Those who needed to see it....

...saw it.

It has been relegated to the Vault now.

New Feature at Blog Biscuit

Inspired by the unique vocal stylings of our own Blue Max, I have decided to celebrate by adding a link in the sidebar, to our revolving phone messages here at the house.
The first selection is the one currently in use for this week.

Feel free to plagiarize - if you dare.

The World Loves a Good Story.

Guess what?

Dan Brown has OTHER books.

To hear people talk, you would think that his DaVinci Code was the only book he had ever written?
It's not as if The DaVinci Code was the result of some *mission* he was on to discredit the God of the Universe...dude is an author...he writes stories.
He has other ones.

What's funny though, is how many people actually don't get the fact that The DaVinci Code is a work of fiction.
I mean...just becuase you watch Star Trek or The Simpsons (or the Kennedy's), doesn't mean you believe everything you see/read?
(I know. Some of you needed a moment to think abou that "Star Trek part", get over it.)

Same with Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code.
Its an imaginatively told story based on an old myth, and written by a great author.
I guess even Dan Browm himself kinda forgets though too, so how can we blame the general populace for forgetting the difference between fact and fiction?

I mean, when his book first came out, he was on the road doing interviews to promo the book and he was very clear on the fact that this was purely a work of fiction, nothing more.

Then along comes Little Ronnie Howard and starts to make a movie, and Mr. browm goes back out on the interview circuit. Suddenly he is saying that his book, The DaVinci Code, was based upon facts gleaned from his own research?
(Hmmm...someone has certainly has had a significant lapse of memory...I *think* that both sets of interviews either took place on the Today show,
or a combination of Regis and Kelly and the Today Show.)

My own brother is just such a person.
When he first read The DaVinci Code a few years back ,he was all excited, saying ,
"Wow! This is really important research," even though at that time Dan Brown himself was pointing out the fact that it was a work of fiction.

As for me, I find it much easier to believe that The Lady of The Lake herself will pop up out of a stream during my next hike, or that Merlin or King Arthur will come trotting out from behind some massive old Oak, bearing the Grail themselves.

Sorry, as much I adore Celtic Folklore, it ain't true.

And neither is there an invisible map on the back of the Declaraton of Independence.
;o)

Anyway, Dan Brown is a terrific fiction writer.
Rather than fixate on one of his works, people should be inspired to read his other books.

Isn't that the usual pattern when we read an exciting and well written story?
We want to read the others too?

There are many stories in the world.
Some are worth incorporating some of the tenets into our lives to make the world a better place.
Some are not worth incorporating because they don't enhance our lives or anybody elses.

Stories are stories.

Thats why we love them.

:o)

More fun from our friends at surrealist.co.uk : Battle Bots!

First match up: Mih -vs- Leh

Specs on the winner:

Mihshehl is a Robot that walks on Four Spindly Legs, plays Ice-Cream-Van Music, is fitted with a Sink Plunger and Armour Plating, makes Toast, and is Powered and Controlled by a Hamster. Force: 6 Handling: 5 Weaponry: 1 To see if your Battle Robot can defeat Mihshehl, enter your name and choose an attack: fights Mihshehl using Force Handling Weaponry

For other amusing ways to utterly waste time visit The Surrealist.

The Mechanical Contrivium:

Enter your name and gender into the box below and see what the Mechanical contriviu reveals about your inner mechanization. It is fun to enter the word "Lysters" and select "Them" instead of gender.

According to the Mechanical Contrivium :

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Mihshehl!

1. Mihshehl can use only about ten percent of her brain.
2. Mihshehl invented the wheel in the fourth millennium BC.
3. Mihshehl can only be destroyed by intense heat, and is impermeable even to acid.
4. Mihshehl is the world's largest rodent!
5. Baskin Robbins once made Mihshehl flavoured ice cream!
6. Mihshehl will often glow under UV light.
7. Mihshehl has a memory span of three seconds.
8. Finding Mihshehl on Christmas morning is believed to bring good luck.
9. Mihshehl is only six percent water.
10. It takes 8 minutes for light to travel from the Sun's surface to Mihshehl.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

For other amusing ways to utterly waste time visit The Surrealist.

Well, it's been a good long time...

...Since I posted something.

First off: New Art by me, here, here and here.

NEXT:

The next tirade is not for the faint-of-heart, for it deals with things that only a parent might stoop to, in dire times in the hours of the middle of the night. Rushing and Blue Max will have a special identification with this I think.

Ever since Thursday I have been cleaning up after a steady onslought of barf.

First Kenz got the dreaded 36 hour stomach flu, with sudden onset in the form of projectile vomiting, and complete emptying of stomach contents. Of course, this occurred on the hallway carpet. I refuse to go into detailed description of what I had to hand pick out of my carpet fibres, but you get the idea.

Next it was Scout at 4am this morning.
Why these kids can't get to a suitable puking place I will never know!
So I am picking "stuff" out of the sink drain at 4-frikkin-a.m.
I completely scour the kitchen and disinfect all doorknobs and computer keyboards and mouses and telephones and remote controls etc and am preparing to go back to bed at 7am.
I sleep for 1hour and awake to a phone call from my son who has gone on a trip 150+ miles away.
Yes.
Before he even says it, I already know.

So there went a 6 hour trip to bring him home, cutting his 2day road trip short.
Boo hoo.

So far, the only ongoing malady at this late satruday night hour seems to be Scout. She cannot seem to shake the virus but remains feverish, and uncomfortable.

Furthermore:

You may call me a ninny.
I care not one wit.

I am the mom who prefers to sleep on the floor of the kids bedroom when the kid is sick so that can hear their every breath. Even at the ripe old age of 16.

I am the mom who will "get a grip" and shove down her own sense of the hideously grotesque in order to pick barf out of the carpet in the middle of the night, and not harbor any lasting ill-will toward the child who created the debacle.

Now all you kids out there...(kids= anyone under the age of 25)...odds are most of you....
(and I am pretty sure I know who you are) need to turn your head around and look at your own mom(and/or dad), and realise that she (he) probably does/has done the same for you.

And she (he) would do it again in a heart beat.

To all of you who don't yet have kids...listen up:

This is what you have to look forward to.
But actually, it is a small thing compared to the joy your own little freaky kids will bring you.
;o)

Cyber Trash Art :Updated!

You must check out this guy's gallery!
He is an artist specializing in "Cyber Trash."
Remarkable!

