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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

End of August

I sat down to read the news this morning, and discovered to my astonishment that it has been exactly one month since I have composed anything blog-worthy for the perusal of my readers. Not that nothing has happened; this month heralded no less than 6 laudable birthdays, including those of my dearest husband Danny and my sister Melody (same day, the 25th), and three or four really good friends who were probably puzzled that their names did not appear under this here spotlight. SORRY!

It was also the first month where we actually took pictures, and had adventuresome outings, in quite some time.

I also spent several weeks limping painfully over a hurt right foot, and I might have gone in for a slight stomach surgery, only I had to postpone it till later, so I'll tell you about it later.

However, it has also been a month of complete immersion in the realm and universe and character of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, and so when I have not been performing necessary duties such as mothering, housework, and occasional exercise, my mental energies have all been focused around the protagonists of the spanking-new Steampunk Holmes series, particularly volume one, titled, "Steampunk Holmes--The Legacy of the Nautilus."

For the curious reader who has not taken the time to study former blogposts, the Holmes' books to which I refer are ones that I am in the current process of writing, under the guidance and patronage of a worthy employer, R. M. H. His blog, www.theclevermonkey.blogspot.com might serve to elucidate the reader who actually is interested in the stuff I've been mentioning. It's a fascinating project, and one which I hope will garner the respect it deserves. Danny is doing all the artwork for it, and his work is enough to make the book a classic.

As I have spent a precious 18 minutes at this post which I ought to have dedicated to a number of other endeavours, I'm afraid I'm going to wind it up right around now, and promise faithfully to write more frequently in the near future. Lots of love to you!!

Steampunk Sherlock

Holmes and Watson are officially transmuted into the steampunk universe, and their very first illustrated adventure, based on the Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans, will be released for iPad around December.

Illustrated and designed by Daniel Cortes, story adapted by Prescott Martin.

Stay tuned!

PS: This isn't one of the pictures for the book, don't worry.

Interesting Facts and Tidbits

Well, in order to avoid apologizing for my complete silence of late, I thought I'd mention a few things that have been happening. Firstly, I've decided to get rid of a certain rather painful hernia (not very pleasant to speak of) located a trifle north of the bellybutton area. Unless I'm completely mistaken, I believe surgery is the only way to treat these things, and that's where we're headed next, hopefully within the next few days. I've been in a dreadful lot of discomfort lately; please keep me in your prayers.

On a much more diverting scale, my darling husband Danny recommended me for the post of rewriting a short story (a Steampunk Sherlock Holmes semi-animated affair destined for iPads), and the project manager is bordering on enthusiastic. He's given me a test, though; I have to rewrite the most particularly interesting part of the story, a battle between steampunk Rajput warriors and Sherlock's little party. (Shivers) I've never written this genre before now, but as I told my new prospective employer, one can only do one's best. And in the approximate words of some famous person or other, "When asked whether you can accomplish a task, immediately reply, 'Yes, I can!' and then go quickly and find out how to do it."

As Danny is the principle illustrator for this book, it will be the first time we work on the same project, each as professionals in our own capacity. Nevertheless, we're both excited about the prospect, and I'm as anxious to pick his brain for ideas for an adventurous storyline, as he is to extend his vivid and creative imagination to the text.

As a foretaste to all you Sherlock/Watson fans, Watson is a former commando soldier with a mechanical arm, which has some sort of a cannon. I'm not spilling any more beans; ta-ta!

More SICKNESS

An urgent plea for spiritual assistance on the battlefield:
My two darling monkeys have come down with some sort of viral disease, namely, they've got the flu. Floppy's cough is bordering on diabolical, and Chantal is sicky and wooselish and weepy. I've been keeping them neatly sequestered in our bedroom, and in the last 24 hours they've managed to puke on every available surface, including each other.
I'm trying to keep this note upbeat, so if I go too far and seem flippant and light-hearted, please don't attach any truth to that surmise. I'm actually starting to get a little bit worried, and the very last thing I want to do at present is drag them through the doctor routine. I wouldn't mind terribly, if it weren't for the fact that the hospital is so far away, and so very grubby in appearance, and the waiting rooms so full of children hosting every virus, bug and bacteria known to humanity.
Please pray that it blows over quickly, without getting any worse. And pray for Danny's and my peace of mind and sanity!!! I love you all!

