Feng Shui-ing ng Your Soul (Redux)

As you may or may not be aware, The Baroness loves, loves, LOVES all things beautiful.

I love to see beautiful things every day, from the moment I wake up to the moment I lay down my tiara-clad head. In a not-always-so-beautiful world, there are days when beauty appears to be elusive.

Yet one must seek it out. Always.

There are also days when the seeking should be effortless; beauty is there in abundance, piled up by the roadside, waiting to be discovered. But either the stress of the moment or the pain in our journeys has shaded our eyes, making us neglect all the amazement right there in our paths. How do we dissolve our worries away? How do we honor our pain and begin to heal ourselves? How do we get that wretched blindfold off? Enter Cathy Netter Bregman.

"Who is this mystery woman, Baroness?", you may ask. Sit down in this comfy chair and I will tell you.

Cathy Netter Bregman is an "Interior Designer" extraordinaire. With her calming, soothing voice, she encourages us, through her guided meditations, to also sit down and get comfy. To imagine we are stationed by a beautiful flowing mountain stream on the most perfect of autumn days - sunny, warm yet crisp weather - that image in and of itself is enough to begin to lower my blood pressure exponentially!

But better yet, she suggests that we attach a worry, a stress, a problem to each red, gold and orange leaf, and watch it fall off the tree into the stream. Then we watch it float past us - away & out of sight forever. Ahhh. I feel better just writing this.

This woman is a treasure. Let me tell you something - this is no Janey-come-lately. Her meditations have been influencing people for a very long time. She just recently decided, after much reflection, that now might be the time to begin to offer her "design" services on a larger scale. I, for one, am thrilled that she made this decision, and as a former client I sing her praises. She is amazing at what she does.

There are 2 things that have endeared her to me - One, she's very humble. She has little idea of the magnitude of effect that her healing words have had, nor the sheer numbers of people she's helped. She doesn't realize that for years, her meditation tapes have passed from hand to hand to hand. She just sees the initial hand-off, not the ripple effect that follows. Sweetie.

Two, her motivation is, by and large, altruistic. Not only does she address the needs of the adults around her (and we are a very needy bunch, indeed) , she's also come up with meditations for the little dukes and duchesses out there. Because she's aware - while many others aren't - that developing minds need a little TLC too, and that being a kid isn't easy. Are you beginning to understand how special this lady is?

Daughter, wife, mother, nurturer, interior designer, balm to the souls of the masses. Whew!! Huge responsibility, yet one she manages with grace and eloquence.

To learn more about Cathy's work, e-mail her at idmeditations@shaw.ca. With her assistance, be prepared to once again be dazzled by the beauty waiting for you at the side of the road. Maybe put on some dark glasses. And sunscreen.

Isn't That Just SO Adorable?

Let it be known that the Baroness is in complete agreement with the philosophy that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, bar none.

I am here to tell you that if your day is going to be chock-a-block full of excitement with a 90% chance of flurries (of activity), you are going to need to fill the tank with some rib-stickin' nourishment.

I am also here to tell you that for a small price, it is a treat to have someone else do the cooking for a change. Which is why I have my favorite little breakfast cafe, where they know me and my standing order, and they keep the hot coffee a-comin'. They may not know my name, but they know just by the look on my face whether it's going to be a regular or decaf kind of morning. Don't ask me how - they're just magical that way.

Usually, when I am here, I am in my happiest of happy places. Hot coffee, buttery toast, crossword puzzle, a low ambient murmur, with the occasional cackle thrown in for good measure. Life does not get much better than this.

However.

This past Thursday, there was a disturbance in the force. And because of that, I would like to address the asshat parent who put a damper on my breakfast chi.

Excuse me, ma'am? Yes, this is indeed a lovely young daughter you have. Her long, golden, wavy hair is lovely and mesmerizing, and she has, I am certain, a beautiful spirit. She also seems to have a great deal of energy, guaging by her running hither and thither. And her lung capacity? Wow. Practically freakish in comparison to the size of her wee little cherubic body.

But lady - for god's sake, rein this darling in. NOW.

