Say Cheese Or Something

Here in vonBloggenschtern world, we do not do 'normal' very well.

Take photography, for example.

Why on earth would we ever ask the people whose souls we're about to steal with a Minolta, "Say Cheese?", when there are so many other fascinating words out there, begging to be used?

A game we've recently come to play is the "America's Next Top Model" photo shoot.

Official family photographer, Duke #2, will shout out a certain genre that we have to emulate.

Let me illustrate:

He says "Commercial!".

She does this:

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful. Cover Girl.

He requests "Catalogue!"

She poses thusly:

Fee-Yass!
Work it... work it....

And when Duke #2 barks out "COUTURE!"

I do this:
Yoinks.

Kind of a hot mess, non?

Like I said, there are some things we vonB's don't do well...

(I promise to work on this while in the City of Angels next week - I hear there are lots of posers down there.)

Thoughtful Thursday

Try as I might to the contrary, even after all this time, I'm still left a little at odds once I hit that "Publish Post" button.

I am besieged by "What Ifs" and "So, Now Whats" and my personal favorite, "Does This Really Matter?"

So when I came across this little piece in my recent Yoga Journal, it threw down a mental gauntlet to challenge me. Maybe it can make us all think a little bit about the big picture:

"When faced with a challenge, a helpful mind-set can be found in the concept of Ishvara pranidhana, or nonattachment to the fruits of one's actions. As the ancient sage Patanjali says...Ishvara pranidhana can be a powerful approach that affects the way we approach every action we take.

Patanjali advises us to focus on the quality of an act, rather than on its outcome, leaving the 'fruits' of our actions to something greater.

From this perspective, everything we do becomes an opportunity for practice: We do the very best we can, whether we're running a race, giving a big presentation, or doing the dishes. Regardless of the outcome, the mind is calm, clear, and present because our joy comes from the act itself, rather than the result."

Kate Holcombe
Yoga Journal June 2009

Rue Brittania

*Note to reader: There's a contest at the end of this and, if you're lucky, a prize.

Wow. You are impatient.

It's something related to this post. Some re-gifting may be involved.

But trust me. It will be worth it! Pip Pip & Cheerio.

*************

As I might of mentioned here and here, it was recently my Mamma-In-Law's 80th birthday, so as per her request, we loaded up the troops and paddled our way across the waves to our province's picturesque capital, in order to get our Anglo on. High tea at the Empress Hotel, Royal Museums, bad dentistry; you know, all things British.

The view from the ferry was just stunning:

Whoopsa daisy! Wrong album.

Here we go. Ahem.

View from the ferry:

After a relatively event-free boat ride (well, we were the subject of public complaint to the staff regarding our, um, noise level), we arrived at our destination.

The city named after this fine lady:
No, not M'Lady of the PopNFreshDoughAndRaisinFaceHelpMeI'mInAFourthRateWaxMuseum.

That would just be silly.

It's Victoria. Queen Victoria. We justed dropped the "Queen" part, because it was frankly kind of pretentious, and the crown kind of gives it away anyhoo.

So, what sort of things can one expect in this charming little city?

Well, there's a load of sights to see. Totem poles:

No one ever takes a booty shot - what a pity!

Giant sundials:

Dreydl, dreydl, dreydl, I made it out of jade...

And men in kilts (and the women who love them):

After 3 hours of stalking I still don't know what's underneath.

Victoria is also a city of culture; the streets are alive with the sound of music. It's an inclusive place - a place where there is room for both accordian...

playing a mean version of "Karma Chameleon..."

...and violin:

totally riffing on "The Devil Went Down to Death Star"

And, of course, since we were there anyways, I needed to check out the renos being done on our summer cottage:

ok, ok, it's the Provinvial Parliament Building. But a girl can dream, can't she?

With all there was to do and see, where did we begin?

Our decision was clearly made for us when we happened upon Ol' Chestnut belting out a heartwarming rendition of "Happy Birthday to You-u-u-u-u-u!" :

"...and ma-neigh more....."

It was time for a carriage ride for our fair Bubba and her three bodyguards.

Then on to High Tea over here:

The Empress Hotel. Ahhh.

