Precocious predicate

It's been too long since I've done any Osage. I realised this yesterday when I tried to present some examples from it and flubbed not only the conjugation of a verb (which is understandable, given that even Quintero equivocates regarding its inflectional class) but even the word order within the predicate, which is as strict as an Irish nun. So, as penance, I stayed up too late reviewing and eventually put together the following sentence:

ãmãbrĩ alee íbrilã ãtxãhai "I think I'll walk home"

Nothing really special about it--all the unusual features are ones I've discussed here before--I just like the way it sounds. Also, it's kind of neat that all four words are verbals, each one inflected for person. One-by-one they are:

ãmãbrĩ [Wa-mã-Wa-ðĩ] "I walk" (This was the problem verb from the other day. It took a lot of paging around to confirm that it was, in fact, a doubly-inflecting, syncopating verb.)

alee [Wa-kik-ðee] "I go home" (The motion verb "go-there" with a suus infix, yielding the meaning "go back to one's own". I never get tired of these!)

íbrilã [i-Wa-ðilã] "I think about, I wish (to)" (The collapse of the first three syllables down to two shifts the accent, which normally falls on the second syllable of verb, on to the first in this case.)

ãtxãhai [ãtxãhe ðe] (A positional auxiliary indicating a first-person subject that is [literally] standing or [metaphorically] on the verge of undertaking some action.)

You can see why I opted for the free translation I did. Other formulations foregrounding different nuances of the Osage sentence are possible, such as "I'm standing here thinking I'd rather walk home" or "I'd like to walk back now".

Burnt offerings

In retrospect, it should've been obvious that monshu was trying to pitch the woo on Sunday night. (Why didn't I immediately recognise the subtext of "Leave the dishes"?) But I was too full of pork tenderloin cooked in milk and, honestly, too shaken up by A History of Violence to get anything started. With snowy_owlet coming over tomorrow night for Trashion TV, I figured my best bet to make it up to him was tonight. Naturally, he wasn't expecting anything of the sort so he was already reheating the leftovers in the conventional oven. By the time we finished up, the milk was a brack rubbery pad clinging to the bottom of the dish and the pasta was crunchier than the oat cereal I had for breakfast this morning.

It was just like old times.