This is not the ballroom at MacDonald's or Burger King. And while this restaurant labels itself as a family kind of place, this does not mean that your child runs rampant - loud and rampant, may I add - all over the damn place like she does at home. You are not in your own home. She is not in her own home. It is you and her against the rest of us here, and the her 11 out of 10 on the cuteness factor? While it may cause quarters to cascade like a loose slot machine from Grampa's ears at his house? It does not factor in here.

At all.

It is your responsibility as a parent to teach your child about the difference in establishments. By and large, this is a grown-up restaurant, where grown-up people order grown-up food that comes on plates instead of inside a bag. This fact needs to be brought to the attention of your darling. You know - the one who's galloping around everyone's table yelling, "I'm a pony, I'm a pony!"

It is up to you, should you choose to come here, to bring things that will occupy your daughter's attention. Sticker books, coloring books, hand-held video games, dolls, Hot Wheels; basically ANYTHING that will keep your little pony in her stable and quieted.

If I had wanted to try and digest my food in a locale where the decibel level rivals that of an AC/DC concert, I would have stayed at home.

But I'm here, Ringo, and I'm trying real hard to eat my food in peace.

I suggest that you get off your ass and herd in your angel, and start teaching her to do the same.

I have a little secret for you - you are the only one that is finding this behavior so adorable.

Lest you think I hate kids, or that I'm just a grumpy buzzkill, I will tell you that I raised my sons to be respectful of their surroundings when we were out. From an early age, they knew the difference between fast food and fine dining, and were taught - by me - how to act appropriately at each respective place.

I knew that it was up to me to keep tabs on them. I knew that no amount of tip in the free world would pay for a waiter or waitress to babysit my child. Our server's job was to bring our food, not chase after and reprimand our kids.

If they misbehaved, the 3 strike rule came into effect. If we ever got to 3, we would leave. While it happened occasionally at Mickey D's, it never happened in a grown up place. I made sure of it.

My set of rules did not break my children's spirit. My standards and my zero tolerance of bad manners did not turn them into repressed, stilted beings. They are wonderful young men, whose company is enjoyed by us and everyone we know.

And that, my dear lady, is far more adorable.

Now, where's my damn coffee?

Thoughtful Thursday

For my cherished south of the border peeps, on this day of pureed potatoes and phenomenal poultry:

"Where there is hatred in this world,
let us bring love;
where there is injury, pardon
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy."

May we always try to understand,
not just be understood;
hope to console, as well as to be consoled;
try to love, not just to be loved.

For it is in giving that we receive;
in serving others that we find
our deepest fulfillment;
in setting aside our focus on self
that we find the true meaning of life."
St. Francis of Assisi

May your hearts and souls be as full as your bellies.

Turkey on, pilgrims!

Affectionately,
The Baroness

The Good, The Bad, The Irksome

From Merriam, Webster and von Bloggenschtern:

Good: syn: attractive, agreeable, pleasant, amusing, clever, cogent, true, satisfactory, commendable
Bad: syn: poor, disobediant, unhealthy, sorrowful, dilapidated, faulty
Irksome: maddening without the bile-inducing or throbbing vein in the left temple


The Good:

Yesterday was one of my most spectacular Sundays in recent memory.

It started by sleeping in deliciously late (skipping my swimming), then sitting in my favorite room as the winter sun streamed through the window. Practically Rockwellian in its composition. Pug at my feet, me drinking coffee and knitting.

Huh?

Yeah, you read it right. The Baroness knits. With wool and everything (I even own a pair of circular needles - how frickin' edgy is that?)

I am not particularly good at it, nor do I do anything extremely complicated, but I really enjoy it. I find it highly meditative, and that is good.

I then ventured out with the Baron for an afternoon of horse-race watching with a extremely humorous group of friends. Ol' Sol managed to stay put, and while the weather was brisk, we were inside making profits somewhere in the 25 range (cents, to be clear), plus there was an eavesdropping extravaganza at the table beside us - a group of red-hatted "Purple Ladies".

Life was good.