UPDATE:

Check out his recent submission entitled:
"Cyber Gun."

Snaps from the B-day Weekend

Snaps from the Bday weekend.

Character Building Excersize 3a

Just messing at character setups and what not.
I had another form of these over in the DevArt Scraps pile a few months ago to jump start my creativity. I find that parking something online sometimes helps - kinda like re-arranging the furniture helps one to be inspired to vaccuum more efficiently.

At the moment, the time spans over 1000 years. K'lolius is possibly a couple thousand years old at the time of Morwynn's birth. Morwynn's mother is nearly immortal.
Morwynn's father and brothers and many other characters maintain a normal life span of approximately 100 years. Jidan's own birth came a few hundered years before Morwynn's, but through use of the grids he has managed to move ahead a few centuries in order to achieve a goal.

TBA. Obviously.


THESE ARE DISJOINTED SNIPPETS.
LARGELY UNEDITED.
(Be Forewarned.)





Character Setup : Jidan. (Jee-DAHN)

He stared at the console, scanning each of the faces as they rapidly flashed through the Grid panels. He hoped that it would hold up to this pace after all these years out of service. He was waiting for a glimpse of any one he might recognize before he began slowing down the rate of replay. He saw the early Masters (working phrase), the first members of his order, laboring at their tasks. He saw the eagerness in their eyes as they began their journey exploring the pathways of knowledge and wisdom. He smiled. He too understood that joy of discovery. He remembered when he had found the ancient sheets of vellum which his great-great-great grandsire Hemji had stored for one of his students.
Then he saw the Woman.
He focused all his attention now on the console. She fit the profile – tall, elegant, beautiful beyond description. But there was a sadness about her.
As the Grid advanced he saw her sadness deepen into anguish. Suddenly, she was gone.
He shut down the Grid, restarted it and reversed it slowly to a point just for she had disappeared.
He let the panels roll slowly forward again, this time panel by panel – day by day. Here she is reading. Her gaze placidly going over the pages. She lifts her head and looks across the great room and stares a long time. She discerns that some one is watching her and her movements become very planned and controlled from here on out. She eventually stands. Removing the mantle that hangs from her shoulders, she folds it neatly and lays it upon the throne. She goes to her wardrobe and chooses a dull grey hooded cloak. She also takes up an opaque white veil and wraps it around her head covering her face from the eyes down. She opens the door and leaves the room. She walks slowly down the Corridor, her eyes lovingly caress each of the enormous carved doors that line its smooth stone walls. Perhaps she is thinking of their occupants? She appears melancholy and wistful. She reaches the end of the Corridor, and steps into the stairwell. A shaft of light beams radiantly down on her face as she looks up toward it. She begins to climb the spiraling stone staircase which opens out into broad daylight. It takes a moment for Jidans eyes to adjust to the brightness. The woman has walked out into a vast grassy meadow beneath a cloudless sky. Jidan can see that this meadow is located on the side of a broad knoll. He breathlessly waits for her to reach the top, hoping that he will be able to get an idea of where she is. As she gains the summit, she is greeted by a tree of enormous proportions. There is not one single leaf upon the tree and its branches stretch out, up lifted, toward the sky as if to consume the heavens in their embrace. As Jidan watches, The Woman reaches beneath her robe and she pulls out a neck lace holding a key whos handle is carved in the image of the tree. She looks long and contemplatively at the key in her hand.
The woman begins to walk in a circle around the tree. It is indeed a marvel and unlike any tree that Jidan has ever seen. The bark is grey and twisted. She passes by a large knothole which grins foolishly back at Jidan through the console. He flinches momentarily.
The woman continues her walk around the base of the Tree. It is approximately 20 ft. in diameter. She circumvents the tree a 3rd time, climbing up over each of the gigantic roots as they leave the trunk, like grasping fingers, toward the life giving soil below. She leans against the tree as she goes along, her fingers searching for a hand hold to balance her as she climbs over and around the roots. Her hand disappears from view, into a niche in the Tree bark. She removes her hand and replaces it with the toe of her boot. She hops up and catches one of the lower branches in her hands, swinging herself up and continues to climb into the uppermost branchs of the tree. She rests momentarily, and as Jidan watches, it appears that the woman is sitting in the opened palm of a giant hand. She looks at the sky above and then scans the horizon slowly. She looks directly at him, not sure if she is looking at someone but sensing it. The hair stands up on his neck and he knows that she senses him. She looks down and then disappears from his sight.
The console goes dim.
He rubs his eyes and sits back in his chair.



Character Setup : Confidante
(Chamberlain/Over-seer-type servant to Mordan.)

Confidante lay beneath the twinkling stars.
They danced across the night sky, beckoning him to follow, and he was of a mind to do just that.
He thought of all the events that had brought him to this moment. He remembered the day that Fuday had come to him. The nurse stood upon the doorstep with the sniveling child of his dead sister in hand.
How could she possibly expect him to take the child?
It was ludicrous!
Confidante remembered that day, and the ones that followed as he watched the child grow from blubbering toddler into a cunning charmer - beguiling teacher and peer alike.

Confidante, fearing that the introduction of a child would jeopardize his station within the household, tried vainly to dismiss the woman and child, closing the door upon them.
Mordan, Confidantes employer and a well respected council member, came upon the scene and inquired after the visitors. Confidante reluctantly explained the presence of the Nurse and Child.
To his shock and dismay, Mordan was most encouraging of Fudays adoption by Confidant. He even stood up for Fuday before the Advisors for the Master Program,(working phrase), getting Fuday enrolled in the finest school.
A few months of "strenuous" discipline brought forth the expected, pleasing results; Fuday became a model student and citizen.

At least according to appearances.

The discipline which Fuday recieved via Confidante and the Schoolmasters only served to hone his deceptive traits.
Fuday became a master of deception.
He managed, after time, to effectively display the character qualities of innocence and propriety. He learned to cleverly conceal his "small crimes", and in time, effectively frame his schoolmates for the infractions.
He was adept.
Confidante took note of Fuday's "special gifts" with a secret sense of pride.

These images passed quickly through the mind of Confidante as his life seeped out of him, staining the desert sand.





Character Set up: Morwynn & Dalen (MOR-win, DAH-len)

I suppose that I should have been more compliant as a young child.
But I found life in my Father’s compound exceedingly boring and the activities my brothers participated in were far more interesting to me than music lessons, instruction in courtly poise and all of the other gentle activities that the women of our family have been trained in for generations.

