Of spices and slippers

Wherein David and Leta experience the joy of giving in an all-new way...


Part the First:

A few years ago David noticed that I had a pretty ratty pair of slippers. (The slippers had achieved this level of rattitude by being the kind that I particularly like and sometimes have trouble finding - they're basically just fleece ballerinas so that my feet don't get all hot and sweaty.) So, figuring that he had found a problem that he could solve for me, he quizzed me about slipper preferences and for Christmas presented me with a lovely red velour pair from, I believe, Eddie Bauer that came in their own little presentation bag. Oh, how nice!

So I took the nice, new ones home and brought the ratty old ones - which were now my spares - to his house. The following Christmas, I received a very nice pink fleecy pair from Victoria's Secret. Oh, how nice! So the pink ones live at David's and my ratty old ones are in my luggage.

It's a good assumption that everyone who will ever read this has already figured out that David's real goal is not to supply me with new slippers every year, but to drive the ratty old slippers out of my life altogether. I didn't realize this until he noticed the ratty ones in my luggage and looked like a home-owner watching the mouse saunter out of the kitchen carrying the piece of cheese that had been baiting the trap.

He asked me hopefully what I would do if he bought me a nice, new pair of slippers to go into my luggage? Oh, that be nice. And the ratty old ones? Oh, I'd probably put them in my theater box to wear backstage.

Listen carefully and you can probably still heard the grinding sound his teeth made.

Part the second:

I am not the only keeper of the beyond stale-dated. David, himself, has a cabinet filled with herbs and spices that pre-date me and we started seeing each other just after GWB was "elected" the first time. I've been suggesting for a long time now that the fenugreek that he and Susan bought for some long ago curry could be tossed, along with orange peel that smelled like citric acid and dust.

My position on the moral high ground was pretty much ensured after I went to use some nutmeg, which David buys whole (because he uses a nutmeg rasp) and it had nutmeg worms. At that point I began to lobby harder for not keeping the those poor, dried nuts, twigs, leaves, etc through the end of the last mortgage payment. My own rule is not to keep them more than four years. I date them when they come into the house and everything bought before January '05 will be pitched by Inauguration Day. New president, newish spices.

Part the third:

So our anniversary present to each other this year is that David gets to pitch my ratty old slippers and I get to dump his antique foodstuffs. He thought we were each going to throw out our own stuff, but what's the fun of that? So when I read on-line that he had tossed the fenugreek, I called him immediately with a Cease and Desist order. Now I get to empty the mere-memories-of-their-formers-selves contents from the bottles and David got the warm glow of tossing my ratty old slippers.

Of course, I dumped his spices out the front door, so I was recycling whereas he tossed my slippers into the trash (which I couldn't watch), so he was just adding to the waste stream.

Conclusion:

So if traditionally the first anniversary is for giving paper, the second for giving cotton, etc, in the 21st century, the eighth should be for giving your loved one the thing that they have been itching to dispose of and allowing them the joy of ditching it. The Eighth Anniversary could be for de-accessioning.

Like Communism

During Anne of Green Gables Maggie, Susanne, and I would would wait for our Act I, scene 5 entrance off stage left. Maggie, who is 13 would be holding the doll playing her little sister and she would smile into its sweet little plastic face and say kindly (and very quietly) "I hate children."

Later on she quoted her boyfriend:

"Children are like communism. Good idea on paper, but the real thing? Not so much."

Not quite a Turing Test

According to GenderAnalyzer, "We think http://letahall.blogspot.com is written by a man (81%)." Not sure why, since it is pretty largely agreed that I'm a rather girly girl.

They are (it is) more confident about David, having 84% certainty that A Honey of Anklet is written by a man.

To make it more interesting, ofaust.co tells me that I write most like Jules Verne (88%) and control subject David writes a little like Edgar Allen Poe (16%).

The Typeanalyzer's results are just as unlikely, but it has really cool scientific-looking "brain activity" charts. The "brain activity" charts are humorous for at least two reasons: 1) the word "rhythm" is misspelled; and 2) the implication that I have consistent brain activity, which is only true if scanning Facebook for cool new Flair and Stickerz counts as brain activity.