Just what is 'High Tea', exactly? You would think, that given our locale, it would mean something completely different.

Here, though, the 'High' part is short for 'High Fa-lutin". The Empress is oh-so-fussy about all of this. And to their credit, they are just trying to preserve one of the last bastions of the civilized world - tea time.
There is a dress code, with a long list of Glamour Don'ts: No flip flops. No tank tops. No shorty shorts. Gah.

Poor Bubba had to rethink her entire tea-drinkin' ensemble.

There is also, I am told, a encyclopedia's worth full of etiquette that surrounds High Tea. In the vonB clan, however, we play to our strengths and present to you a couple of the High Tea Don'ts:

# 314:

Don't act like you've been offered a chalice full of arsenic. For God's Sake, it is only Earl Grey!

Don't # 534:
Don't wear the good linen on your head. Don't monkey about with the tea tins - they're meant to be quietly pilfered into your mother's handbag.

After we all reached critical mass on our fill of finger sandwiches, scones and cookies, we went in search of the miniature store - The Bubster is a HUGE miniature collector.

They say that even the small things mean a lot. Here Duke 1 and 2 learned how to make their bubba an inedible birthday cake (well I could have shown them that!):

complete with teesny weensy orange and lemon slices:
De-lish!!

It was a really lovely weekend all around, and I think the Birthday Girl had a pretty good time.

Happy 80th, Dear Bubba. Happy Birthday to You!

***********************
So, the contest.

Write me at baronessvonb@gmail.com and tell me, "If I were Empress/Emperor for 2 days...". Entries will go in to a draw.

Deadline is August 9th, 2009.

Winner will receive all the necessary doo-dads to get your tea time on: A tin of 1908 Centennial Blend Tea from the Empress Hotel, a box of Walkers Pure Butter Assorted Shortbread, a highly-saught-after crown and sceptre, and a couple of other goodies that somehow found their way from the High Tea table into my purse.

Musings from the Museum - Part II

As I typed the above title, I wondered - why isn't it called an "Amuse-um"? Seriously. What egghead is in charge of the marketing department?

You may recall that yesterday I started guiding us through our tour of the Royal BC Amuseum's (much catchier, non?) exhibit "Treasures".

We did a lot of walking yesterday, y'all. Egypt, Africa, Middle East. I'm sure all that exercise burned off the humungous chocolate-dipped cone I had last night.

And yesterday, shockingly, I also did a lot of talking. 'Cuz that's just what I do. Play to your strengths, Baroness.

I'm still not done - we have Greek Civilization, Oceania, The Americas and The Modern Era to stroll through.

While this is a sentence that rarely leaves my mouth, I will practice due diligence and ask "Does everyone have their comfortable shoes on?"

Excellent. Let's proceed.

Greek Civilization
This exhibit was an oldy-timey version of a strip club - lots of hot bods and lots of money.

Well, ok.

The bods weren't really that hot. They were kind of cool, actually. Like stone cold foxes. And the money, strictly the coinage variety.

Which makes for some uncomfortable pole dancing, let me tell you. And really - no one wants to see you cavort around with a lump of coins gravitating to your bikini bottom...

First up was this guy, my old buddy Euripides:

I chose to highlight him as a shining example to all of those middle-aged crazy men out there; you know who you are. Trophy wives, sportscars, skullets.

The description below this piece says it all, "He is depicted here as a respected older citizen, with a full beard and thinning hair."

Let me reiterate: Respected. Older. Citizen. Thinning Hair.

There was no stylist at this carving. No Photoshopping. No creative comb overs.

Older Men - for heaven's sake. Get in touch with your inner Euripides. We'll treat you like the gods you are.

Next up, he's more than just a head.....(barely).......he's Eros, the Greek God of Amour!

This isn't the exact statue I saw. The one in this particular exhibit was dated between 360 & 330 BC; I'll call it "Tainted Love",

In a true testament to censorship and puritanism, the statue I saw had no arms, and the nipples and had been chipped off and dude had experienced a no-frills circumcision (as in, 'damn my carpal tunnel syndrome, I slipped - you didn't really need that penis, didja?).