In the evening, I went with one of my bestest friends to a book reading by the very witty and oh-so-New-York-y author and NY Times columnist Jennifer 8. Lee (see her blog here). She was delightful, and regaled us with her tales of researching her book, "The Fortune Cookie Chronicles". If I could conjure up a gig to travel around doing "research" that was funded by a book advance? Oh, the places I'd go. I'll be mulling this thought over for days to come...

I got to speak with her briefly afterwards, as she signed my book. And, like cracking open that thin, sweet-smelling, crescent-shaped wafer to retrieve one's secret message - both the anticpation and the delivery - very good.

The Bad:

Had a flu shot on Thursday. Not that I don't understand the necessity to steel myself and my family against the pandemic that is threatened every winter, but.

I usually do not have any reaction - this time I got one of those annoying, low-grade headaches like someone was poking my skull with a dull ice pick. My joints ached; my tummy did a little bit of a lurch. The upside? I am so ready to defend myself against last year's germs. If only I hadn't e-Bayed that time machine for quick money. That was a bad decision.

More bad abounded at the clubhouse buffet - this could best be explained if I offered a variation on the garage sale analogy - you know the one where one man's trash is another man's treasure? Here's yesterdays - One person's epicurian nirvana is another person's diabetic third circle of hell.

Three small words - The Dessert Table.

One word to sum up my behaviour at said dessert bar? Bad.

The Irksome

I consider anything "irksome" if it sticks in my craw and stays there, making it hard to swallow, but lodged too far down to bring back up.

For the most part, and for my sanity, I have tried very hard over the last few years to get past outrage, and have also tried to turn the burner off on the equally damaging slow-boil. Let me tell you, this in and of itself is irksome.

Because it is so much easier to just go off.

Yet so much more messy to clean up afterwards. And the Baroness does not like messy.

So the craw-sticker this week was an article that I read in our provinical newspaper. It said that our Canadian Supreme Court has passed a law that will allow, on two of our air carriers (Air Canada and WestJet), an extra seat for free to those who are disabled and those who are obese.

Now, the disabled I can understand. This makes perfect sense to me. More often than not, the extra room is required for either manouvering into and out of the seat, or for their caregiver.

But the obese?

I recognize that there are a distinct group of people out there who have distinct medical issues that wreak havoc with their metabolism. This does appear to be a bona-fide condition, and I suppose could fall into the disability category.

But what about the rest? What about the ones who choose not to make the right choices? The ones who have singly let things get out of hand for too long? How has a decade of overeating and underexercising become a disability?

Where, exactly, will this ever end? Issues like this make me wonder if the term "human rights" should be re-named "expected rights" or "things you must do to make me comfortable because I'm entitled and I do not feel the need for any accountability or consequence to my actions".

Irksome.

Thoughtful Thursday

"Time discovers truth"
Seneca

Here's one truth I've discovered - I have no time.

I am strapped, people.

While I would like to credit my lack of posts to a defiant-yet-completely-irrational rebel's stand against NaBloPoMo (and goodness knows, I am quite the rebel)(and most certainly completely irrational)(OK - The "Na" part isn't even my "Na"...)(na na na poo poo), the simple reason for my absence is that have no white space in my calendar this week.

Another truth? I don't have much to say that hasn't already been said by the other million or so of my close personal friends in the blogosphere.

I'm feeling pretty generic, and am taking the rest of the week off to find my sass and sparkle.

See y'all Monday - that's the truth.

I'm So Sorry, Darling

So, yesterday I went to our city's big Christmas Craft Fair - it is an event that I have long wanted to attend, but was never able to - something always seemed to get in the way.

Finally the planets finally aligned; the timing of someone in the hubster's office choosing to re-gift some tickets dovetailed in a synchronicitous manner with not only my availability, but that of my erstwhile companion.

And let me be clear here - this fair ain't no church bazaar - this is the craft artisan's equivalent of a minor baseball player being called up to the bigs. All exhibitors must have their work deemed worthy by a jury in order to get a table. The caliber, therefore, of the talent is pretty high-end (the prices are, too - but the potential to be inspired is free for the taking). The venue practically hums with creative energy.