Re- Previous Post

Thought I might say a word or two about it. It was one of my first ghost-written pieces, oh, years and years ago.

Sweet story; apparently true.

Performance at a Spiritual Healing seminar

A couple of months ago, some friends of mine asked me if I would sing at their Spiritual Healing seminar. I agreed, and spent a couple of weeks practicing; it's been a while since I've sung or played in public. A few days before the event, a stroke of marvellous fortune arrived in the presence of Agustin Torres, a relative of my husband, who happens to be a well-known singer and musician. He's cut a few albums in Colombia, where's he's worked as a missionary with his family for many years. He was staying at our home for a few days; anyway, he jumped at the chance of performing at the seminar, and gladly agreed to sing a few numbers with me.

I lament that the pictures are far from quality; I'm afraid nobody thought to include a photographer as part of the staff. But the seminar was very successful and moving; most of the people who went were deeply touched, and several experienced healing in profound ways. One woman requested prayer for her daughter's father-in-law, a devout atheist, who was in the hospital with terminal cancer. We prayed for him, and a week later the woman called me up and said that the man had been sent home, with the cancer gone into remission. The man and his family had scorned our friend when she told them she had prayed for him at the seminar, but they could hardly believe their eyes when the sick man recovered only a few days later.

As a PS to that story, our friend went back and prayed with the man to receive Jesus into his heart. He passed away peacefully a few weeks later.

Anyway, I was very glad to be able to perform with Agustin; he's really awesome on stage! Dynamic and bleeding charisma from every pore. I recall the rush of performing next to my mother; it's a marvellous experience to get to perform with people who throw themselves completely into the music.

Well, ta ta for now!

Fifth Anniversary

April 30th, 2006, the plane skidded onto the runway, gradually diminished its speed, and halted. The passengers immediately jumped up and began fumbling in the overhead racks for their hand luggage; thus laden, they stood waiting in long lines down the aisle. It was around 1:30 in the morning. The flight from Sao Paulo to Buenos Aires had only taken about 1 1/2 hours; but for most people it had been a connecting flight, and everyone was tired.

Nevertheless, disregarding the now-empty seats, the passengers waited in line for the stewards to open the plane doors and let them out.

Not all, however. One girl remained seated, leaning against the window, feet stretched out comfortably into the adjoining seat. Those passengers standing in the aisle nearest her glanced at her darkly, but she didn't pay them much attention.

Why, she thought, must people be in such a dratted hurry? Why not enjoy the wait comfortably seated?

This thought, she relapsed into her inner musings. What the devil am I doing here? did not for a minute cross her mind. Her stomach was incomprehensibly settled, considering ...

She hailed from Saint Pierre, Reunion Island; she had boarded the first plane from Roland Garros airport in Saint Denis, destination Johannesburg, South Africa--then from Johannesburg to Belo Horizonte, Brazil--from Belo to Sao Paulo, and now, the last leg of her journey, to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

This trip was to be the consummation of nearly five years' devoted friendship--six months' online romance--with a man she'd never met.

Will all go well? She had ruminated this question hundreds of times over the last month. She did not think of it now.

Instead, she pondered the pleasantness of the flight on this little Gol-owned plane. The steward and stewardesses had been attentive, kind, and a little tired-looking. They had lavished extra treats on her, when they discovered that she had missed her supper during the long connection wait in Sao Paulo's Guarulhos airport. The girl rearranged her feet, comfortably, on the adjoining seat, and smiled brightly as the line of people began to move, slowly, towards the exit near the front of the plane.

Ten minutes later, the long line of passengers had passed on, and the girl herself stood up, stretched, smiled widely at the stewardess who came forward to help her with her belongings (one backpack, a huge heavy handbag, a guitar, and a violin), and complimented the pilots on her way out of the plane. They smiled indulgently at her, and then she turned around and walked down the long carpeted tunnel towards the airport, knowing that they would never meet again.

Argentina. At last.

