternoon showtime, so before it began I stopped and had a good lunch (pasta and bean soup, squid cooked in its own ink with polenta, ricotta cake, and two glasses of Prosecco) at a restaurant right on the steps of La Fenice.

La Fenice itself is quite a show. It's a little, gilded, cloisonne music box of a theater. Photography inside is prohibited but I managed to sneak a few shots. Judging by the number of camera flashes I saw going off, I wasn't the only one (although I had the decency and sense to turn off my flash at least). The opera was great. They went with a very contemporary staging that had a glam rock, goth, anime, rave feel to it and the set was an enormous record turntable that actually rotated at times and had a moving arm (from which Juliet plucked the needle to stab herself at the end). It was the first time I'd seen a pink-haired Juliet. She even had matching pink laces in her combat boots. She was a phenomenal performer, too. And she was smoking hot. It sounds a bit like an odd choice of production design, especially for such a historical venue, but it really worked well. The story is about 13 and 14 year-olds after all.

After the show I popped into a cafe for hot chocolate and a chocolate and nut covered cookie that served as my birthday cake, and then I went to see another musical performance -- this one by musicians and singers in powdered wigs and 17th century clothes. I had hoped to get to attend a peformance of local composer Antonio Vivaldi's "Four Seasons," but evidently they have a rotating schedule and today it was a sampler platter of baroque classical music pieces and arias from various operas. It was held at the Scuola Grande di San Teodoro -- a big, historic music school and concert hall -- and was quite good.

From there, it was time to head to the casino and see if I had any birthday luck. The casino in Venice is the oldest operating casino in the world and, as it's located in a former palace, it's quite swanky. When I walked in there in my suit I had to resist the urge to announce myself as "Bond, James Bond." That would have blown my sophisticated act real quick. I managed to quickly lose 50 euros in five straight spins of the roulette wheel and then spent a few minutes wandering through the various rooms with one hand in my pocket and a glass of Prosecco in the other, fronting like I was cool and sophisticated while I checked out the paintings and chandeliers and other gamblers. It was definitely a high-roller kind of a place. There were people making bets of hundreds and even thousands of euros at a time, which made my little ten euro bets seem a bit anemic.

Being in Venice is like living inside a poem. Tomorrow we reach the final stanza for me however, and I have to pack up my belongings and head back to the decidedly more prosaic DC. It's been one hell of a trip.

(February 28, 2009)

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