As we wandered around, we found that a fair amount of the fabric crafters were selling felted work - nubbly sweaters, scarves meshed with jewel-tones silks.

The lovely Isabelle got very excited - felting is something that she is itching to try.

"I can't knit", she said, "but I found a website where you can felt simply by using the wool strands".

"Hmmm", replied the Baroness, intrigued by this new project that the alway-brilliant Isabelle was thinking of pursuing.

"Exactly how does one felt, Isabelle?"

"Well," explained she, "you start by washing your piece with really, really hot water..."

"You mean, you basically shrink it?" queried the Baroness.

"Yup, that's pretty much it."

Well, damn.

It now dawns on me that all that time the Baron was making Barbie clothes out of my sweaters, he was actually felting. Up until yesterday, I had no idea.

Is there nothing that dude does not know?

I'm so sorry, darling.

You are a creative visionary. And I, your ungrateful shrew of a wife.

Call the Wildlife Officials - It's a Cougar Alert!!

*Note to Dukes 1 & 2: Why don't you just skip reading Mommy's post today? It's going to be so-o-o-o-o boring! I plan on talking at great length about feminine hygiene products, knitting, yoga and The View.

See ya, love ya. Bye, already.

********************************************************
If only.

If only I had a little more patience (not one of my strong points), I could have waited 2 more days to see this terrifying little gem...

...then I could have won the "Yummy Thursday Trifecta".

Him:

(Leonardo Di Caprio, who puts the "score" in Scorpio...)

and him:

(Matty Whitmore, Survivor Gabon contestant)

and him:

(McSteamy of Grey's Anatomy)
(OK. OK. OK. He has a name, too. It's...uhhh....)
(Eric Dane)

Am I taking crazy pills here, or could these three be brothers? Much better than Baldwins in their heyday, dontchathink? (Although that Alec still has it goin' on; he makes me laugh like nobody's business - and funny is so very, very hawt)

Casting directors, get on this. NOW.

(And when I say "get on this", you are aware that I don't mean literally, right?)

(Did I really have to clarify this?)

Thoughtful Thursday

One of my favorite gifts this past birthday was a gift certificate to a book store.

Because I am ca-RAY-zee for the books; they're shiny, they have that smell, when you hold them in your hands you can feel the potential hum between the covers. I also love that oh-so-satisfying "crack" when you break their spine - I feel very Hulk-like.

But before I went on my hunting/gathering foray - and because I know that this bookstore sells a variety of things other than the written word - I presented myself with a challenge.

"Self", I said (please note that the majority of conversations The Baroness engages in are either talking about herself in the 3rd person, or talking to herself)(so very easily self-amused is she), "Self - I dare you to go into that store and use that certificate for everything but a book".

"Self?" I shot back (because the Baroness is such a sassy wit), "you are on like Donkey Kong."

I almost did it.

Out of all embarrassment of riches I procured, I only got one book.

That is some kind of record. For me.

Interestingly enough, today's Thoughtful Thursday source is not from this book, but from an T'ai Chi DVD I scooped up.

The quote comes from one of China's preeminent poets, Li Bai, who literally roamed the earth from 701 to 762. It is said that he perished during one of his many artistic benders, when he went to embrace the reflection of moon while riding in a boat on the Yangtze River (let's be real here - hasn't this happened to us all at least once in our lives? Praise be the PFD).

I'm afraid I don't know the title of the poem, and my translation and punctuation from 8th century Cantonese might a a little rusty. But enjoy it as you can:

I take my body and breath
And I go to play
beneath the trees in the mountains
We are always three
Counting the sky
And my friend the nurturing earth

Happily
The sky
does not judge me
And the earth
gives me lessons

After class, students and teachers
go their separate ways
But this sadness
I do not know

When I go home
The earth goes with me
And the sky follows me.

And on this blustery fall day, these are just the soothing words I need to hear to appreciate the humble majesty that is the outdoors - the beauty I dare only see through a window.

Have a connected Thursday, everyone.

Wordsmith Wednesday

Well, aren't you all somethin'?

Dare I say it?

Yes, I believe I will.

You are spooktacular.