Yeouch.

Thus begat a new word in the lexicon of museum curators: denippled. [Usage: "I say, Thaddeus, it would appear that the Eros statue in Section 5B has been denippled. Grab the CrazyGlue and some spackle."

The description goes on to say that "[the vandalism] may have been inflicted by ancient Christians offended by the statue's nudity".

No duh.

Notice to your left an entire case of Greek coins. What captures your attention? The artisanry? The images?

I included this Decadrachan coin in particular:
because we Canadians always get mercilessly teased about our coinage.

Namely our Loonie ($1 coin):
And our Twonie ($2):
Well, ok.

At least our currency has real animals on it (loon and polar bear), not some lame mythical beast like Pegasus. A horse? With wings? Gah.

And on the flip side, we have the Queen. Of England. Maybe you've heard of her.

Who do you have again, Carthage?

Nicomedes the Barber? Pul-lease.

Let's move on to Oceania before the rumble breaks out. Those Greeks are pretty touchy about their ancient shekels.

The piece of import here, to me, it this meeting house lintel from the Bay of Plenty in New Zealand, late 1840 AD:

"It depicts the moment when the God Tane Mahuta, son of the earth mother and sky father, separated his parents and created the world".

Sadly, the subsequent lintel depicting the moments shortly after Tane Mahuta created the world when Sky Mother complained about being placed on the left despite her conservative philosophies and Earth Father complained that it was hard to find curbside parking, was destroyed in the Great Polynesian Whaleriding Incident of 1965.

On to The Americas.

The item of note here is the Pipe-Tomahawk:

Love the heart - so sweet!

" They combined an effective weapon with smoking - an important ceremonial activity"

Missing from the collection were the seldom-seen and often-overlooked PipeLoofah and PipeCondomDispenser, also associated with important ceremonial activities.

After an exhaustive trip to the past, we return from whence we started, back in The Modern Era.

I would point you over here to the 'modern' ceramics with 'interesting' gibberish painted on them, or over there to the pleghm-y looking Kleenex passing as artwork...

Oh, hold up. That is actually an phlegm-y looking Kleenex. My bad.

Come over here instead. This is kind of cool.

There is an entire display case of World Political badges/buttons. You know the ones? "No to Arms for the Shah", "Drop Acid, Not Bombs", or maybe this one?
The coolest policital badge was not really a badge at all, but a discreetly effective piece of electrical equipment. It came from Poland in 1981 and it looked like this:

As opposition to the ruling party was seen as anarchy and treated thusly, "People took to wearing electrical resistors as symbols to resistance to the government".

Talk about your power to the people.

Coming tomorrow: High Tea, or Baroness at The Empress.

Musings from the Museum - Part I

"All I want for my birthday," said my newly-octogenarianized mother-in-law, "is to go see the British Museum's 'Treasures' exhibit in Victoria.

"That's it??", we all queried, incredulously.

"That it.", she replied.

Wow. What a gal.

I, for one, was baffled by the simplicity of it all. I am quite sure that when I turn 80, I will expect accordians, banjoes, crates of the finest champagne, and burly waiters in leopard-skin Speedoes feeding me flax rolls ,chocolate-covered strawberries and Lorazepam.

Is that just me?

Last summer, it was The Baron and I gallavanting around Europe, hitting all the hotspots in France, Belgium, Germany, and partying with the blondes in Luxembourg.

I was able to be your decent docent in my two-part post (I here and II here) "Lessons from the Louvre".

This summer, just like everyone else, we are scaling back.

Our museum sojourn is a mere 1.5 hour ferry ride away from home. This is the only blonde we are currently partying with:

(...and between you and me, I do not think the carpet matches the drapes. Poser.)

But just because we're closer to home does not mean that there are not great discoveries to be had/mocked/intelligently (?) commented on.

I will have you know, though, that the British Museum (who loaned out the exhibition) is indeed both hoity AND toity. With liberal does of high-falutin' thrown in for good measure.

Whereas I could snap my craptacular photoessay to my heart's content in The Louvre, these puckerbutts will not allow photography. Guards break into a cold sweat if you so much as take your cell phone out.