Leta:
ISTP - The Mechanics
The independent and problem-solving type. They are especially attuned to the demands of the moment are masters of responding to challenges that arise spontaneously. They generally prefer to think things out for themselves and often avoid inter-personal conflicts.

The Mechanics enjoy working together with other independent and highly skilled people and often like seek fun and action both in their work and personal life. They enjoy adventure and risk such as in driving race cars or working as policemen and firefighters.

David (okay, this one is a little more plausible):
ENTJ - The Executives
The direct and assertive type. They are especially attuned to the big picture and how to get things done. They are talented strategic planners, but might come off as insensitive to others needs and appear arrogant. They like to be where the action is and like making bold and sweeping changes in complex situations.

The Executives are happy when their work let them learn and improve themselves and how things work around them. Not beeing very shy about expressing their ideas and often very outgoing they often make excellent public speakers.



Still, somehow, after all this research I feel more self-aware. Thanks, Internet!


via Hjalti, who is a man, no matter what the internet says.

My type?

Nearly twenty years ago, long before I had internet access or structured my day around checking my e-mail and reading Facebook status updates (and ... working) I heard about a young lady named Allison Atlas who lived in Bethesda and needed a bone marrow transplant.

I mention the lack of e-mail and internet because that means that I probably learned about Allison by seeing a flier somewhere, like at the grocery store or wherever else they had been blanketed by friends and family. It's much easier today to e-mail your entire address book, write a blog post, and create a Facebook event, so I have always appreciated the dedication shown by the Friends of Allison or anyone putting so much time and effort into saving someone they care about.

So anyway, I heard about the bone marrow registration drive, which was going to be held at the Jewish Community Center because Allison was of Ashkenazi Jewish descent. I'm not*, but I figured that even though that reduced the chances that I would be a match for Allison from tiny to minuscule, I went anyway and stood in line for over two hours with other people who were actively hoping to be inconvenienced and put through a rather uncomfortable medical procedure in hopes of giving someone else another chance at life.

I wasn't a match for Allison and, so far, I haven't been a match for anyone, but I keep hoping. I check that my registration is current every year on my birthday and I encourage people to join the registry.

Today Quinn posted that the nephew of a dear friend of hers is now depending on that same registry. So if you were thinking about joining the registry or wondering what to do what some extra dollars in your charity fund....


*I'm Engish - Irish - German Episcopalian.

Paraphrasing

I've heard similar readings at off-book rehearsals. And, sigh, in a couple of performances.

"Nobody knew but me. Concealment's been preyin' like a tiddleyum upon my damask cheek - Shakespeare! And I've been sitting' like Patience on a thing-ummy-jib smiling' at grief - more Shakespeare - same speech - ibid, as they say in the books."*

Archie Millar in Gray Mask by Patricia Wentworth



*Twelth Night, Act 2, scene iv:

Viola: She never told her love,
But let concealment like a worm i' th' bud
Feed on her damask cheek; she pin'd in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

We're agin it

Most of my conversations with my mother these days are practical: things she needs;* things she doesn't like about Very Assisted Living; when am I going to come visit/help her? But yesterday she called me around 9:00-ish in the morning to ask my if I had ever had scrapple. It seems that there was a piece of scrapple on her breakfast tray and she wanted to determine the family policy on foods made out of offal.

We don't eat them, I told her.

She said that she didn't think that we did, because (I paraphrase here) she tried it and said that while it started out tasting a bit like sausage, by the time she was ready to swallow, it's true nature became all too apparent.

Mom put a decent amount of effort and creativity into describing her reaction to finding this on her plate. She wanted to know if she had to finish it. Absolutely not. I agree with the people who define it as stuff "too disgusting to be used or sold elsewhere."

I then told her about a party some years ago where my housemate Jenny took an informal "scrapple: yes or no?" poll.** Maybe it's because I do live in the Mid-Atlantic region, but there were a surprising numbers of yeses - about half the respondents, with no attendees abstaining. It seems that everyone - if they have heard of it - has an opinion on scrapple and it's pretty much a zero-sum: either "yeah, sure, it's good" or "ewww, yuck, no, I don't eat floor sweepings."