All I know is that one year soon, when I win me the lottery, I'm having a big ol', bobbin' for apples, eyeballs-floating-in-the-fruit punch, Vincent Price meets Christopher Lee meets Dark Shadows Halloween party. And each and every one of you creative geniuses is invited. You, my dears, put the "A" in "A-Game"! (I guess technically you put two "A"s in - that is how freakin' amazing you are!!)

Here I was, thinking that when I ran my Spooktacular Baroness Book Giveaway and asked for your favorite Halloween outfit, I would hear about the pedestrian. The store-bought. The easy.

Silly, silly me.

Instead I got this:

Dear Baroness:

The best costume I have ever donned was when I went as a Cat perched in her litter box. I used a large box made to look like a litter box. I filled it with quick oats to resemble kitty litter and had it strewn with the larger tootsie rolls. I had the appropriate ears, tail and whiskers. I wore black gloves and in hidden in the palm of my hand I had a ball of real cat fur that I had collected from combing my cat. I was in the box in a cart and wheeled in front of the judges. The human wheeling me stopped in front of the judges and pretended to comb me. She stopped and I acted like I was horking up a hairball(as only a cat can do) and I then proceeded to drop it at their feet. My boss (as this contest was held at work) leaned over and grabbed a tootsie roll out of the litter and ate it. Needless to say the crowd went wild (well, I ask you - who doesn't love a good firm tootsie roll?)

and then these (in no particular order):

1. Dead Bride - complete with tire tracks across the front of the wedding dress (nice touch!)

2. Dolly Parton & Scarlett O'Hara (contestant did not say if these two costumes were worn simultaneously. Houston, we're gonna need some bigger drapes!!)

3. Raistlin, the golden-skinned mage from the Dragonlance series of books, complete with gold fingernails. (Rocked the fake bake golden hue YEARS before it rose to popularity. Such a visionary...)

4. A clothesline. Along with 3 friends, Contestant X and her co-horts wore all black, tied themselves in clothesline and used those clothesline pins to hang up socks and underwear. (Apparently this was a quasi-adult version of the kindergarten line, so they wouldn't lose each other during the evening. Kind of awkward though during makeouts with the werewolf dude - that was a costume, right? - or the limbo line)

5. Caroline Bessette-Kennedy. Contestant "Y" wore a cashmere sweater set with a pencil skirt a big fake rolex and a fake diamond ring. She sewed plastic seaweed from the fish store all over her outfit. She admits, "Tasteless but topical". (Tasteless? Really? I would have thought there was a slight saltiness and the distinct aroma of kelp)

6. Cereal killer. Contest "Z" and her pint-sized accomplice murdered mini cereals and taped them to his shirt. (How does one murder cereal, I wonder? Ah yes, with grapefruit juice. That was one sucky breakfast, let me tell you something)

Last, but not least,

7. The Wet tshirt Contest Winner, complete with large foam, um, .... enhancements (is that what you kids are calling them nowadays?)

All I can say is " ".

Really.

I have no words. I am awestruck.

Well done, one and all! Start keeping an eye peeled for your goodies in the mail...

The next book up on deck for review on Wordsmith Wednesday is "The Gifted Gabaldon Sisters" by Lorraine Lopez:

I'm on Board - Quadrant the 4th

For those newcomers, welcome! I am beyond thrilled that you made it here! According to secret reports, I'm developing quite a following in Poland, my persona is reaching mythical proportions in Latvia and someone in DC is reading me - I'm sure it's the new administration just trying to find a polite way to ask me on board. Canadian Envoy Blogger to the Under Secretary of the Exterior Interior - I like the sound of this, don't you? (The business cards might be a tad unwieldy though).

To get you up to speed, for the last 3-ish Tuesdays (here, here, and here), I've been showing bits and pieces of the bulletin board above my computer.

For those countless throngs of the quasi-interested-3/4-of-the-way-in-the-know, here's that last puzzle piece. It really does fit - no nail scissors or mallet required.

See that smiling face hoisting the hoity-toity beverage? Why that would be none other than the Thelma to my Louise, the Good Countess Vi. This picture was taken on our girly getaway to Savannah Georgia at the fine dining establishment Lady and Sons.

