Too Late, but ... Here They Are

His name is Captain Boris, and he's about 2 months old.

Pics speak for 'emselves, don't they?

Our new baby...

Cruelty and Shame

A friend came by my house unexpectedly yesterday, all in a twitter, with a styrofoam box attached to his bike. I opened the door, surprised at the faint sounds issuing from the box, and he opened it and handed me a day-old kitten, tiniest thing imaginable. The kitty was crying miserably, and clawing about with unopened eyes. I scooped up the mouse-sized animal and brought it into the kitchen, while my friend parked his bike. He told me the old story as I prepared some warm milk for the crying kitty.

He told me he had heard the sound of kittens crying from inside a closed-up styrofoam box in a street trashcan, and upon raising the lid, found three newborn kittens weeping. He took charge of the box, and on his way to my home managed to place two of the kittens with friendly people he met along the way.

This last kitten was starving and miserable; he decided he would keep it himself. I cried and cried, I'm sorry to say, because even we are all well aware of the fact that animals are abandoned every day of the year, and worse things happen to fellow human beings all the time, to actually witness this sort of cruelty and horror first-hand is positively heart-breaking.

My friend had a little medicine-dispenser with him, something sort of like a syringe, and I proceeded to feed the little kitty, while my kids looked on, jumping around delightedly at the sight.

There she is, guzzling away singlemindedly. Notice the outstretched paws in the picture below.

The kitty didn't know how to nurse very well, so it took a bit of time and a lot of scratches and drenchings before we finally got her to drink, but in the end she drank more than 50 ml , and when she had finished at last, she nuzzled the crook of my elbow with a loud purr.

Floppy willingly volunteered a few soft and furry rags from her rag-and-cloth collection, and we dressed the kitty's box nicely.

My friend left for his own home with his new pet when the latter fell asleep in its box, and I cried a little more. No use worrying about the millions beyond our reach, but it does feel good to know that we made a difference to that one. I hope it lives a long and happy life.

He who lends a book is a fool.

He who returns a book is an even greater fool.

Definition of Love

Love is the accurate estimate and the adequate supply of another's need.

--Dick Foth

(For full talk by Rev. Foth, follow following link:)

http://theaterchurch.com/media/message/how-to-build-healthy-relationships/

Gossips, by Norman Rockwell

New Present from (Mom and Dad) I MEAN Santa

Danny and I conspired to purchase a woolly lil pup for Floppy's Christmas present. Ever watch Disney's 'Lady and the Tramp'? Cast your mind back thither, and see if you can't recollect an adorable image of a puppy scampering out of a beribboned Christmas giftbox. Didn't you always wish someone would think of doing that for you?

Well, if all goes as it should, (and why shouldn't it, after all?) Floppy will have that exact memory. Only it'll be a woolly white pup instead of a cute silky cocker spaniel.

I shopped around a bit, and finally ended up putting my down payment on a beautiful poodle-bichon frise mestizo pup, one of a litter of two pups. This transaction was done online, and so before committing myself completely, I arranged to meet the lady and her pups at her house.

So yesterday I toddled over with Luchi (an hour-long taxi-ride!!!) to meet and select a pup, and took my baby monkey with me, since, of course, she doesn't have enough vocabulary yet to spoil the surprise for Floppy. I loved the straight-haired pup, but it's enormous, and as Danny wanted a small dog, we opted for the curly-haired chap, who's the smaller of the two.

His name, I informed the lady, will be Captain Boris. (...)

The lady will hang on to the pup until Christmas week, at which time she'll deliver the pup to my door, and I will dress it in a little sailor's suit, bung it into a box, and stick it under the tree. About five minutes later, if the plan follows its proper course, Floppy and kids will sit under the tree, open up the beautiful bouncing giftbox, and instantly be smothered with exuberant kisses from the latest addition to our family, hearts and tribe.

The Belated Birthday of Leny

There are moments in which one wishes one can have readier access to the past, and also the useful ability of tran- scendence, that is to say, freedom from the limitations inherent in matter. This in itself is a persuasive argument in favour of the notion that Man, including the female of the species, yearns for the perfection (and awesomeness) of the Heavenly state.