I remember sneaking into the Council Chamber, which was used by father when informal meetings were held in the residences of council members. I would climb through the east window and out on to the wall that encompasses the entire compound. At this location the council chamber overlooked the paddocks and stables. After what would have equaled approximately 400 paces, the wall narrowed and it became necessary for me to crawl along the top more carefully. It was also at this point that the wall crossed out of the paddocks and along the edge of the Field Yard. In this place, the trees were thick enough that I could observe the training sessions of the young warriors, with out being noticed.
At least for a while.
I watched my brothers and their friends learn the arts of battle, and being the competitive athletic child that I was, I longed to join them. This longing became an obsession and distraction and at every chance I could glean, I endeavored to study them at length.
I also became very interested in the tools of war, and namely the Roti; a compact oval device that concealed within its body, a set of 4 gleaming, razor sharp arms that, at the touch of a tiny lever would extend as the warrior flung it, spinning and slicing through the air, toward its intended victim. But the Roti was not like other weapons of war craft, like a sword, dagger, axe or mallet, for there were no more craftsmen living who were able to manufacture the Roti’s. The Master Order (working phrase) were the inventors of the Roti in the long ago times and that art had been lost to them. Though a man made device, the Roti was able to develop “a relationship” of sorts with its user. As long as the Warrior wielding the Roti had his target firmly in mind and heart, when the Roti released from his hand, it would meet its mark or return to the hand of its user for another throw.

To be awarded a Roti was a high honour.
My eldest brother, Mordal, was given such a treasure, and the minute it came into his possession I pestered him daily with question after question about it and its use.
I came in possession of this very same Roti via thievery.

When Mordal discovered my theft, and confronted me, I confessed.
That was the honourable thing to do.
Thief that I was, I was no liar, and was honest to a fault.

My next brother, Dalen, who was nearest in age to me, observed the confrontation with poorly veiled amusement. After Mordal extracted the priceless treasure back from me, he dismissed us both by slamming the door to his chamber in our faces leaving us in the hallway.

As Dalen and I walked down the hall together, we discussed his observations of Mordal and the other Warriors training sessions with the Roti.
He told me I was foolish to take something that was so dangerous and that I didn’t understand. He told me that the other disciplines must be fully mastered before one could be considered for such a high honour.
I began to ask him about these disciplines.
He spoke softly as he explained, and while I was thoroughly absorbed with his discourse, he parked the but of his staff between my feet, mid-stride and tumbled me straight to the ground. He extended his hand to me, to help me rise with his palm facing upward. I reached out to grasp it, and he flicked his hand over at the last second, and poked me in the forehead effortlessly, and sent me sprawling backward again. It was a stupid trick and yet he relished his dominance over me.
I smiled, concealing my hurt and anger. I clambered to my feet and stuck my tongue out at him and proceeded down the hallway.
“Come on, “ I called back to him. “We aren’t supposed to running around the house while guests are arriving.”
“Guests?” he called trotting to catch up with me.
As he caught up with my, I threw myself to one side and down, delivering my elbow to his crotch.
This move “impressed” him.
I sat down on the cool stones of the hallway an waited for him to stop rolling around and moaning on the floor. We sat quietly for a long while, until we heard the chimes sound, calling us to the evening meal.

The next day, after Field Training, Dalen sought me out. He carried a long, slender bundle and beckoned me to come with him outside of the compound wall where the land sloped down toward the river, off in the distance. It was quiet here. He began to un-wrap the bundle and withdrew two staves. One I recognized as his own. The second he presented to me. It was on this day that my brother became my mentor.


Character Set up: Dalva (DAHL-vuh)
(Mordal, Dalen and Morwynn's mother.)

Mist hovered across the lake.
The willow leaned out over the surface of the water, its branches drooping their dampened leaves, dripping tiny beads of water back down into the pool, only to be sucked back in through the trees roots, completing and beginning an endless cycle. The woman was entranced by the idea and she deeply inhaled the fragrance of the flowers growing along the banks in the shade cast by the willow. This was her refuge from the steady march of time, which never seemed to take a rest. It was her place to compose her thoughts, and to ponder the guilt which sometimes threatened to over take her. Peace and tranquility was in the mist. It was in the tree and its relationship to the water, which was also representative of the terrible cycle she had set in to motion eons ago. How could something she loved and was drawn to, condemn her presence each time she sought its shelter? How is it that she alone was allowed to make that final decision on her own, bearing the secret knowledge alone all this long time? Where had been intervention for her? Would there ever be intervention for her?

She straightened her back resolutely and thought purposefully to herself, “Yes. I left.”
She did leave the Atenuites, but she was no longer as certain now as she was then, if it had been the right choice. It certainly hadn’t solved any of the restlessness and disappointment, nor any of the other things she had hoped it would.

Character Set Up : The Atenuites

The Atenuites were a unique Order that served the populace of their world.
The Atenuites were the healers, and through the Grid, they became the Muses of the artisans and the Angels of their world.

The served quietly, keeping themselves apart from the hussle and bussle of the population of the world and its people,as best they could.

Through the Grids, they worked as intermediaries, promoting the practice of learning and good will. They pursued, as part of their service, understanding of creativity, instinct and intuition, compassion and empathy, and the application of spiritual and relational knowledge which, eventually and ideally, would result in wisdom and balance and successful guidance of the Grid.

They were the watchers. (she who watches?)

Waiting for those in need or crisis to show up in the panels of the Grid Console. Compassionately and lovingly arranging the grid so that events would occur in such a way as to open the individual up to direct intervention from the Creator Will.
Things did not always line up, however, due to circumstances that seemed beyond their abilities to influence or encourage.
These cases were extremely difficult for Dalva to reconcile in her own mind.
She was tender hearted and forgiving, looking beyond the individual’s own poor choices that often brought them to the brink of their catastrophe, she faithfully poured her heart into every person that showed up on the Grid, and was devastated if they decided against, or missed their chance for interaction with the Creator Will.

Until she left the Atenuites, Dalva was their High Guardian over the Order. She interceded on their behalf before the Creator Will. She counseled them in their Grid arrangements when ever necessary.
There had only ever been 3 High Guardians, in all the millennia of their world’s existence. For what ever reason, The Guardians were different genetically from the other members of the Atenuite order. They experienced unusually long life spans and it was rumoured that they were immortal. This was not true. As the Passing Time for an Atenuite Guardian drew nearer, there would be a birth in that same lineage, which would provide the Atenuite Order with their new Guardian. Such children were often given to strange visions, a unique birthmark and (Insert some other bizarre attributes here, later.)