All in all, it was a fun conversation, one of the sort that I miss having with my mother these days.


*And if she says "desperately needs" one more time about something that is neither bleeding nor burning, well, things are going to get a little fraught.

**No, I have no idea why this particular entertainment happened at that party. Mostly our parties were pretty normal.***

***Okay, that last bit probably isn't true. Our parties were probably pretty weird, but we enjoyed them.

Same here

In fact, I'm not sure that anyone who was ever a teen-ager hasn't felt like this.

I didn't related well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

From Twilight by Stephenie Meyer

For Maura & Gwydion

CHORUS OF GIRLS.
With heart and with voice
Let us welcome this mating:
To the youth of her choice,
With a heart palpitating,
Comes the lovely Aline!

May their love never cloy!
May their bliss be unbounded!
With a halo of joy
May their lives be surrounded!
Heaven bless our Aline!

RECITATIVE ~ ALINE.
My kindly friends, I thank you for this greeting
And as you wish me every earthly joy,
I trust your wishes may have quick fulfillment!

ARIA ~ ALINE.
Oh, happy young heart!
Comes thy young lord a-wooing
With joy in his eyes,
And pride in his breast -
Make much of thy prize,
For he is the best
That ever came a-suing.
Yet - yet we must part,
Young heart!
Yet - yet we must part!

Oh, merry young heart,
Bright are the days of thy wooing!
But happier far
The days untried -
No sorrow can mar,
When Love has tied
The knot there's no undoing.
Then, never to part,
Young heart!
Then, never to part!

From my Scottish tenantry

Dear Friend of Laphroaig -

Our country's great national holiday is upon us. It's St. Andrew's Day, celebrating the patron saint of Scotland.

Though St. Andrew never made it to Scotland while he was alive, he holds a special place in the hearts and minds of the Scottish people. Legend states his relics were secretly transported to Scotland during the Middle Ages. And during the late 8th century, King Ungus reportedly saw a cloud in the shape of a Saltire (the St. Andrew's Cross on the Scottish flag) before battle. He pledged that if victory came to his forces, St. Andrew would become the patron saint of Scotland.

Now, festivities, feasts and events mark the November 30 celebration of St. Andrew's Day in Scotland and around the globe. As a Friend of Laphroaig, consider this e-mail an invitation to our party in Islay. If you can't make it here, gather your friends together at a bar or your home, open a bottle of Laphroaig and toast the patron saint of Scotland, St. Andrew.


Old Scottish Blessing - If There is Righteousness in the Heart:

If there is righteousness in the heart,
there will be beauty in the character.
If there is beauty in the character,
there will be harmony in the home.
If there is harmony in the home,
there will be order in the nation.
If there is order in the nation,
there will be peace in the world.
So let it be.


Slàinthe,
Simon Brooking
Master Ambassador, Laphroaig

Why I'm not in management

Unless these are secretly tactics that the Wharton School endorses...

1. A discussion with my Boss about some people who by not having done something are holding up other portions of the project:

Me: We need to bring back some kind of vicious, painful, and humiliating form of revenge. But only against other people. Not me. I cry.

My Boss now tells me that added to his goals for the week is to make me cry.

2. In an e-mail when the WATCH tabulator asked me how I manage to get such good compliance on ballots:

Me: It's a combination of flirting, cajoling, nagging, and begging. The same way I get cast in shows, actually.

With an "e"

The child hesitated for a moment.

"Will you please call me Cordelia?" she said eagerly.

"Call you Cordelia! Is that your name?"

"No-o-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but I would love to be called Cordelia. It's such a perfectly elegant name."

I don't know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn't you name, what is?"

"Anne Shirley," reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can't matter much to you what you call me if I'm only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne is such an unromatic name."

"Unromantic fiddlesticks!" said the unsympathetic Marilla. "Anne is a good plain sensible name. You've no need to be ashamed of it."

"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it," explained Anne, "only I like Cordelia better. I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia -- at least, I always have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne, please call me Anne splled with an e."

"What difference does it make how it's spelled?" asked Marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.

"Oh, it makes such a difference. It looks so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced can't you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks somuch more distinguished. If you'll only call me Anne spelled with an e I shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia."