Be that as it may, it certainly would be absolutely ripping if, whenever the desire arises, one might simply transcend the globe and appear someplace else at will; better still, to be able to transcend the bonds of time and go back to the good ol' days, in the company of ye olde pals, minus all the baggage accumulated during the lapse of years and miles.
All that to say, I haven't seen Elena Steiner--just Leny to her friends--in a coon's age, and we did have such a blast back in Switzerland all those years ago, when we were carefree, slightly mischievous teenagers, with an eye out for adventure.

I remember one occasion in which we were tripping gaily over hills and dales (literally), and nearly got knocked over by an exuberant heifer, who seemed to think that we, or something in our possession, might be edible. We were a tad frightened, I think, until we heard a shrill whistle, and the cowlet ran past us towards the fence. Not a little shaken, and wondering what on earth, we followed the animal and, just as we were in the very act of leaping the cow fence, which HALLELUJAH was not electrified, a tall skinny young lad in soiled white wellingtons, coat and feed bucket, turned a corner on the path not 10 yards away, and stopped dead in his tracks at sight of us. Awkward...
Well, anyway, I don't think I'll ever have occasion to forget that day; both Leny and I were as bright red as poppies, and so, I'm snickering to say, was the lad. His scarlet cheeks made him look all the more comical for his carrot-orange hair. Evidently a farm lad on his way to feed the stock; he was doubtless very surprised at seeing two eccentric-looking females hopping over his cow fence. Not backpackers, as we had no backpack. In a split second of wicked hee-hee-hee-ness, we decided to do the tourist act. Putting on grossly exaggerated accents, we babbled in english, interspersed with a few words in french and switz-deutsche, giving the lad to understand that we wanted a photo. Of him. (His blush deepened considerably, but our smiles and giggles masked our amusement) We snapped one of him, mouth open in protest, one with him and the cow, and finally, one of him with each of us. I think we might have even taken one of the three of us, but I can't say for sure, because much to our horror, those pictures never materialized. The batteries of our ol' camera must have called it a day before we began, or maybe the lens was shut, or whatever. We never got to see those pix with the blushing red-headed lad in the cow-byre suit. If anybody sees him, or if you are the lad in question, pop us a line sometime, because that really was one of the most amusing adventures I've had. Sorry if we made you blush.

Whether or not Leny remembers this occasions, and the countless others that comprised my tenure in her lovely home in ... where the devil was it, I forget the name. Entlebuch, or something-- I'm proud and glad to have known her, and know that my life was definitely enriched by her company and the gracious hospitality and forebearance of her esteemed folks, as well as the other occupants of the beautiful maison. We celebrated my 18th birthday there, her 16th birthday, and now, oh-so-many-years later, I'm waaay overdue to wish her, once again, a very merry birthday, with ever so much love, best wishes for a joyful future and present, another present, and more presents.
PS In preparation for this post, I obtained permission from dear Leny to access her facebook and help myself to a picture of her. However, I regret to say that after sifting through the 4 pages of people named 'Elena Steiner', I only found one picture that looked as though it might be the person in question, and that was almost unrecognizable, due to a significant amount of very red hair which the subject did not possess during our acquaintance. Thereby, I'll have to put the picture-adding on stand-by until I've received word from the lady with specific directions. Excuse the delay! Much love to y'all!

PPS Cancel the above PS; scratch it, obliterate it from mind and memory. Said picture was, after all, Lenny--can't be two identical Elena Steiners on this planet now, can there?

Sweet Completion

Ah, the sweet joys of completion. I am delighted to inform the readers, via this post, that Steampunk Holmes: Legacy of the Nautilus is no longer a draft, but a complete manuscript, and will be published on Amazon for Kindle within the next few weeks. Come December, barring fate or Providence, the complete illustrated semi-animated version for iPads will hit the market, so keep your ears out and your wallets on the ready. Love y'all!

Steampunk Holmes: Legacy of the Nautilus trailer

Steampunk Holmes trailer from live2contage on Vimeo.

My Hero

He probably thought she was just another absent-minded mother with a pretty face.

Maybe he thought she was careless; one of those girls who had kids too young, who still didn't have a firm grip on life, and certainly didn't have much in the way of brains.