Customs, passport check, baggage claim--everyone stared at the girl with rather astonished expressions; she made it a point to smile widely at whoever caught her eye; they smiled back, a bit bewildered, benevolently. Harmless girl.

She was tall, elegantly dressed in black, with high-heeled black genuine-leather Marlboro boots, a guitar case strapped to her back, a violin in her hand. Dark green eyes; watchful, purposeful, friendly. Long dark hair, plaited into two braids, and on her head, strangely, a feathered American Indian headband. Her sister had made it for her as a parting gift. A great big beaded affair wrapped around her head, obscuring her high forehead; the feathers trailed down her back. The effect was startling.

She waited near the luggage belt, helped some old ladies with their bags, exchanged addresses with a friendly girl named Patricia whom she'd met on the flight, and then, once the crowd around the belt had thinned, gathered her own luggage--two large suitcases, gaily decorated with bright stickers and an assortment of gaudy pieces of material, tied in bows. Her mother had long ago taught her this trick; the result was a set of luggage which nobody in their right mind would attempt to steal, and which could not easily be mistaken for someone else's luggage. Clever. With her brightly coloured assorted luggage neatly laid on a trolley, she went through the final customs exam with a flourish and a few more smiles for the tired guards on duty, and moved towards the dark glass doors marked EXIT.

This is it, she thought. With a deep breath and a sudden faint flutter of the heart, she pushed her trolley through the door, and scanned the little crowd before her, searching, anxious. Would he be here to meet her?

The eyes of all were upon her, at first attentively, as though trying to recognize in her some loved one dearly awaited, then the eyes' expressions changed to mild surprise at her unusual attire; at last their stares waned and moved along to the latest arrivals coming through the automatic doors behind the girl.

For a second she froze, scanning the faces before her with a sort of desperation. One second, and no more. For at that moment, a man's head shot up toward the back of the crowd, and for an instant his head, shoulders and torso were visible as he jumped in exultation. "PRAISE!" the man shouted.

The girl called Praise broke into a jubilant smile of relief, and the young man sped around the crowd, jumped over the corded-off partition (to the startled amusement of the guard on duty) and ran straight into the girl's outstretched arms. Passersby and the small waiting crowd looked on with benignant smiles at the lovers, as the latter, suddenly oblivious to all, crowned their long months of patience and writing and waiting with a bear hug, and finally, a gentle kiss.

It was 2 a.m. on April 30th, 2006, and I, Praise, had finally arrived home to Danny Gypsy, as he was then nicknamed, in Buenos Aires.

That was five years ago.

Sorry we don't have any pictures of the occasion. Will post more next time. Cheers!!!

First Steps

Chantal took off on her first walkabout the day before yesterday. Now she walks all over the place, crawls up and down the stairs; it's marvellous, she doesn't demand to be carried as often as before, hip hip!!!

AND she had her first potentially terrible fall from a piece of playground equipment about 1.20 meters high, yesterday. She was, by a miracle, completely unharmed.

I wish I had pix...

More Mock-ups

Here are two more mock-ups for Danny's latest commission project. I'm supposed to be holding a great big crowbar (not a long-handled scrubbrush), and alas for my propriety, that plastic spoon thingie is supposed to be a (beuuugh!) cigarette. Ick. I'm still trying to get Danny to find that fighter-pilot picture. It really is awesome. HAHAHAH!


And here is the finished product. Not me, definitely not, har har, though I've always had a secret hankering to be a mechanic. Don't look at the blood...

Caption:
Moe: Is an exceptional mechanic. She rigs bikes for gang members and is simply the best in the business. Most of the time she stays out of local gang disputes, but sometimes she has a hard time getting paid for her work.

Mock-Ups

Danny is an artist, and as many artists do, he occasionally needs reference for his characters' more dynamic poses. He used me as his model for one of his pictures, once... (as a fighter pilot about to crash headlong into something, pointing ahead and looking behind my shoulder with my mouth wide open in a screaming roar) I wish I had the picture; I'll look for it. Danny probably has it on file someplace.

But usually he uses his own person as reference for his work. Here are two examples of his poses:

Dig the mutton chops. Don't they rock? Check out Danny's artwork on his website at: Art of Daniel Cortes

Roseola...