From - but of course - Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

Miss Lydia Thompson's Farewell

From page 6 of The Pall Mall Gazette, for May 3, 1899, of a “farewell address” in verse that Gilbert wrote for the actress Lydia Thompson. Sent to Savoynet by Arthur, the Reference Librarian. Good folks to know, librarians...


MISS LYDIA THOMPSON’S FAREWELL.

The following address, written by Mr. W.S. Gilbert, was spoken by Miss Lydia Thompson at the conclusion of the proceedings yesterday: --

The other day, when sitting all alone,
Thinking of pleasant times long past and gone,
“Why, bless my precious heart and soul,” said I,
“I’ve left the stage, and haven’t said “Good bye!””
That sounds ungrateful—-but, to be quite plain,
I hoped I might be coming back again,
And would not speak the word one can’t recall,
Till “Good-bye” meant “Good-bye” for good and all.

“Good-bye”—-an easy word for you to say—-
“Sorry you’re going, but you’ve had your day.
Next please!”—-And the obedient profession
Supplies new-comers in prolonged succession—
A thousand fair ones for your smiles contesting
(A hundred acting and nine hundred “resting”);
But when I say “Good-bye” in faltering tone
To you--the truest friends I’ve ever known--
The friends whose warmth expressed in gladdening chime
Supplied the sunshine of my summer-time--
The case is somewhat different. You see,
I’m losing you—-you’re only losing me!

But this won’t do at all—-I’m off the scent,
My line’s light comedy, not sentiment.
My future tense seems cheeriness to lack,
And so, I won’t look forward—-I’ll look back.

What changes have I seem since that dim age,
When little Goldenhair tripped on the stage!
The Drama, struggling then in lodgings shady,
Has made her fortune and is quite the lady,
With endless hosts of highly cultured friends.
Think how she dresses now, and what she spends
On vast dramatic shrines—-in sumptuous salaries—-
In real Venetian-leathered pits and galleries—-
In plays that run a year to houses packed,
And cost, to stage, a thousand pounds an act!

Stage-management—-that has advanced a bit
Since poor Tom Robertson invented it—-
Tom Robertson, whose histrionic chickens
We sneer at now—-but then we sneer at Dickens!

Knighthoods for actors of pronounced ability
Earls, countesses, engaged to play “utility”;
Ibsen—-a zest for jaded appetite;
No fees-—half-guinea stalls—-electric light
Matinées twice a week, and, sad to say,
Matinée hats—-I see one here to-day;
Stock-companies completely out of date,
Burlesque quite dead—-(it never risked that fate
When Talfourd, Planché, Brough, and Byron made it,
And Rogers, Clarke, and Marie Wilton played it—-
Then, strangest chance, of playhouses vast crops!
Playhouses plentiful as grocers’ shops!

Ten in twelve months! Well, I don’t want to prate,
But if new theatres crop up at that rate,
Where will you find your pieces, if you please,
And where your actors and your actresses!
Ten months will build a playhouse, per contractor—-
It takes at least ten years to build an actor,
And, as our best authorities insist,
Ten times ten years to build a dramatist!

Well, if too long I’ve babbled of my youth,
I’m rather loath to go, and that’s the truth.
Still we must part-—it’s idle to delay it:
I’ve come to say “Good-bye!”—-so let me say it.
The link that binds me to you must be broken—-
Come now, come then, the last word must be spoken!
In no light mood the farewell phrases fall—-
God bless you! God bless me! God bless us all!

Cupcakes!

So there's this place not far from David's called Dinner Zen, which is one of those "we'll create a menu and do all the prep, you assemble it and cook it at home" franchises which managed to come up with a promotional gimmick that I swear was created with me in mind.

They now sell cupcakes (or did yesterday anyway) including a very yummy gluten-free chocolate one with chocolate frosting that tastes nearly exactly like the kind of Betty Crocker-style cupcakes that I love and they were willing to throw a little money to the Reston Community Players or the Elden Street Players or one of the local schools with theater programs.

Eat cupcake, give money to local community theater group. Win/win, right?

