How do I get myself into these things?

Cut it out, Rafique. I'll play along this time, but that's it. No more memes!

It's even worse that I've come late to the game for this one, and just about everybody has already done it. So I'm going to break a rule or two on this one.

I. Link to the person who tagged you.
II. Post the Rules Here.
III. Share Seven Random or Weird Facts About Yourself.

1. In the three generations spanning our parents to our children, there are five different languages spoken in our family.
2. I have been on TV in three different shows that had absolutely nothing in common. This does not include woman-in-the-street interviews that may or may not have aired.
3. I speak two languages fluently, one semi-fluently, and a smattering of a couple of others.
4. I turned down an African, a Palestinian, an Inuit (Should I count the Austrian? Why not?) before finally saying yes to an Italian. I have no idea why WASPs seemed to ignore me.
5. I published an online newsletter that forecast the movements of commodity markets, using a method I devised myself. I pulled the plug on it because it required me to be two people and I didn't have that many hours in a day.
6. I was born on a Canadian Air Force base in France, back in the days when they still existed.
7. A friend of mine was once kidnapped while walking my baby in a stroller. In front of a cop's house. The only witness was my two-year-old. Fortunately, there was a happy ending.

And the ones I'm breaking:
IV. Tag 7 random people, linking to them.
V. Leave a comment letting them know you've tagged them.
Anybody reading this who hasn't already done it and who is amused by these things, consider yourself tagged.

And all taggers, consider yourself warned. The probability of me simply ignoring the next meme is very, very high.

Technorati tags: Memes

What I learned in Italy, Part 1

I suppose I knew most of these already, but they got hammered home in new ways.

People grow oblivious to the beauty around them. We were soaking up the beauty of my husband's birthplace: rolling green hills topped with historic little towns, fields full of gnarled, silvery olive trees, almond and mimosa trees in full glorious bloom of white and yellow, peach trees inflating their pink buds almost to popping point. The relatives were astonished when we said they were lucky to live surrounded by so much beauty. They hadn't noticed.



If you want to torment people in a small town, walk into the local cafe, look around, greet people in Italian, and leave without telling them who you are. (Come back later and make up.)



Teaching graffiti as a form of artistic expression in university is a really, really bad idea. The only good thing to be said of Italy's graffitti artists is that they seem to restrict their efforts to stucco and concrete surfaces. Historic buildings are mostly unscathed. But some parts of town, particularly around railroad tracks, are nothing but a blur of graffiti.



Speaking of concrete surfaces, I never knew there was such a thing as concrete picket fences.



Starbucks should roll over and die. Seriously. Where did they get the crazy idea they know how to make espresso or cappuccino?

Technorati tags: Italy

I have got to dye my hair

I don't really want to. Having grey hair really doesn't bother me. Besides, it's such a messy bother to dye your hair at home, and so expensive to do in a beauty salon, but I have been pushed beyond what any reasonable person can be expected to bear.

It's the young people. I blame them. The arrogance of them! I see it in their eyes - they have relegated me to little old lady status. Quite without my permission.

I see it in their outstretched arms, as I clamber over the snowbanks on the sides of the road after last night's storm. The roads - thank goodness and city services - are pretty much clear, but it will be a matter of days before the high ridges lining the roads are carted away to their final resting place.

In the meanwhile, pedestrians and bus riders must perforce be mountain climbers. And all these well-raised young people extend their arms to me, concerned about the poor old bones beneath the hoary head. This, despite the fact that my face is unlined and my bones are entirely up to the challenge of snowbank clambering. So I smile, protest vainly, and take the proffered arms. You have to reward that kind of consideration, no matter how galling.

I have to dye my hair, before I snap at the next solicitous youngster who offers me her seat. What happened to all the churlish young louts I keep hearing about? One can only dream...


Technorati tags: Hair dye, Today's youth, Grumbling

Thanksgiving memories

Seeing as so many of my American friends are blogging about Thanksgiving, I figured I didn't have to be deprived just because I'm Canadian.

I'm thinking back too many years to my first Thanksgiving after I left home. My roommate was out of town, so I decided that I - yes I - would host the family's Thanksgiving dinner. Seeing as the "family" in town was reduced to my grandmother and one aunt/uncle couple, this wasn't too intimidating a task. Except that I was 18 and making Thanksgiving turkey for my grandmother!

My kitchen was smaller than most walk-in closets nowadays, but I nonetheless produced the traditional feast, roast turkey with home-made stuffing and gravy being the requisite centrepiece. It got quiet during meal-time, always a good sign, and then my grandmother leaned back, heaved a great sigh of contentment, and pronounced her verdict.

"NOW you can get married."

Grandma's long gone, but she still makes me smile after all these years with that crack. Most especially because she wasn't trying to be funny.

Technorati tags: Thanksgiving, Turkey, Grandmothers

I actually won!

J.M. McDermott announced a poetry contest a couple of weeks back that intrigued me. The prize was an autographed ARC (Advance Reader's Copy) of his upcoming novel, Last Dragon.

Being a little dense sometimes, I thought the contest was to write a poem about his book and seeing as I hadn't read it, I didn't try. But the description of the book at Amazon looked so promising, I eventually decided to make a stab anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. JM was nice enough to let me know I had misunderstood, that the poem was to be on the theme "last dragon", not on the book itself. My rather sorry little limerick had no chance. (You try converting advertising copy into poetry and see if YOU can do it!) So I tried again, even though there were barely 24 hours left before the contest closed.

The theme didn't seem to be too suited to limericks to me, so after considering the permissible forms I settled on a villanelle, a form of poetry that repeats two lines of a refrain at strictly specified intervals throughout. The most famous example is Dylan Thomas's iconic "Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night" with its haunting "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." It seemed to me to be ideally suited for a lament. Throw in the fact that it was probably a little easier than a sonnet or a sestina, and my choice was made.

I'm not claiming that my poem is destined to live forever in anthologies (it won't), but I was pleased enough with the result of my efforts to submit it, although another week to mull over the rough spots would have been nice. And J.M. was pleased enough to award it first place, throwing in some editorial comments for free.

I am tickled pink. I get to read the book before everybody else but the reviewers. I will post a review of my own when we get closer to the release date.


Technorati tags: Poetry, Last Dragon, J.M. McDermott

Surprise!

The best way to successfully throw a surprise party is to do it four weeks early. That way the guest of honour is pretty well guaranteed not to suspect a thing. My hubby exploited the technique the other night to great effect. The only problem was, he told me what time the reservation was really for (for what I thought was going to be a romantic tete-a-tete) and then proceeded to get there in a circuitous route that had me fuming. I hate being late for things. Of course, he was deliberately stalling to make sure everyone else was there first... He didn't really mind, because that way he got to laugh at me for the whole evening. Men. Of course, I had to laugh at myself too.

One of my favourite cards was from my daughter. It was grey and bore in large letters the message: Rest in Peace. Inside it said, "Oopsie! Kinda got ahead of myself there. I mean, "Happy Birthday." I confess, I hooted.

So I'm officially fifty, even if I'm not. As the T-shirt I received stated so nicely: You're not getting older, you're increasing in value.

Better believe it baby!

(If I were a truly worthy blogger, I'd be using this as a springboard to some kind of profound social commentary. I am obviously not a truly worthy blogger.)

Technorati tags: The big 5-0

Perfection squared

This is what I have attained today.

Also known as putting a brave face on things.

Yes, I'm being cryptic. Let me know if you figure it out.

Anybody who knew the answer ahead of time is asked not to spill the beans.