Something about stealing the souls of the statues. Gah. They're statues, people.

So, in order to enhance my sparkling commentary, I have had to sequester some photos from the World Wide Interwebs that I feel are down to my level. Some are better; for that I apologize.

So not me.

Are you ready for some culturalisin'? Splendid. Let us goeth.

Before you even enter the hush hush inner sanctum, you are met by this guy at the ticket counter:

I'm sure he's a totem of some import, but it's interesting to me that he's absolutely perfect for setting the tone. Like maybe he's not so old after all. Like maybe there's some sort of undercover factory churning these out, custom-ordered.

He's pointing - YOU! Over there. Throw your bottled water away, take the SIM card out of your phone, pack up your camera.

He's gladhanding - YOU! In line. Wallet out. Exact change appreciated.

Once we run through the ticket line gauntlet, it's on to the full-body cavity search by some British ponce with bad teeth and an attitude.

Phew! We're through.

First section of the exhibit - Egypt.

While I'm furiously scribbling down notes, I can hear my husband and his sister kibbitzing back and forth:

Sister-in-Law: Did you see that sarcophogas?

Husband: It must have been for a small child. It's pretty short.

Sister-In-Law: I think you should be able to fit in it, no problem. Let's try.

Husband: Oh, look. It's the Rosetta Stone. Look here, Sissy - there's the part about your first date.

All I could think of with the Rosetta Stone:
was the potential infighting amongst the three scribes who engraved it in Heiroglyphics, Demotic and Greek.

"Did you see the sh*t work that Stavros did? My three-year-old could write better."

"What about that guy Anwar? Pictures. That's it. Pictures. And they don't make a lick of sense. Eyeball, bird, dancer, eyeball. What the hell is THAT supposed to spell? Loser."

As for the coffin that my husband thankfully did not try to lie down in (officially referred to as "The Inner Coffin of Djeho"), what caught my eye was the description below:
"The images and texts below Djeho's large collar are associated with protecting dead men in the afterlife".
Yeah, protecting.

Like from Mr. Blackwell maybe. Because large collars? So gauche. So passe. So Babylonian.

We cruise through the Africa exhibit, and on to the Middle East.

Here's where the treasure trove (of insolence) really begins. First off, The Ossuary:
Not to be confused with this:

The Estuary

Or this:

The Cassowary

I get so easily confused.

This ossuary is a container that houses a loved one's bones, kind of like a creepy hope chest. "Here's the Royal Albert, Granny's Irish linen and wait a minute - is that a thorax? Or a tibia?" I am told that it was important to keep these things around.

And my husband calls me a hoarder. Sheesh.

The next piece is a bronze figure of Harpokrates:

His name was originally Oprahkrates, but a mixup at the birth certificate office led to his official moniker.

Oops. Fate can be cruel.

I was charmed by the finger on his chin.

"Hmm. Now where did I leave those feet?", or "Hmm. I'm thinking I might have to find a new hairdresser. Side ponytail? Really?"

Then there is the set of Arabic bowls from Central Asia, circa 10 AD "The use of sayings was a popular form of decoration for pottery at this time."

Like "Finish your congee - there's people starving in North America", or "My Husband went to Hunan and all I got was this Lousy Bowl."

Last but not least for today, may I present to you, direct from 13-14th century AD Egypt:

The Astrolabe.

This wondrous device, as well as being distractingly shiny, was a hard-working piece of technological wonder that served many functions. According to sources, "In the medieval Islamic world, it was used primarily for astronomical studies, as well as in other areas as diverse as astrology, geography, navigation, Qibla, Salah prayers, surveying, and timekeeping."

I think they left out union mediation, julienning of root vegetables, and electrolysis.

And that if you ordered one within 30 minutes of advertisement, a free set of ginzu knives were included with purchase.

Tomorrow, we will conclude our Museum Musings whilst meandering through Greek Civilization, Oceania, The Americas, and last but not least, The Modern Era.

Until then, Rising Sun, Rising Sun, Slug, ZigZag, as we used to say in the 'hood.

I'm Not Afraid, Either

When I discovered, lo so many months ago, that there would be a BlogFest in Virginia, well.