This is what my British friends would call an "information capture scheme" in that in order to throw a few pence to the local community theater, I had to give Dinner Zen my e-mail address. But if this results in my being able to get really good, rather than fine, chocolate GF cupcakes, I'd let them call me every half hour, so I happily gave them the info they wanted.

I bought two yummy cupcakes (one for me and one for Michael, who has baked loverly cookies for prett' near every DC-area community theater production over the last few years and deserves a treat. Then I nosed around the store for a bit, especially noticing the To-Go freezer near the door and thinking that could come in handy some night. I also was very busy hoping that the cupcakes were here to stay, not some fly-by-night, make me want them then take them away thing. Because that? Would be cruel.

I also moused around a bit on their website and was both encouraged and puzzled by the following from their FAQ:

We have food allergies in our family, can I still come in?

One of the great things about Dinner Zen is that you can customize meals the way you like them. Most people with allergies will have no problem in our store. Please tell us about your allergy concerns and we will help guide you to the best menu choices for your family. If somebody you will be serving food to is allergic to an ingredient, please choose another dish from the menu since we cannot be held responsible for allergic reactions.

I think this translates to "yes, but don't try to eat anything."

But did I mention that the cupcakes are very yummy?

Meteorology

The D.C. area weather usually turns from summer to autumn between my mother's birthday (October 14) and my father's (October 22) and then it gets warm again for a bit and then autumn comes marching in all cold and blowy.

Today autumn came marching in. The weather ranged from the 40s to the 70s with lots and lots of wind and some random rain.

I describe as the kind of weather where no matter what you are wearing, at some point in the day you will regret it and then be glad again for it before the day is done.

Happy Birthday from the Squishy Liberal

My fondness for the writings of P.J. O'Rourke is one of the many things about me that David finds inexplicable. And today is the Cranky Libertarian's 61st birthday, which I am celebrating by posting a few random P.J. quotes. I should probably also celebrate it by sending money to the sorts of liberal causes that he ridicules and I like, but maybe later.

(And in the interests of balance and fairness and creating a place where all voices can be heard, etc, on December 27th we'll get some quotes from my favorite History Nerd, Sarah Vowell.*)

Giving money and power to government is like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys.


I am a little to the right of ... Why is the Attila comparison used? Fifth-century Hunnish depredations on the Roman Empire were the work of an overpowerful executive pursuing a policy of economic redistribution in an atmosphere of permissive social mores. I am a little to the right of Rush Limbaugh. I'm so conservative that I approve of San Francisco City Hall marriages, adoption by same-sex couples, and New Hampshire's recently ordained Episcopal bishop. Gays want to get married, have children, and go to church. Next they'll be advocating school vouchers, boycotting HBO, and voting Republican.


The real truth about children is they don't speak the language very well. They're physically uncoordinated. And they are ignorant of our elaborate ideas about right and wrong.

*I do not claim P.J. as my favorite Libertarian. That will always be, of course, Hjalti.

It's my fault and I'm sorry

I like Pushing Daisies and was foolish enough to say so out loud where the television gods could hear me.

And then, as if that weren't risky enough, I joined the Facebook group "Save Pushing Daisies 2008-2009." Sure there are at least 4,900 other peope in the group, but that wasn't enough to hide me and my horrible tv karma.

So now it looks like it's going to go away.

Stupid ABC.

This is a number to call at ABC (818-460-7477 -- not toll free, of course) that other people could use to lobby for the show. I'm afraid that if I call, it would be pretty much the same as attaching my Elizabeth R to the death warrant.

I'm sorry. Feel free to blame me.


Everything we do is a choice.
Oatmeal or cereal, highway or side streets, kiss her or keep her.
We make choices and we live with the consequences.
If someone gets hurt along the way, we ask for forgiveness.
It’s the best anyone can do.
-Ned ep.3

That’s the most tragic story I’ve ever heard. Not withstanding the big ticket items like genocide and famine, but tragic nonetheless.
-Olive ep.6

So, everyone wants stuff. We wake up everyday with a list of wishes a mile long and maybe we spend our lives trying to make those wishes come true, but…just because we want them, doesn’t mean we need them to be happy.
-Ned ep.6

The Facebook Effect

There are probably lots of Facebook effects, but the one that I have noticed recently is that I am finding out the results of casting for shows from people's status updates and Wall-to-Wall conversations.