Morwynn:

Morwynn sat beneath the twinkling stars.
They danced across the night sky, beckoning her to follow, and she was of a mind to do just that. The Caravan had stopped for the night to camp, and the Wagon Captain was taking his shift as night watcher. She thought of her young carefree days, carousing with her brother Dalen. Here, in the dark, before the crackling fire, she is free to reminisce and permit her tears to come forth.

“You need to watch your back, silly girl,” called Dalen as they exited the pub after yet another night’s brawl.
“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but picking a fight with a great bruising idiot like Bramus is not one of your best ideas.”

“Bramus poses about as big a threat to me as you do,” she replied.

Dalen retaliated by taking a swing at her, but it was poorly executed and she easily avoided the blow and ran off, laughing back in his direction.

“At least admit that you got yourself in a bit over your head this evening.”

“No no no. Bramus is a big idiot, and he was dead drunk to boot. He was ready to pitch over any second, I merely assessed his condition and used it to my advantage.” she explained.

“Oh, so you just decided to use the opportunity to elevate your mediocre skills in battle, making you appear more adept than you really are? Oh that is wise indeed. Were you hoping to invite one of the councils own champions to come looking for you next?”
He catches up with her, and she stops, looking dumbly at him.
“Yes, you didn’t think about that part did you?”
They walked the rest of the way back to the compound in silence.


Morwynn sat wide awake on the edge of her bed.
Something Dalen had said that evening would not leave her mind.
He was right.
She was arrogant and foolish.
She would have to take steps to make sure that she did not err in these ways in the future.
She walked through the compound and out to the gardens, to the pool, and stripping off her nightwear she slipped into the cool water. Propping her head against the rim, she gazed thoughtfully up into the starry sky and took stock of her character, while the gaze of Confidante rested on her, from his vantage point across the courtyard.

(Segue back to campfire. The camera orbits around to her other side, cue tear, and wide shot out to reveal desert sands where she is sitting at a small distance from a campfire?)

Character Set up : K’liam and K’lolius
(k –LEE-uhm, k-LOW-lee-uhss)
The “k” is pronounced hard, with a puff of air behind it.)

In his dimly lit chamber, K’liam paced to and fro like a caged animal. The dissention he could sense among the members of The Order was palpable.
He had seen the rift growing. His twin sister, K’lolius had come to him with her visions of impending disaster for them all. She saw the world of their people, and as she watched, its shape changed. The northern pole descended into the southern, creating a hollow, bowl-shaped depression. She heard a voice above her and looked up. Words fell from the sky and filled the depression, and the world-bowl warmed. The voice spoke to her in the vision; “take up the vessel.”
She obediently reached for her world and gingerly lifted it. As she did, more words fell into the world-bowl, filling it, threatening to overflow. “Drink and be filled,” said the voice. She lifted the rim to her lips and drank deeply. Sweet and sour both, filled her mouth and burned her tongue. When she had drained the world bowl, it was taken up, through the ceiling and disappeared. She watched it go, and when she looked back down, her brother was standing before her, smiling. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble and a great chasm opened between them, separating them. His smile became a look of despair and longing. She felt tears running down her face.

When she awoke, she sought out her brother, to tell him.

These things took place in the before time. Before The Order was split and the One became Two: The Masters and The Atenuites.



Morwynn Speaks 3 :

Sand! It permeates every pore.
I see up ahead the entrance to the mountain city.
The City of Refuge.
At last, I will be able to take a breath of air in peace and safety. Now if only I could get out from behind this wretched vegetable wagon!
It bustles and bounces along and with each rut it dances into, it spews more sand upon me which, combined with the insufferable afternoon sun, has begun to chafe and grind beneath my heavy, winter cloak. The neck lace which hangs beneath my tunic, feels like a noose and a branding iron simultaneously.
I am a walking sauna.
Within the hour I will be at the home of my friend K’lolius.
I know she will have the windows all thrown open. The fine linen drapes, having been soaked in chilled waters infused with spices and flowers from her rooftop garden, cool the hot winds that blow in off the desert and fill the rooms with a delicate scent.

The stench of the wagon beasts fills my head and I am seized by fits of coughing.
Passing through the gorge which marks the entrance to the city, I look up and see the insignia of the First Ones, “The Masters” they had called themselves. Carved into the rock face is their three petaled flower. Its elaborate details have been subdued over time, by the blowing sands which assault it daily. I long for the day when its image no longer clouds the minds of the people.
The city was carved into the surrounding mountains and the only access was via the narrow trail through the gorge.
It was a long and tortuous journey to make.
The first inhabitants, who’s origins have long past out of memory, carved the elaborate cave systems which opened out into the small valley. As time passed, the generations following lost the art of tunneling and drilling and built the rest of the city above ground surrounding it with a high wall as protection from invaders, who might foolishly attempt to penetrate the well protected gorge entrance.
The wall, being built into the mountain- sides on the south and west, also served as residential space for the cities 2500+ inhabitants.
The neighborhoods of the wall were divided into four sections ; Near Wall being in the south and closest to the gorge entrance, East Wall, West Wall and at the north end of the city, Far Wall.
The city centre was primarily used for commerce and religious buildings. As our caravan passed through the cleft and into the city proper, I managed to escape from behind the vegetable wagon by darting into the first alley that crossed my path. It was quiet here and cool, being enclosed on both sides by the tall city wall on my left, and some merchant buildings on my right. This peace was short lived, however, as the alley soon opened up into a busy market place. I passed by a clothiers booth and managed to trade my heavy winter cloak for one of the light weight, brightly coloured ones worn by the local people.
I made my way through the rest of the market, purchasing a hunk of roasted bull meat, and then a jar of ale along the way. I stopped to look at some boots at a tattered but tidy little booth and purchased a lovely pair of soft buff coloured boots.

**********(Insert Vanishing Woman segment)

I made my way south through town to Far Wall and came to the home of K’lolius, my friend who greeted me at the door.
She bustled me in, fussing all the way, as would a mother hen. Truthfully, I let her, as it had been a very long time since anyone had made much over me. I permitted myself the luxury of being mothered for a change.
The children crowded about calling,

“Nantie! Nantie’s come! Oh Nantie tell us a story!”