We saw no lady nor her sons. This was rather disappointing.

But after a few mint juleps and a trip or two to the fried chicken 'n grits buffet, it just didn't matter.

The blue scrap of paper is an idea I have for painting a sign for a friend of mine (yes, one of my many ever-changing hobbies)(painting signs that is, not making friends) . I made one that hangs in my kitchen that says:

"Eat. Drink. Be Merry. Repeat."

This is just, oh, a je ne sais quoi - an international variation on a theme. I hope she's not reading this. Well, I am. But I'm not. But I am. You know.

The silver star is a remnant of the star confetti that we used for Duke #1's Dry After Grad party. As head of the Decorating Committee (read in: I'm bossy), I was extremely proud of how my vision all turned out. Go here for the deets. Shiny. Me likee the shiny long time.

Beneath the star is a recipe from my massage therapist for a vegetable juice. She swears by it. I swear because of it - I've seen it eddying around in a drinking glass; it looks like the goop at the bottom of a bag of lawn cuttings that have had the chance to steam for a while in the plastic bag. Mmmm-mmmm good!

Again, she swears by it, and since I love her so, I'm willing to try this.

Once.

Above this is a sketch that I made when Duke 2 and I were going to write the Great Canadian Children's Book - "The Rooster That Didn't Get It - a true story". We had a rooster who lived somewhere across the highway on the agricultural reserve - and this beast would crow regardless of the time of day. I could not get my head around explaining how this could be (and I was too lazy to do my rooster research), then Duke 2 kind of lost interest, and this is all that's left. Maybe one day...

The last thing tucked into the corner is one of those "feel good" cards, full of ideas to aspire to - sentiments courtesy of one Mary Anne Radmacher:

live with intention.
walk to the edge.
listen hard.
practice wellness.
play with abandon.
laugh.
choose with no regret.
continue to learn.
appreciate your friends.
do what you love.
live as if this is all there is.

There you have it - now you know all that you could possible want to know about The Baroness.

Well, not really. You won't know about her one day foray into tv model/spokeswoman-ness, or her early chambermaid days, or the one bank incident that made her hate everyone for at least a month. Some things are best left unsaid.

On that fact, I'm on board.

Busy, Busy Baroness

Bonjour, mes amies!

Today - for me at least - is the exhausting aftermath of the dramedy known as the "von Bloggenschtern Family Birthday Party".

My actual birthday is today, but I am lucky enough to not have to wait until the end of the day for my gifts; I got my greedy little paws on them last night, so I can sit with them all day today, and dream up the many things that I'll use them for.

Thanks to the gift certificate-o-rama, I'll be reading, I'll be grooving, I'll be spa-ing. The planning of how to use these up is just as much a treat as the shopping will be! (ok - almost...)

I'll also be luxuriating in my (faux) leopard-skin gloves.

While keeping these priceless typing digits warm, I'll be perusing my new manuals, learning about conspiracy theories (other than my own) and about which 100 pieces Every Stylish Woman must own. It will be a busy time, but a productive time. I don't even know where to start. I'm so FREAKIN' excited!!

There is a tradition in the vonB clan that for each birthday (and there are many in the extended family), we try to outdo each other on cards. We, almost singlehandedly, keep an entire industry working extremely hard to bring their "A" game to the table.

For while we are not always highbrow - we are cut-throat competitive.

Exhibit A:
From the Sister-In-Law, Her Husband, and My Faboo Nieces
(*note that all the male dogs in the cards are wearing bandage bikini bottoms...)

Inside caption:
Cut loose and have a ball on your birthday

Exhibit B:
From Brother-In-Law Who is Full of Surprises

Inside Caption:
remember, God never gives us more shoes than we can handle.

And, as a lovely nod to my recent "Lessons from The Louvre" posts, I received my absolute favorite card of the evening.

Exhibit C:
From The Duke #2, The Original Prankster

"It really was quite tragic.
A sudden gust of wind carried
Infanta Margarita off.
She was last sighted floating aimlessly
over Madrid."