Sometimes this happens before all of the phone calls have gone out.

I don't yet know how community theater will change to adapt to this, but it will be interesting to watch it happen.

Kinda accurate, actually

I got this one from my friend, Laura Out West. And while it's not a perfect description, it's at least as accurate as any other horoscope-type personality profile I've encountered. I am a Dove. A scary large number of my family and friends are Monkeys. Quite a money minded bunch of people I know!!


LOOK UP YOUR BIRTHDAY AND SEE WHAT YOU ARE.. FORWARD ON TO PEOPLE THAT
YOU THINK WOULD GET A KICK OUT OF THIS...INCLUDING THE PERSON WHO SENT IT
TO YOU. PUT YOUR BIRTHDAY ANIMAL IN THE SUBJECT LINE AND PASS IT ON.

January 01 - 09 ~ Dog
January 10 - 24 ~ Mouse
January 25 - 31 ~ Lion
February 01 - 05 ~ Cat
February 06 - 14 ~ Dove
February 15 - 21 ~ Turtle
February 22 - 28 ~ Panther
March 01 - 12 ~ Monkey
March 13 - 15 ~ Lion
March 16 - 23 ~ Mouse
March 24 - 31 ~ Cat
April 01 - 03 ~ Dog
April 04 - 14 ~ Panther
April 15 - 26 ~ Mouse
April 27 - 30 ~ Turtle
May 01 - 13 ~ Monkey
May 14 - 21 ~ Dove
May 22 - 31 ~ Lion
June 01 - 03 ~ Mouse
June 04 - 14 ~ Turtle
June 15 - 20 ~ Dog
June 21 - 24 ~ Monkey
June 25 - 30 ~ Cat
July 01 - 09 ~ Mouse
July 10 - 15 ~ Dog
July 16 - 26 ~ Dove
July 27 - 31 ~ Cat
August 01 - 15 ~ Monkey
August 16 - 25 ~ Mouse
August 26 - 31 ~ Turtle
September 01 - 14 ~ Dove
September 15 - 27 ~ Cat
September 28 - 30 ~ Dog
October 01 - 15 ~ Monkey
October 16 - 27 ~ Turtle
October 28 - 31 ~ Panther
November 01 - 16 ~ Lion
November 17 - 30 ~ Cat
December 01 - 16 ~ Dog
December 17 - 25 ~ Monkey
December 26 - 31 ~ Dove

If you are a Dove: You symbolize a very happy-go-lucky approach in life.
Whatever the surroundings may be, grim or cheerful, you remain
unaffected.In fact, you spread cheer wherever you go. You are the leader of
your group of friends and good at consoling people in their times of need.
You dislike hypocrisy and tend to shirk away from hypocrites. They can
never be in your good books, no matter what. You are very methodical and
organized in your work. No amount of mess, hence, can ever encompass you.
Beware, it is easy for you to fall in love....


If you are a Dog : A very loyal and sweet person. Your loyalty can never be
doubted. You are quite honest and sincere when it comes to your attitude
towards working. You are a very simple person, indeed. Absolutely hassle
free, humble and down-to-earth!! That explains the reason why your friends
cling on to you! You have a good taste for clothes. If your wardrobe is not
updated with what is trendy, you sure are depressed. Popular and
easy-going. You have a little group of dignified friends, all of them being
quality-personified.

If you are a Mouse : Always up to some sort of a mischief! The mischievous
gleam in your eyes is what makes you so cute and attractive to everyone.
You are an extremely fun-to-be-with kind of person. No wonder people seek
for your company and look forward to include you for all get-together's.
However, you are sensitive which is a drawback. People need to select their
words while talking to you. If someone tries to fiddle around and play with
words while dealing with you, it is enough to invite your wrath. God bless
the person then!

If you are a Lion: Quite contradictory to your name, you are a peace loving
person. You best try to avoid a situation wherein you are required to
fight. An outdoor person, you dislike sitting at one place for a long
duration. You are a born leader, and have it in you how to tactfully derive
work from people. You love being loved, and when you receive your share of
limelight from someone, you are all theirs!!!! Well, well... hence some
people could even take an advantage, flatter you to the maximum and get
their work done. So be careful.....