“Children! Let Nantie be until after supper!”

At which point she shooed them all out into the courtyard with their friends. K’lolius retrieved one of the large baskets stashed beneath the stairwell and began to gather an assortment of items. She set the basket next to a large water jar poised between two tunnels leading back into the mountainside from which her home was chiseled. The homes of Far Wall were entered through the man made city wall, but extended far back into the adjacent mountainsides and were often a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers.
K’Lolius passed to me, a stone tumbler filled with cold water infused with an astringent herb of some sort. She motioned for me to follow her up the winding stone staircase. As she did she spoke to me in the sing-song accent of her people.

“Oh it’s been long I’ve waited to see you my friend!
I am so pleased that you have chosen to visit me! The day has been hot, and the evening is nearly upon us. Come, my friend, up to the rooftop. Let us sit in the cool of the evening and listen to the neighborhood chatter as the Wall Dwellers come to life beneath the rising moon. Can you not already smell the roasting meat as the aroma rises upon the breeze this evening?”
We were interrupted by a small voice from behind.
“Mata, there is some one wants a room.”
“Very well Lena, bring them inside and I will come quickly.”
She patted my arm and said, “ I must go and attend a guest. You are family to us. Come and go as you please. My home is yours. Go now, and choose for yourself a pod in which to stay while you are here. When you have settled yourself in, please join us for refreshments up here on the rooftop.”

I followed her back down the stairs.

Sitting on a stool inside the doorway was K’Lolius’ newest guest. A tall, bearded man, he wore his dark hair in a single thick braid which hung down past the middle of his back. He sat leaning against the cool stonewall, his long legs outstretched in front of him, eyes closed as if in sleep. A heavy sword clanked against the stool when, startled by our entrance, he leapt to his feet. He quickly regained his composure and greeted K’lolius in her native language, all the while his great green eyes settled on me. I nodded in his direction, turned and made my way down one of corridors.

As the light from the main entry began to fade I took one of the navi-lumes from a niche, which had been carved into the tunnel wall by some long dead artisan. I briskly rubbed the tiny orb until it came to life and continued my investigation of the corridor.
I made my way along its length as it veered to the right and then opened into another larger tunnel. Along the length of it and evenly spaced at exact intervals were 3 doors, which were inset into the smooth, glistening walls. There were two on the left side and one at the farthest end.

The first one I encounter has a landscape carved into its face. There is a great meadow with a stream flowing through it and above the meadow is a mountain range with a cluster of jewels inset into the carving about 1/3 of the way up the mountainside. There are animals of every kind carved into the doorjambs.

The key grows hotter and blazes in my hand.
The Corridor walls fade from view and are replaced by confusing images of people I have never seen and places I have never visited:

A woman and a man sit in a darkened room.
The woman’s back is toward me, but I can see the man.
Between their feet is a small crack in the floor.
They are talking together as he rhythmically tears pages out of a book sitting on his lap. My head is now pounding and I lean against a wall for support. I can feel sweat run down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I close them. I slide down the wall into a sitting position. The key in my hand begins to cool. I open my eyes once more, to find the darkened hallway and the great door looming before me.


JIDAN AND K'LOLIUS:

“Master Jidan you have been a stranger to my doorstep,” K’lolius chided him. “Surely your studies do not keep you so occupied that you can not share a tumbler of tea and plate of scones with me?” She raised an eyebrow in mock frustration.

Jidan laughed and embraced K’lolius, swinging her round and round.
“Your dwelling place is as a second home to me K’lolius, and this you well know!”
“Well it’s pleased I am to have you beneath my roof. Will you remain with us, and take up your regular pod?”
“I would like to stay for a few days at least if it is not too much trouble for you, K’lolius” he grinned.
“Trouble? Trouble he asks??” She clucked to herself. “Of course you are always welcome! And it is not always that I am blessed with two such dear friends within my wall at the very same time!”
He was quiet for a moment.
K’lolius poured him a tumbler of water and handed it to him.
“Yes, I see you have another visitor. It is the woman, you speak of?”
K’lolius paused, feeling the hair stand up on her neck.
“Yes,” she answered. “Please excuse me Master Jidan, I must see to the evening meal preparations. Lena is growing in her skills but still requires my supervision from time to time. You will find your pod ready for you, and I will leave you to find your way there.” She smiled weakly.

“Yes K’lolius, thank you. Do not let me be a hindrance. I’m sure I can find my way,” he replied.
She hastily excused herself and taking her basket, hurried off down one of the tunnels.
A cloud crossed Jidans face as he pondered K’lolius odd and sudden departure.
He picked up his rucksack and walked into the tunnel on the far left.



MORWYNN FINDS A BOOK:

I can feel sweat run down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I close them. I slide down the wall into a sitting position.
The wall feels cool against my back as I lean against it catching my breath. I let go of the key, which hangs around my neck and the visions fade. I am weak but no longer reeling.
Rising, I go to the door and lift the latch. The wooden door gives off a delicate scent which reminds me of wild oranges. It swings open to reveal a sparsely appointed room. There is a fireplace carved into the wall on my left and a basin and pitcher of water on my right. A tapestry hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room, nearly touching the floor. I enter and study the tapestry. ( Blah blah blah tapestry meaningful description…..)

I step around the tapestry and behind it is a large chair and a pedestal. The pedestal is empty. Its surface is covered in a fine layer of dust, except in the center where it appears an object once rested. There is a dust free space in the shape of a circle. On the seat of the chair is a book with a length of cloth draped across it. Like everything else in the room they are covered with dust. I shake the dust out and swing the length of fabric around my neck, as though it were a shawl, and taking up the book, make my way back across the room. Though I would love to delve into the musty smelling pages, I should probably go and find my room. I can study the book later.




MORWYNN AND JIDAN MEET:

Jidan looked for the navi-lume which typically rested in a niche carved into the tunnel wall.
Unable to locate it, he returned to the entry way, and poked around beneath the stairwell until he found a basket of spare navi-lumes. He briskly rubbed the tiny orb until it came to life.
He walked through the smaller tunnel and turned right into the main passage tunnel.
He stopped and turned, looking at each of the doors. He thought to himself, “Surely I have not been gone so long that I could have forgotten which pod I use?” He considered each of the doors. Trying the nearest one, he found it locked. Retracing his steps, he tried the door he had previously passed by. The latch will not turn for him. A strong sense of having been here before, settled over his mind, distracting him.
Lost in thought, Jidan released the handle, the door suddenly swung open and he found himself confronted by a pair of steely grey eyes. He forced himself to look beyond those eyes into the interior of the room.