My heart just did little pitty pats.

Although my sense of geography isn't stellar, I was able to realize that there was potential for much visitin' with some of my favorite bloggers ever. She would be at the LoveFest (she did not disappoint) but she and she would be in the general vicinity.

Or at at least it looked like it on GoogleMaps.

I cannot tell you why I find it so exciting to put a face to the people who live in my computer. But I do. I think it maybe because I sound like such a dork in e-mails; maybe if you were to meet me in person I would have the opportunity to show you that I'm an endearing dork.

Truth be told, I have spend the better part of this morning trying to figure this quirk out (the meeting part, not the dorkdom)- and still can't really wrap my head around it. Maybe, like a lot of other things, it's just better left inarticulated.

After some furious back-and-forth emailing, I was able to wrangle a face-to-face meeting with the fantastically sassy and altogether lovely Not Afraid To Use It. We (OK, just me...) will forever refer to this meeting as the Great Panera Summit of Ought Nine (See what I mean? Dork Alert!).

NATUI and I have been blends (blog + friend = blend) since I first started writing. I'm not quite sure how our paths crossed, but man oh man, I'm sure glad they did. She and I share a similar sense of humor which can readily be shorthanded (i.e. merely having to say the line from a movie -no further explanantion required), and she is quite possibly one of the most intelligent, introspective, decent people I have ever had the privelege to know.

Reading her posts, something immediately resonated with me. She is a mom of two small children, stuck in the back of beyond, knowing no one in her community.

I have been that mom. I got it. I was the mom who gave up her 'career' (such as it was), who spoke candidly, who didn't fit in, who wasn't ready to bow to the clique, who was perceived as the uppity city girl. It was the loneliest damn year of my life.

When I started to read her musings, I loved the fact that she was - indeed - not afraid to use that keen mind of hers, consequences be damned. All I wanted to do was to give her a big hug and tell her that it would all eventually shake itself out. Without too much comprimise or conformity.

Having traveled cross-country with my erstwhile companion and press secretary, I knew that I couldn't pass up the chance to meet, even if it meant giving up part of my BlogFest itinerary and driving 4 hours to meet (as would she).

So it came to be.

Representing Canada: BvonB.
Representing BFN: NATUI.

Check it out on Wikipedia: The Great Panera Summit of Ought Nine (Really!).
(not.)

Not only was I fortunate enough to meet her and her charming husband, I was honored to be mesmerized by her two beautiful children, LittleBird:

as delicate and ethereal as a fairy princess...

and LittleMan:
Their demeanor, their openness, their sweetness is heartwarmingly delicious, and a real testament to the loving upbringing they are experiencing and to how genius their mom is. If I could have bottled those moments we shared snuggled together, I could make a fortune. Instead, I'll just have to be satisfied with waiting for that drawing that LittleBird promised me, and with always being reminded of LittleMan whenever I wear my 'Woggle Goggles'. Sigh.

You didn't need my hug, NATUI. I can see for myself that you are strong and resilient and all-around kickass.

You are doing just fine. I'm not afraid to say it.

Thoughtful Thursday

Way back in the Ming Dynasty, when I was in Grade 9, I had the most amazing English teacher I would ever encounter.

I do not think that this was solely my opinion, as evidenced by the fact that in all the years after we graduated from Junior High, most of his students would return to his classroom to say hi and hang out. Some still hang with him to this day.

Mr. White is the fine gentleman responsible for awakening my appreciation of words and context and the power they hold. He made us willingly listen to John Denver and Roger Whitaker, and parse the meaning behind the words. That he could captivate an entire class of hormone-riddled, attention-deficit, moronic teenagers was nothing short of a miracle. But he did. Effortlessly.

During one of our post- JH visits, when my friend and I were having a 'Que Sera, Sera' moment with Mr. W, he told us that he saw Leanne as "a do-er". She would eventually find a life path that had her in the midst of the crowd.

These days, Leanne is a massage therapist. Score one for Mr. White.

