Bring (a fact, event, or situation) back into one's mind, esp. so as to recount it to others; remember
(recall) a call to return; "the recall of our ambassador"
Cause one to remember or think of
Bring the memory or thought of someone or something to (a person or their mind)
(recall) a request by the manufacturer of a defective product to return the product (as for replacement or repair)
remember: recall knowledge from memory; have a recollection; "I can't remember saying any such thing"; "I can't think what her last name was"; "can you remember her phone number?"; "Do you remember that he once loved you?"; "call up memories"
Schwerer Gustav (English: Heavy Gustaf, or Great Gustaf) and Dora were the names of two massive World War 2 German 80 cm K (E) railway siege guns.
Dora (also al-Dura, or ad-Durah, Arabic,??????) is a neighborhood in Al Rashid administrative district, southern Baghdad, Iraq. Although this was a majority Christian neighborhood, it became controlled by Sunni Muslims during the Iraq War.
Dora is the pseudonym given by Sigmund Freud to a patient whom he diagnosed with hysteria. Her most manifest hysterical symptom was aphonia, or loss of voice. Freud published a famous case study about Dora, Fragments of an Analysis of a Case of Hysteria (1905 , Standard Edition Vol.
(toy) dally: behave carelessly or indifferently; "Play about with a young girl's affection"
A person treated by another as a source of pleasure or amusement rather than with due seriousness
(toy) plaything: an artifact designed to be played with
An object for a child to play with, typically a model or miniature replica of something
(toy) a nonfunctional replica of something else (frequently used as a modifier); "a toy stove"
An object, esp. a gadget or machine, regarded as providing amusement for an adult
Assault with a dead weapon: A squirrels tail
Originally written May 6th. 2008
Whether ole man winter is ready to give up the ghost or not, slowly yet surely spring is beginning to resemble something of it’s former past glory, and I’m beginning to think (possibly even salivate over the idea) that it’s time to finally begin breaking out the ole tools, lubes, shovels, rakes, spades, wrenches, doohickeys, thing-a-ma-jiggers, doodads, and hum-dingers, for yet another fruitless attempt at resurrecting my WWI French front looking backyard. This time with a garden.
I can recall not so long ago, oh say last Monday, the temperatures had struggled, wrestled, and tilted their way all the way into the mid 70’s, and while we did receive a good three inches worth of the white stuff on Wednesday, nothing stuck for more then an hour or ten, and as the new week drivels itself to a close, warm has once again reared it’s more then welcome mug, and I’ve begun to notice more and more of this peculiar green stuff sprouting up near everywhere I allow my eye to wander. I’ve also taken notice of a few other things that seem to fall into this mysterious “Springs a comin. Spread the word” category. As my work day progresses I’m beginning to peel off more and more layers of clothing, having found recall of that curious and almost forgotten sensation of being to hot. That cantankerous furnace at the back of the house has noticeably been dipping fewer and fewer times into my not so deep pockets, and the stalk of lager I usually keep stored safely and comfortably away out in the garage is no longer ice cold in the evenings. Huh. Must be getting warmer outside. There is something else I’ve noticed too.
Suddenly there are all these little fluffy over sized rodents that I guess most folk just call squirrels, scampering about my property, paying little heed to ownership lines, and even less heed toward actual property, say for example, bird feeders and the tasty pulp of sweet, sweet seed, residing in their innards. They to have apparently begun to spread the word of springs arrival, and curiously enough, as it so often has happened in the past, the local surroundings of my home seem to have become a sort of central hub for which the native squirrel nation has approved for it's social congregation…Despite it’s hazards. I actually recognized one of them this afternoon. It was the one the had garnered itself the title of “Dora’s squirrel”, some years ago, having involuntarily participated in a sort of non scripted extracurricular activity with the aforementioned hazard. Just what hazard am I referring too?
Despite her petite frame and domesticated size, for as long as I can recall, Dora the cat has reveled in her instinctive predatory pleasures, and who can blame her. She is after all a cat, and outside of the realm of “worship me, for I am your living God”, hunting is her second favorite thing to do. Well third maybe. It has always been sort of a coin toss there between hunting and chewing on my toes right at the exact moment I’ve achieve optimum REM sleep.
In her youth as a clumsy kitten, Dora had near immediately taken to embellishing herself in both the art of stalking, toying with, and eventual utterly destroying any of God’s creatures, and waking me from a dead sleep more quickly then six galloons of ice cold water. Her first victims, err, pray, had actually been smaller then she was. Much smaller. She had started first with any whoa stricken insects that had mistakenly crossed her path, and eventually graduating into the thrill of hunting field mice along the canal bank. When that glory hunt wasn’t satisfying enough, she had then begun to stalk large pray. Pray that not only out numbered her, but clearly out weighed her.
There really wasn’t much in ways of a slow transition. On the scale of local rodents around here gauged in size, strength, and speed, you have the typical field mouse, and then you immediately jump into the realm of the typical moderate-sized arboreal squirrel. For Dora this transition into the hunt of large bushy tailed pray had been, for lack of better description…Difficult.
Her first few attempts at bagging the big one had not gone off without a hitch. Come to think of it, they had not gone off at all. I can recall at the time she had by then figured out how to climb the pine tree in the front yard, for no other reason then I can figure then to get up on to the roof top, providing her a key look out, and essential defilade from the enemy squirrels she had decided to stalk. Or at least I presume that was what her original plan had been. Hearing the scampering, hissing, and strafing taking place just above my head down here in the dungeon had not drawn a great deal of concern the first couple of time’s I’d taken notice of it, but all aspirations of Dora becoming a full fledged rodent hunter had come crashing to the ground one fateful day when I’d finally bore witness to the sight of my little Dora cat occupied in rapid full high speed retreat across my frontag
This didn't come out as well as I'd hoped-- a digital pic of a "real" pic... oops. Some of our summer 2007 tour guides, presenting me with a going away gift: "Dora The Explorer". Later, this doll was part of a massive recall of toys due to lead content. Thanks, guys.