“I'm sorry…I was just leaving,” she blurted, quickly pulling the door closed behind her.
“No, please it’s my mistake. I thought this was my room,” he said, hoping to explain why he was caught trying to enter the room.

Just then K’lolius came bustling up out of the darkness.
“Oh I am so pleased to see you two have met!” Morwynn your room is two doors down on this side,” she motioned toward the same side of the corridor as the room she just exited from.


“Yes. Thank you,” Morwynn replied. She suddenly felt exposed in front of this man.

“Jidan, yours is on the opposite side.”

K’lolius went on, “I trust that the both of you can unlock your doors?
And with that she twirled around and strode briskly down the hall.
“Morwynn,” she added without turning around, “I will see you on the roof top?”

“Yes of course, I will freshen up and join you soon.”

“Dinner, Master Jidan, will be at dusk” called K’lolius to him, “join us, if it pleases you.”

K’lolius disappeared around a bend in the tunnel, still humming the bouncy tune that matched her gait.

An awkward moment passed as they faced each other and then a slow grin spread across Jidans face and his eyebrows raised slightly, as he looked questioningly at Morwynn. She pursed her lips and looked away. Jidan chuckled.

They walked side by side down the hall without speaking. Jidan’s room was first with Morwynns about 6 paces farther. He entered his pod and closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and wondered to himself.
“Who is she?”
Where did she come from”
What is her relationship to K’lolius.”





MORWYNN's CHAMBER:

I have not felt such inner turmoil since the night of Fuday’s murder!
I closed the door quickly behind me and leaned up against it as I reached beneath my tunic for the key.
I am so glad he didn’t see it.
Who was he?
And what was he doing entering a room that did not belong to him?
And why do I care, knowing full well that the room does not belong to me?


I open my eyes and removes the scrap of cloth from around the book, tossing them both onto the large canopy bed in the centre of the room.
I would love to sprawl out on it but I dare not for even a minute as I know it would claim
me for the rest of the evening and into the night.

Opening my rucksack I unrolled and spread out my garments.

I went to the basin and took the pitcher of lavender water and the sponge. Pouring the water into the large bowl, fashioned from some metal mined out of the adjacent hills, I wondered further about the identity of the stranger. His circumstances of our meeting bothered me greatly and I could not fathom the reasons why.

If the other room was not his, as K’lolius had pointed out, then why was he attempting to enter it? Was he truly confused, or was there some other reason he wanted in there. I think I must have been the last thing he expected to emerge from that room, for he craned his neck to look past me for something else. I wonder what he was expecting?

Spring comes to the High Cascades

Above:
Spring morning on the way to drop kids off to school.















Above:
Across from the High School and Middle Schools

Ack-Comp woes!

My Ewido alerted me yesterday, that I had picked up a Trojan, so I ran through the hoops:
-Run Trend Micro House Call, Restart.
-Re-Run Ewido, Restart
-Run Windows Online Safety Beta Scanner, Restart
-Run Bit Defender
-Run MS Anti-Spy Beta
-Run Norton, (Which I am deciding has become immeasurably useless of late) Restart.
-Install and Run Zone Alarm, Restart.

After I did the first run with House Call, it picked up on the Trojan again and gave me a message that said it couldn't be cleaned. So I ran it again. The second time it found nothing. All subsequent anti Malware programs found nothing - BUT - my IE is still running...uhm "wrong?" and while I have no Mozilla installed on my computer, I keep getting a message everytime I try to start up IE that "it is not my default browser and would I like to to be?" I have been clicking, "Yes" but each tie I start it it tells me the same thing, so now I am thinking that there is something nefarious still lurking beneath the surface of the keyboard.

I am sorely tempted to dload XP SP2, however, I know it does not "work and play well" with othe machines, but the IT guy at Cascade keeps ranting about how I MUST have it because this Trojan crap wouldn't be happening if I had updated to SP 2.

And yet, I hear those confirming words inside my head, words from :

Michael Kellogg friendly neighborhood Foley Artist and IT guy-Extroardinaire
and
Bryan Seigfreid, Not-so-Local IT Guy Extraordinaire

their words ring inside my head like a siren -"Danger! Danger! Do NOT Load the SP2. Danger! Danger!"

And yet...in a tangled mess of Microsoft foolishness, some how my update - which is configured to only ALERT me of updates and NOT auto update, started an auto update while I was not looking - and you guessed it : it started to dload some xp SP2. I was unable to stop the Dload midway so I just jerked the line outta the wall and that put a stop to it. Funy thing is though...it didn't actually load XP SP2 proper, but only four of the Hotfixes?
Weirdness.
But this is the same time last year, that Windows update did the very same thing to me. It was last May, when Windows update by passed my settings to be alerted and not auto updated and managed to Dload the entire XP SP2 update. I thought at that time, "screw you Bill Gates! I am the one who decides when and what to update, not you." and I prompltly uninstalled XP SP2.
It was like a giant taloned creature (the long arm of Bill Gates?) reached in and dragged out a handful of my computers intrails, leaving a twitching lifeless cadaver in its place. That was a good long telephone call to India, let me tell you!

So I have no desire to repeat it.

But it irks me...aside from my current IE browser issues, that there are four XPSP2 hotfixes in there that I am not sure if I can safely extricate.

Such is Tuesday.

Must teach Art today.
Drive to Portland tomorow to take a friend to her workmans comp evaulation.
Thursday is edit the huge novel for the 7th grade english lit class.
Friday afternoon is drive back to Portland so Blake can go to a Camp Crew Reunion, and drive back home Saturday.

Love to Drive.

Hate to buy gas.

Learn the tune, everyone.

I think we're all going to be singing it sooner and louder than we think.
(Man! I wish my car would run on skim milk.)

A new Game

I was at a neighbors garage sale and they were selling some games. Since Scout is a "Pirata-phone" I decided to grab Sid Meier's : Pirates. Since Scout is away on a retreat at the beach, I thought to myself, "O goody! I will get it all installed and make sure it works and then when she comes home won't she be thrilled!" So I get the thing loading and am blindsided by the obvious: Serial Code.
Duh!
So my first, gut impulse is to email a friend of mine and Firaxis.
"Dude!", I write, "I know this is not your gig, but dang...what do I do now."
Of course... after sending the message I realise that I need to go hunt down my neighbor.
(This sends me into a Flashback-to one of those "Mysterium-Moments-where-Rich-and-Ryan -are-standing-in-my-room-listening-patiently-while-I-rant-about-"some dilemma"-and-they-both-calmly-answer-in-a-single-sentence-and-problems-are-suddenly-solved" kinds of moments, where I completely bypass common sense and make what is simple, convoluted.)