He told me, much to my chagrin, that I was "an observer"; that I would hang back and listen and sponge it all in. I wish he could have been a little more specific as to how I would eventually regurgitate all of this information back out; at the time I didn't ask because I was kind of pissed off by his opinion. I wanted to be a do-er.

All these years later, I still wonder - Did Mr. White have magical powers or was he just saying what he thought we wanted to hear? I haven't a clue.

What I do know is that I love to listen. Plop me in the middle of a group, and I will just fade into a corner and observe, observe, observe. It, to me, is absolutely fascinating.

Today's TT speaks for itself - a love letter to all whom I know, all whom I have recently met, and all that I hope to one day meet:

"The tiniest
Story in your
Life can
Deeply
Touch another
You cannot
know
The effect
Your story
Might Have"
Sark

Stop Me If You've Heard This One. . .

A Jew walks into a Southern Methodist Tabernacle.

It's a pretty hot day, and the Humidex is at around 174 percent, give or take 1000.

At the door, the usher offers her a cardboard paddle, and asks, "Fan?"

Distracted by looking around for somewhere to sit, the Jew says, "I don't know - I've only ever heard the first act."

Bah Boom Boom.

(They love me in the Borscht Belt)(Me and Henny. Just like this.)

So, if one were to venture to Mathews County, Virginia (which I did), and if one were to have the most amazing Tour Guides in the world (which I did), and if one were to allow oneself to be driven hither and yon throughout this lush, verdant landscape (which I did), one might find themselves at this crossroads:

You hafta know right away that there is some religion being got 'round here.

I'm not sure if this particular house of worship has become a heritage site, or if it is still functional. I tend to think that it might be the former, as I'm sure this scene I stumbled upon is an act of senseless vandalism rather than fervent prayer:

Irregardless of its status, on the day of our visit, it still loomed large and silent, yet full of spirit.

And you know me, with my vivid imagination (well, maybe you don't. But my internal life? Endlessly fascinating)(To me, anyways). I could easily envision the pews jam-packed, and a lot of praise swirling in and around and amongst, through the open structure and out into the ether.

Without sounding too mawkish, it was the perfect symbol for the Virginia Blogfest - a confluence of spirit, where the sacred was taken to heart.

"Fan?"

Hell, yeah.

I Have a New Job!

The Baroness has had many, many 'career paths' in her lifetime: chambermaid, file clerk, modelling agency receptionist, lab technician...

But one of the jobs I'm most excited about is the one I'm about to undertake - Interwebs Spokesperson for the Mathews County Tourist Bureau.

Not that there is a current opening for this position, but in times like these it's all about the entrepreneurialism , non?

What got me all excited about this endeavor is a recent guided tour around the town. Well, more specifically, its beaches.

I will tell you right here and now, people - the potential for tourism is enormous.

Rather than just blather on and on, I'll just give you a sampling of the mock press-release I will forward along with my resume:
*****************************
Mathews County - OH! Natural

As summer approaches, and the amount of clothing worn decreases in direct proportion to the increasing heat and humidity, women are faced with one of their most unpleasant personal grooming tasks - harvesting all of that unwanted winter hair.

Shaving never seems to get it all, and let's be honest - those of us with that less-than-perfect eyesight always seem to miss entire swatches.

And waxing?
One word - YEEOUCH!

But now, there is a solution that is effective, painless, and virtually effortless.

It is a little-known secret that I'm going to let you in on -

Bethel Beach Natural Area Preserve.

Through 'The Magic of Mathews', all you need do is squat,

she's multi-tasking and she doesn't even know it!

and, voila! The hair will spontaneously just fall off your body into a neat pile:

Behold the immaculate pubis pile - so tidy!

No muss, no fuss.

No clogged drains; no Liquid Plumber required!

Here at Bethel Beach, we are green as green can be!

Like any miracle, the secret can't last forever - it's already starting to catch on among the local counties, as evidenced by last week's increase in volume (ho, ho, ho!!):

Satisfied visitor Shelley J of Richmond writes, "It was the most unbelievable thing! I'll surely be back next summer!"

Isn't it time you come to Bethel Beach to preserve your natural area?

We'll see you there."
****************************************
OK, OK, it might need a little tweaking.

But it's good, right?

Wish me luck!