My dear Countess Sue has a personal rule that there is no such thing as a birthday - these are for suckahs. Her manifesto suggests that one's birthday should last a week.

I am so down with this. To me, it appears to be a ingenious plan. I should clarify that it's not cake and prezzies for 7 days straight.

It's just the essence, the sweet celebratory joyfulness of knowing that thanks to Mom and Dad getting together 47-ish years ago, I am able to reach this week of knowing who I know, loving who I love, having all I have. Going through this reverie alone should take the better part of a week. I will be one busy, busy Baroness.

Lucky lucky me.

Goodbye, Mr. Copywriter

Driving home from swimming this morning, there is usually only infomericals, home improvement call-ins, and religious victuals on the airwaves. The pickins are slim, but I do so love to listen to these folksy offerings - enraptured by the do-it-yourself early-morning commercials that some of the local businesses run ( I'm thinking that air time is cheap at 7 am on a Sunday morning).

One particular business sells medical-grade electric scooters and wheelchairs, and they're having an open house this weekend. This is exciting on many levels in and of itself.

However, it gets better.

In order to appeal to their demographic (I can only surmise here this is what they're up to; if not, then just a big "ewww") and to bring the throngs in, they will be having - and I quote -

"... a free seminar on Incontinence. Come in for free samples, and other information regarding our extensive line of medical wheelchairs and scooters. We'll be here all weekend."

Oh, they'll be there all weekend, all right.

Drinking liter after liter of water, in order to keep up with the cray-zee demand for free samples(after the Incontinence Seminar is over....)

In the same vein as the old carpenter's adage, here's some advice to fledgling copywriters: write once, read twice, find someone else to read twice, then and only then hit "submit".

One more thing?

I should leak this information out to you - the open house has been extended to next weekend as well.

You're in luck.

Thoughtful Thursday

I know, I know, I know, already.

Where did Tuesday and Wednesday go? They have flowed through my life like water through my hands.

Good news,though - looking at lunar projections, astrological maps, and a scientific tool I like to call a calendar, there'll be another Tuesday and Wednesday next week.

Onward...

One of the many endearing qualities I find in certain Americans (ok, A LOT of Americans) is their down-right direct approach. No politeness, no subterfuge, no coyness - just cut to the chase.

On a visit last year to the wonderful Baroness shopping mecca I call Lynnwood Washington (The Rack, Target, Kohl's, Barnes and Noble and Nordy's all in a 3 mile radius), a woman came up to me in the hotel lobby.

"WHAT is that flower you're wearing on your lapel, WHY am I seeing so many of these, and WHERE can I get one?"

Well, dear madam (dear direct madam)(direct, endearing, madam)(love you)(really!), this flower I humbly sport on my lapel is a red poppy. You are seeing so many of these, as it is November - the month in which our Canadian Remembrance Day falls (November 11th). In Canada, we can give a nominal donation to pick one up anywhere. Grocery store, hospital, school. It is a campaign set up by the Royal Canadian Legion, a group of tireless volunteers - most of whom have themselves been associated with war in one way or another.

For as long as I can remember (some 45-odd years or so), starting November 1st almost every Canadian wears a Red Poppy, as a tribute to all of the World War I and II veterans who selflessly gave life and limb as representatives of our country.

As to the poppy's signficance, it is a symbol of the profusion of flowers that grew in Flanders, Belgium where war casualties had been buried. This site became the subject of a poem written by Canadian physician and Lieutenant Colonel John McRae in 1915.

This poem is today's Thoughtful Thursday:

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lest we forget...

(photo source here)

Slot-Playin' Simians with Marvelous Manicures

Quick note: For all of you Halloween junkies who just can't get enough of having the bejeebuzz scared out of you and wish it was October 31st every day, just an FYI that I've extended the deadline of the "Spooktacular" Baroness Book Giveaway until midnight on Friday, November 7th. I'm having a hard time keeping up with the entries... Click here to see how to enter now!
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It has been said that if a room full of chimpanzees were put in a room full of typewriters, eventually they would be able to hammer out the complete (compleet?) works of William Shakespeare.