Anyway...
So I got the serial number and got the game loaded, (Dang it took almost as much time to load as Revelation!) and Kenz sits down to play it. She names her character...

"Captain Bellboy."

I have no idea where THAT came from!
But you know that, with a name like "Cap'n Bellboy" this adventurer ain't gonna get too far.

Chansons de les Viris

Ok, Scuttle-butt has it that this virus/set of viri take about 16 days to run it's/their course.
Tomorrow is day 16 for me, and sure enough I am starting to be able to hold my head up again.

I rarely get sick.
Maybe once a year...very light - medium grade cold, or even maybe once every-other-year, but its been years since I was THIS sick.

Honestly, about 10 days into it, I was sure I was never going to be healthy again.
I honestly thought, "this is it, from here on in, its the slow slide toward the grave for me."
I am waiting for death to come...like a friend.

But...

Well today is day 15 and the sun is out and I am SITTING UP!
Ain't THAT something!
I think I may live again to walk outside another day.

French for Raindear

Thank you to Raindear from The One Ring dot Net Chatroom, for correcting my French.
I wuld not get through tomorrows conversation without your help!

You are the best!
Thank you!

"Clariona"

The night before Easter

So MacKenz decides that she would like to be baptized on Easter.
Great!
This is how we ended up doing our kids: we let them decide if and when to be baptized, and so far it seems to have worked well for us.
Anyway, so the night before, she is assembling her "Baptism garb" because at this particular church they do total immerion, as one might find it in one of the 4 Gospels when Jesus went to John the Baptist and he dunked Him all the way under.
Though there are many other acceptable traditions around baptism, such as "sprinkling" etc...total immersion happens to be what we do.

So anyway...she is assembling her garb, and she comes out all frustrated saying,

"Mom! I only have 2 pairs of shin guards and they don't match! AND...I can't find any other of my soccer clothes!"

I respond, "What's in your head, girl! You're not going to be defending a soccer ball from Pastor Tim in the Baptismal tank! You don't NEED the shin guards!"

I swear! This kid...the things that come into her head!

What kinda sickness IS this?

Basic cold last weekend.
Spent 3+ days with 102 fever.
Fever broke and now...?
What the heck is THIS?...
within two hours of the fever breaking, I have hives coming out all over me. Arms, legs, stomach, neck. And my head feels like a lead weight, and I can barely hear.

That was yesterday.
Today I seem to have more hives.

This has been a solid 7 day thang now.
Kinda weird.

Somebody pass the tub of Benedryl Creme?

Well, craziness ensues...

First order of business:

Welcome to the first (and possibly only) meeting of AAA. (Not AA.)
"Approval Addicts Anonymous."
*She rises from her seat and walks forward to address the group.*
"My name is Blog Biscuit and I am an Approval Addict."
*Group claps and says, "Hi blog Biscuit." She steps back down and takes her seat.*

This week proves to be crazy and yet with a special anal-retentive order assigned to the craziness - much like driving a chariot pulled by six horses all trying to go a different direction.

Monday - plan art curriculum for the rest of the school year so that it is easily taught by any one who walks in off the street and not necessarily me.

Tuesday - finish editing Stephen R. Lawhead's Taliesin for English Lit read aloud for the 7th graders. (400 pages to go.)

Wednesday - paint/shoot process art. Double check preparations for the lyst move on Saturday.

Thursday - Music day - Fiddle, Mandolin, Hammered Dulcimer, Irish Whistle practice day.

Friday - Fill-in work at local Mailbox/Shipping/Office Supply store here in town.

Saturday - Move Lysts, Procure and Pre-Prep Easter foods. Clean house and entertain mother-in-law.

Sunday-MacKenz is Baptised at Easter service. Commit Easter Hooplah.

Monday-work at Mailbox Store again.

Tuesday-Teach art in the A.M. Tuesday afternoon (Hears Moody Blues playing that song?) emotional melt down and subsequent collapse.

Wed, Thurs, Fri - prepare for Hammered Dulcimer Festival. (YAY!)
I get to shoot a montage of the whole event and process a gift CD for each member upon departure. I know this sounds like work, and for anybody else, it would be, except that I adore these people, and I adore sitting in front of my loverly computer processing images in Photo Shop. (None of that was said tongue-in-cheek either.)
I know.
I am sick.
One man's heaven is another man's hell I guess.

;o)

A Weird and Cryptic Question Answered.

Did you ever have a moment when there is something you have been thinking about, maybe for a while, and then somebody says something that sets the stage for you to follow through and do it, or say it? It feels like jumping off a cliff with 1000 IRS agents at your back. Its scary, you don'tn know where you are going to land, but you KNOW that it is now the right thing to do.

For about a week or two, there has been something uncomfortable tugging at my heart.
When such…inner promptings occur, it usually means that I should take note, because God is trying to draw my attention to either something good, or something that I need to let Him fix within me.

So I have been mulling and chewing on something, and the more I do, the more it bugs me.
Some people may be freaked out by the word I am about to share, but I know, because of My Friend's background, he will not be weirded out by such a word.

The word is confess.
The confession is mine, in the form of an apology to My Friend.

His oddly timed comment about what occurred to him and his departure from his "volunteer-job" – well, I don’t know about any of the particulars there, but I DO know about my own part before any of that happened.

I did write him a letter.
An inflamed and enraged letter calling him out on the carpet for what appeared to me to be negligent service at the time. I was hurt and dismayed because at the time, I was feeling pressured that the people that took my place needed to do things the way I would.

For that I was wrong and I apologise.

You would think that a sin of that magnitude against a brother would have sat ill with me for a lot longer, but I think that was Gods mercy on me; letting me get to the point where I could deal with the truth, before He forced me to be accountable for it.
But to be honest, it has really bugged me for the last two weeks solidly, and when My Friend suddenly made mention of his own experience after that fact, well, it seemed like I was being given a chance to make good.

Whether he even remembers any of that letter, I do not know. He may be made of tougher stuff, and such a flip-out may have rolled from him like water off a ducks back. For me, it bugs me that I did wrong and I need to be honest and accountable.