If you are a Cat : An extremely lovable, adorable person, sometimes shy,
with a passion for quick wit. At times, you prefer quietness. You love
exploring various things and going into depth of each thing. Under normal
circumstances you're cool but when given a reason to, you are like a
volcano waiting to erupt. You're a fashion bird. People look forward to you
as an icon associated with fashion. Basically, you mingle along freely but
don't like talking much to strangers. People feel very easy in your
company. You observe care in choosing your friends.

If you are a Turtle : You are near to perfect and nice at heart.The
examples of your kindness are always circulated in groups of people. You,
too, love peace. You wouldn't like to retaliate even to a person who is in
the wrong. You are loved due to this. You do not wish to talk behind one's
back. People love the way you always treat them. You can give, give and
give love, and the best part is that you do not expect it back in return.
You are generous enough. Seeing things in a practical light is what remains
the best trait of you guys.

If you are a Panther : You are mysterious. You are someone who can handle
pressure with ease, and can handle any atmosphere without going berserk.
You can be mean at times, and love to gossip with your selected group. Very
prim and proper. You like all situations and things to be in the way you
desire, which, sometimes is not possible. As a result, you may lose out in
some relationships. But otherwise, you love to help people out from
difficult and tight spots when they really need you.

If you are a Monkey : Very impatient and hyper!!! You want things to be
done as quick as possible. At heart, you are quite simple and love if you
are the center of attraction. That way, you people are unique. You would
like to keep yourself safe from all the angles. Shall your name be dragged
or featured in any sort of a controversy, you then go all panicky.
Therefore, you take your precautions from the very beginning. When you
foresee anything wrong, your sixth sense is what saves you from falling in
traps. Quite a money minded bunch you people are!!

Home again, home again

I am back from a flying visit to Torquay which is in Devon. Which is next to Cornwall. Which are in England.

Which is in Great Britain.

Which is part of the United Kingdom.

Anyway, I was there to sing a lot of G&S and make some new friends. As far as I can tell, I did both. (Possibly other attendees will tell you when I am out of earshot that I actually did neither, but that seems unlikely.)

It was a lovely trip and it's great to be back, although it may take me a few days to get back to saying tuh-may-doe instead of tuh-mah-toe and to return the r's to their accustomed places in my speech.

Sarcasm - also free

Let me start this out by saying that British Airways is a great way for Celiacs to travel. On their "manage my reservation" page, one can opt for "medical meals" which include gluten-free ones. If the request is made within 24-hours of flight time there is no guarantee that it will be honored, but they do what they can. My request was made at prett' near the 24-hour mark, but my meal made it on board, for which I am grateful.

Everyone got that? Okay, back to being snarky.

It was meal time and the dinner carts were coming up the aisle. The stewardess asked me if I would like beef or chicken and I told her that, uhm, I was supposed to have a gluten-free meal. I suspect that I was her first ever Celiac passenger because she smiled sweetly at me in a "don't mess with me, this is a long flight" kind of way and said, even more sweetly, that the chicken was free. And would I like some free wine as well?

And, you know, this just didn't seem like the right time to start educating the cabin staff about my RBAD*, so I just accepted the tray that she was trying to hand me.

Then I started trying to hand her back all the things on the tray that I couldn't eat, starting with the roll.

This seemed to cause a penny to drop somewhere, possibly as the cabin staff connected the nuisance in seat 46J with the medical meal in 46J. Oh yeah. So the correct tray was brought to the stewardess who, rather chastened, handed it to me with an apologetic smile. I, of course, was graciousness itself in accepting both my correct meal and the unspoken repentance.

And - for the curious - I had:

Chicken in tomato sauce;
Salad with a lemony olive oil dressing;
A gluten-free dinner roll;
A small bowl of fruit - pineapple, I think? (It's been several days since then.)
A little bag of dried fruit;
Vanilla pudding;
A gluten-free brownie; and
A full split of wine.

Well done, Brit Air!!



*Rather Boring Autoimmune Disorder