I don't know, he might have even resented the extra work it caused him, having to chase her halfway across the street to return her handbag.

He certainly had no idea who the young lady was that the old purse belonged to; maybe he wondered why a well-dressed, slightly eccentric foreigner like her was riding his bus with her equally well-dressed, slightly eccentric baby daughter, at 9 p.m.

He looked tired, worried, stressed--as though he might have welcomed the few shekels the purse contained. Maybe he was tempted to keep it. "After all," he may have thought, "She doesn't look like she cares much about her bag--nor does she look particularly destitute."

Maybe he was thinking, 'What is it with women, anyway? Always expecting the men to chase them around everywhere..."

Maybe it made him angry, the thought that so many, many people travel on his bus every single day, and yet hardly anyone ever takes him into account. "I might be part of the framework, for all they care. What do they think I am, a lost-items delivery boy?"

Maybe he had other thoughts on his mind; running after passengers with their forgotten belongings might just be part of his daily routine.

When he goes back home in the wee hours of the morning when his shift is done, maybe he'll recall the young mother to whom he had returned an old leather purse.

Or maybe, and this is the most likely probability, he won't remember at all.

That doesn't matter.

He's still my hero.

Why the French were Fined

Sniff

Thanks/Sorry Krome

In protest of the fine given to the French rugby team for 'defying' the revered Haka of the Kiwis by stepping a few inches across the 10-metre line in their bee-utiful brotherly arrow-march, hand-in-hand and shoulder to shoulder, here's a fabulous bit of fun photography-interpretation, while we toast in tequila to the victory of the All Blacks, and congenially slap our Froggy buddies on the back and say, "ah well, there's always next time, mates..."

Sing along with me!

Girls, if this isn't the best damn pic you've ever seen of the dashing SBW, I'd like to see its better.

Cheers!

Haaaappy birthday to meeee...

In the wise words of deah, deah Marilyn Monroe, "I'm ... 25. That's one quarter of a century. Makes a girl think."

Sure does, dude! Three cheers, and thanks to my mumsy and dad!

Message from my boss

Wouldn't you understand my screaming elation when I found the following message waiting for me in my inbox yesterday?

Hi Praise

The story you have written is so strong on its own that I've decided to release it in November as a text-only Kindle book and to promote it as much as I can while we continue to develop the interactive-illustrated app/book. I'll retail the text-only version at $0.99 and the interactive-illustrated version for a lot more. The idea is to build up word of mouth and a following before the up sell to the interactive-illustrated version comes out for the iPad.

Congratulations! You are about to become a published author on Amazon.com!

R. M-H.

Belated Pix from Danny's birthday

DANNY IS ALL HER FAULT!!! WE LOVE YOU GLORIA!!! (Best mother-in-law...)

I like to crochet, especially during parties...

There's the picada

Danny and Luchi playing a game called 'Dinosaur chatter', (can't show your teeth; first to laugh loses) while I drink my tea ... (?)

Jonny Coco, Hernan (our new friend), Danny, Santi as his Roman self, and Arla (Hernan's brazilian girlfriend)

Clara holding the Gladius, Santi the soldier, Danny, and Joella

Raucous laughter

Tacos!!

Praiso and Arla

We went to a salsa club later, had lots of fun trying to dance

The Bloody Vest

THE BLOODY VEST.

'Twas near the fair city of Benevent,

When the sun was setting on bough and bent,

And knights were preparing in bower and tent,

On the eve of the Baptist's tournament;

When in Lincoln green a stripling gent,

Well seeming a page by a princess sent,

Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went,

Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent.

Far hath he far'd, and farther must fare,

Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,—

Little save iron and steel was there;

And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care,

With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare,

The good knight with hammer and file did repair

The mail that to-morrow must see him wear,

For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair.

"Thus speaks my lady," the page said he,

And the knight bent lowly both head and knee,

"She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree,

And thou art as lowly as knight may well be—

He that would climb so lofty a tree,

Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee,

Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see

His ambition is back'd by his hie chivalrie.

"Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said,

And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head,

"Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad,

And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead,

For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread;

And charge, thus attir'd, in the tournament dread,

And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed,

And bring honour away, or remain with the dead."

FYTTE SECOND.

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats—

There was winning of honour and losing of seats;

There was hewing with falchions and splintering of staves—

The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves.

Oh, many a knight there fought bravely and well,

Yet one was accounted his peers to excel,

And 'twas he whose sole armour on body and breast

Seem'd the weed of a damsel when bound for her rest.

There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore,

But others respected his plight, and forbore.

"It is some oath of honour," they said, "and I trow,

'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow."

Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament cease—

He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace;

And the judges declare, and competitors yield,

That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field.

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher,

When before the fair Princess low looted a squire,

And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view,

With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and pierc'd through;

All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood,

With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud;

Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween,

Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean.

"This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent,

Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent;

He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit,

He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit;

Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won,

And now must the faith of my mistress be shown:

For she who prompts knights on such danger to run

Must avouch his true service in front of the sun.

"'I restore,' says my master, 'the garment I've worn,

And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn;

For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more,

Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd with gore.'"

Then deep blush'd the Princess—yet kiss'd she and press'd

The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast.

"Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show

If I value the blood on this garment or no."

And when it was time for the nobles to pass,

In solemn procession to minster and mass,

The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall,

But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore over all;

And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine,

When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine,

Over all her rich robes and state jewels she wore

That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore.

Then lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may think,

And ladies replied with nod, titter, and wink;

And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd down,

Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with a frown:

"Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt,

E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt;

Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent,

When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent."

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood,

Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood:

"The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine,

I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine;

And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame,

Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame;

And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent,

When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent."

Extract from The Talisman, by Sir Walter Scott

Steampunk Holmes Trailer

Please view following link:

http://www.steampunkholmes.com/2011/09/steampunk-holmes-preview-of-trailer.html

And while you're at it; dig around the Steampunk Holmes website; plenty of interesting tidbits lying about.

And among other items of interest, if one googles among images for 'Steampunk Holmes', a bunch of Danny's artwork for this project pops up. Wa-hoo! Is he like, famous, or what?

In honoured memory of Michael Stern Hart

Michael Stern Hart (1947 - 2011)

We who love books and literature, and who value the ease with which books are so readily accessible nowadays in e-format, must take a moment to appreciate the life and work of Michael S. Hart. This gentleman is revered as the founder of ebooks, and made it one of the goals of his life to make books available for all who wanted them, free of charge. He founded Project Gutenberg, www.gutenberg.org , and fought for public domain rights of literature.

His story reminds me a bit of the old shepherd who reforested an entire region of Provence during the 1920's, singlehanded, by planting nuts and seeds as he pastured his sheep. Within twenty years, the region, once barren and uninhabited, had sprung back to life, and become a fertile, blossoming community.

Every now and then some insignificant, ordinary human steps out and changes his or her part of the world. Michael Hart named his project after Gutenberg of the printing press fame. Up until the 1450's, books were a rare, expensive commodity; illiteracy was rampant, and nobody cared. Gutenberg's invention of the printing press revolutionized literature in the Middle Ages; Michael Hart's invention of the ebook has revolutionized the literature of our day. Knowledge and novels once confined to bookshops and libraries, in cumbersome reams of static dead-tree editions, now flit quickly and easily across the screen, occupying little more than a few bytes of cyberspace.

Thanks, guys!

Library: Heidi

The timeless story by Johanna Spyri. I modified a special gift-edition version with beautiful engravings to a PDF format, and here it is.

http://www.mediafire.com/?kymdc6znukvrfnt

Floppy and friends

Outing to Plaza Serrano

Here's a little pictorama of our latest outing. Danny and I, Floppy and Woosels, and Luchi with Raff. We had a great deal of fun.

Danny and I had a short little fork-fight:

Chantal's favourite occupation: stuffing her glass with all the food and napkins within reach
Hungry mumsy:

The lovely sidewalk cafe ACTUALLY had Guinness. I wasn't going to drink beer, but when the pert little garcon named the magic word among the list of available beverages, I think I must have shouted very, very loud, and Danny insisted on treating me.