Does anybody know what the title word means? Because I'm really not sure what it is, what it does, or how it works, or spreads. I think that's what Chantal has, though. I thought (and my heart quailed) that she had the measles... but no, hallelujah, it's not measles, apparently. Nor German Measles. And in my quest to diagnose my baby's strange illness (four days of fever, followed by a great big rash on her face, which spread to her arms and back), I at last located something that seems to fit, and it's called roseola. Some sort of childhood disease, is it?

Hurrah, hurrah, she has no more fever. She's exceptionally clingy, though, and is very unhappy unless she's in my arms (or Papa's, or Julie's, or Mikey's). She's chewing on her finger, too, so she likely is teething as well. Poor lil' mite. Well, please do keep her in your prayers, y'all, and pray that the other kiddos in the home don't come down with anything either. Thanks!

Fevers N' Baby...

Alas, my little baby woosel has a fever. I didn't take it too seriously yesterday; but when the fever did not break all night, and fluctuated in regular fever-fashion between 38.5 and 39.5 all day today, with no other apparent physical symptoms, I am inclined to consider taking her to the local clinic tomorrow (horrors, shivers-down-my-spine). I am a firm believer in allowing the body to heal itself according to God's well-planned design, and follow its natural cycles and courses as much as possible, without jumping into the medicine cabinet or running to the medicine man every time someone says 'ouch'... but there are times when consulting a doctor is the wisest course of action, particularly when the symptoms are strange or variable. Whether or not to submit to chemical treatment is, in my firm opinion, a strictly personal choice, especially in little matters like common colds, fevers, and ordinary ailments--which tend to follow a natural course on their own, with or without chemical remedies. But I have also learned to be thankful for doctors and medication, in those rare occasions when something turns out to be serious enough to require a professional's advice, assistance and care. My family and friends know that I am a bit on the leery side of the medical profession and pharmaceutical companies in general, nevertheless I hope I have acquired sufficient humility to admit that I do not know very much, and so am grateful for the wise counsels of competent doctors.

Please keep Chantal in your prayers; as fevers are difficult for any child, and whether it just blows over and goes away naturally, or is a precursor to some childhood disease, or whatever other reason, I'm praying that she stays safe and healthy, and that this fever does not spread among the other children in our home. Thank you! I'll post updates as things progress. We love you, and thank you for your prayers!

And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him. Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

James 5:15-16

Back to BA, back to BA, back to BA we go, Heigh-ho! ...

And so indeed, after a lovely year in Mar del Plata, we have returned to our previous location, same house, same in-laws (mine, heh); where Floppy was born and raised until just before her third birthday. First place I resided in Argentina... Ah, the memories these same walls and halls evoke...

Well, I've got my internet connection back, praise God, and so I shall be able to actually resume posting on this blog, for what it's worth. I hope y'all didn't miss me too much... wait, on second thought I hope you did miss me. I've got a pile of stuff waiting to be posted here, so much that I doubt I'll ever get around to all of it in the next weeks, as I've put myself on a strict internet ration, so as not to hog all my time, which I ought to be spending in worthwhile, home- and children-related endeavours. I will, asap, recommence violin lessons at the conservatory downtown, if all goes well. Wish me joy!

We had a good trip; the bus trip was comfortable and not too long; nobody got sick, and the lovely company provided us with an assortment of snacks and goodies in clever little boxes, which fascinated Floppy. Of course, I, the chief family packer, managed to forget a few simple and essential objects, such as our pajamas, bath toys, laundry receptacles, and an odd pair of tennis shoes (I packed one shoe of Floppy's and one of bebe's...). Thank goodness Luchi and Arcos haven't travelled yet; I hope they can bring us these artefacts in due course. If not, ... sniff ... well, I'm sure we'll manage somehow.
And here's the only family picture we managed to take of ourselves last year, and a few other ones for your enjoyment, namely of Christmas presents. Aren't the kids CUTE!!

Among all the gifts received, I got a big piece of orange polka-dot cloth, to do with as I wished. I'm in the process of making a swweeeeeet summer dress. HAHAH! An original gift, wouldn't you say?