As far I know from scanning the information highway, this has yet to occur. Although they've come close, by hammering out the complete works of Danielle Steele.

But, I am beginning to have more than a suspicion that these monkeys are itching to write.

I am also willing to share one of my many conspiracy theories with you all, you beautiful blogosphere friends of mine. The one that claims that there appear to be secret lairs dotted throughout the U.S.; rooms of chimpanzees and unlimited PC's at their disposal.

Their mission?

In order to keep their rhyming couplet chops in fine form, their mandate (primate-date?) is two-fold:

1) Come up with names for cosmetics, and
2) Come up with names for slot machines

Part 2 of "Operation Bard" became apparent to me this past weekend, as the Baron and I ventured south of the border; the Baron to partake in a little birdwatching, me to once again try to bolster the sagging economy through the use of well-strategized budgetary fiduciary blahdee blahdee blah'ing.

We decided that a location in the best interest for both parties would be at a Resort just outside the Seattle city limits. This Resort has a casino attached, and it was here that everything suddenly became illuminated.

Monkeys. Secret MacIntosh bunkers. What else could explain slot machine titles such as these?:

. Copper Dropper (refers to either 1 cent or something to do with assaulting police officers - I hear chimpanzees are notoriously anti-authoritarian...)

. Scatter Magic (Here 'Scatter' would be a noun, i.e. one who scats. And then flings it. Right at your head - I'm not talking Ella)

. Good Cents (Proof positive that the pun is not a highly evolved figure of speech)

. Ms. Clara T (Rather clever, for a monkey. Say it out loud to yourself...)

. Milk Money (Again, mocking humans. Like we would spend our milk money in a casino. I don't even drink milk anymore - I'm lactose intolerant, you stupid hairy ape!)(But 'MaiTai' Money just doesn't have the same folksy vibe to it)

. Rich Little Piggies (Oh, like pounding out these gems is making you a fortune. Yah - a fortune in monkey chow. Written by the monkey currently reading 'Helter Skelter' - the one that always eats alone in the lunchroom)

. Lucky Lemmings (Yes. Yes we are. Lemmings, that is. We're all drawn like a pulsating swarm to the nicotine-clouded allure of the casino. Ooh, shiny!) (Someone's been spending too much time i the breakroom watching 'World Series of Poker')

. Twice Your Monkey (A-HA!! This was the one that gave it all away - obviously a cry for help from some lost soul on the inside - where's Norman Mailer when you really need him?)

. Stinkin' Rich (Originally called 'I Heart Your Stinky Rich Patootee'; voted down at a highly volatile team-building weekend retreat to the Woodland Park Zoo)

. Davinci Diamonds (Any excuse to slap a picture of Mona on a machine - they all have big crushes on her, as she doesn't have eyebrows, either...)

...and my personal favorite - "EGYPTAGON" (to be said in a deep Monster Truck Rally voice that echoes, echoes, echoes).

We'll continue discussing this at some later date. I've spent an exhausting afternoon doing some investigative reporting, and will soon be cracking the case on conditions surrounding cosmetic naming. Stay tuned!

And Another Thing...Well, 2, Other Things, Actually

The Another Thing:

For all of you Halloween junkies who just can't get enough of having the bejeebuzz scared out of you and wish it was October 31st every day, just an FYI that I've extended the deadline of the "Spooktacular" Baroness Book Giveaway until midnight on Friday, November 7th. I'm having a hard time keeping up with the entries... Click here to see how to enter now!

And for those of you out there who think that you get all 10 titles (and you know who you are)(Countess of YY), let me just clarify that I have 5 copies each of 10 titles to give away - one title per person. It is a Halloween giveaway, after all - not Christmas. Sheesh!

The Second Other Thing:
I know full well that I'm not American.

But I'm North American.

And I also know full well that an imaginary border is the only thing separating us from Amurrakah, and whatever is going to happen economically or sociologically will have some effect on us. Which is why I found this PSA so cool.

I sure hope it works. (I implore you to watch until the very end when Borat tells you one of the most important aspects of voter privacy...)



Dig it?

Then send it.

Why limit it to 5 friends? Hell, even Borat has 7!