I am truly sorry.
And even more to his credit, he has only treated me with complete and utter grace despite my offense. How Godly an example is that?

I am thankful for for his extending such grace to me.

I am truly, and humbly sorry for my behaviour.

*Exhales*

Sounds Gallery created

I combined another site with this one, and have created a perpetual sample gallery, of various sound files. The Sounds Gallery link will reside in the sidebar.

You can access it at:
http://sound-collection.blogspot.com

Right now I might call your attention to some instructional materials there, for some standard jam tunes. There are midi and wav files for the ear-trained learner, as well as each tune's abc file and sheet music, for those who can read music.

There are some samples of some good friend of mine who play Hammered Dulcimer that you may want to check out if you have never heard it before, but the SOUNDS GALLLERY will not be dedicated to the Hammered Dulcimer alone.
You will eventually find all maner of bizarre things there.

Free to Bad Home : Updated

I am cutting the canvas, "Die Die Die, Hateful Thing" from it's frame.
It will have one of two fates:
-Unholy incense rising to above the juniper trees on the beir we shall call "Burn Pile."
-Fold it mercilssly and cram in an envelope and mail it to you. Contact me privately with shipping coordinates.

(I dunno, I wonder if that would then qualify as "Hate Mail?" I can't think of anyone I would want to do that to.)

****Addendum****

It's gone.
:oD

mih-

Feelin' Scrappy

I am thrilled to see my people spreading their wings and branching out into new creativity!

Blue Max is getting back into his 3D work. I know he has some great texture libraries and all manner of fun stuff at his site and locked away in his old bean too. I canna wait to see the body of work that is produced there in the coming year!

And my sister is letting fly with her unedited and freewheeling writing style.
She works so hard all the live long week, and I am SO pleased to see her take another recreational opportunity to write. Write write write! Edit later! (Or in this case, never!)

As for me, well I uploaded two projects into the scraps gallery, both still works in process.
Honestly, I need to do anything to jumprstart some creativity!
So I 'lined them up against the wall and shot them,' then I dragged them over and threw them into the Scrap pile - ehr...scrap gallery.
;o)

More Childlike Ironies

Sure, sure, children are usually sweet, nice things that you're happy to have around until they discover the joy that is appealing to their peer groups, and the attendant familial disassociation whenever the 'groan-ups' are nearby.

Two year- and three year-olds are in a special catagory when they are learning to assert their sense of individualism by pushing boundaries and learning to say "no." Often. Very often. Contrariness becomes their end-all of existence for a period of time... Which is why, during three days of illness that you wouldn't wish upon a committed enemy, let alone your kid... there is an ever-so-slight guilty pleasure in that child wanting to do nothing but sit in your lap and hold you till he/she falls asleep.

I wonder what illness they have to get to put them off of creating miniature death-scene coffins out of violin boxes. Hmmm...

Childlike Amusements

I read Rushings Blog tonight and his situation is so common and yet his response to it was SO uncommon. He sounds like a good guy, simply because of the choices he makes, no matter how uncomfortable to himself. I kind of lump him and Blue Max into the same pile in that they are both dads of this kind.

On a seperate note, my own child has been up to odd things.
Yes, she is 10 and she still holds some regard for a few dollies.
She has one, which she rec'd for Christmas, which is one of the "Bratz Big Babies."
Holding that thought in mind, lets move along...

...today Scout and I rec'd our fiddle-which we purchased off Ebay - and the box was quickly claimed by KenZ, as it resembled an oddly shaped coffin.

So, while some sweet and good little children might construct some loverly diarama or other such tableau type creation, my daughter creates a sarcophagus for her "Bratz Baby."

Interred therein, is the mummified baby (Toilet paper wrappings and shroud) and a seperate "Canopick Jar," containing the dollies brain (having been hand crafted of fimo clay and baked) , and the dollies intestines (shoes laces stolen from some outgrown Converse shoes).

She then went on to adorn the exterior of the sarcophagus with paint, representing the appropriate rank, or "Station" of the occupant in glorious tempera paint.

I can safely state that I had nothing to do with this activity.

I just gave birth to odd little people I guess.

:o)

Don't Mess with Gramma Texas!

An eye witness gives an account of a car accident.
Must have speakers.


Also, for some pointless fun:
Go waste a few minutes clicking and dragging Boneless Girl

Neuroses Revisited, Chapter 3

I am working on a series of architectural abstracts.
I love goemetry.
It is safe.
It is a haven.
It is a safe "Play Pen" in which to experiment.
And yet because of the purest line, I find myslef trying to replicate the perfection that exists within the structure rather than boldly letting the paint fly and represent - or MISrepresent the original piece.

Damned in the doing
Damned in the doing not.

The circles in my mind go round and round and round and round.

Paint this,
Do not paint this...it is wrong.
Do this... do it not, for no one will grok it.
Care not if others grasp, or grasp not; the impetus, the elan.
Just do.
Just be.

Just BE.

Permit yourself to exist.

As you are, right this moment.

And breathe.
Exhale paint.
For so has God apparently ordained you to be in this single moment.

Who then am I, to deny the handi-work of the Almighty?
Do I say "curse this thing that you have made?"

Does the pot say to the potter, "You screwed up, dude?"
(Make that Dude with a Capitol 'D')

Or do I step out in risk, and Be.
Just Be.

The mental/emotional gymnastics make me want to puke.

It is the demonic rollercoaster.
The rollerscoaster from hell.
Aka, "work."
Aka "Art."

Further Boldening

My own personal pet peeve word that people use? "irregardless."

"Regardless" means "without regard." The "ir-" prefix is a variant of "un-," a prefix denoting negation. Therefore "irregardless" parses to "not regardless" or, down to its least common denominator, "with regard", a definition that is likely opposite to the intended meaning of the speaker.

I hear this word and my hackles rise. Perhaps it's just me.

May I Be So Bold...

...as to say that, I believe that what I am about to say is 100% flawlessly correct?
Indisputably correct.
With regard to the correct usage of the word "Anyways" within the confines of the English language,:

well...there is no such word.

"Anyway" is indeed a word.

Anyway(S!) is not.

There is no 's' at the end of any word spelled in this manner: a-n-y-w-a-y.

No Such word.

Today in a production of the play entitled, "The Imaginary Invalid" I heard this particular NON-word transcend it's text based mis-use and enter spoken language.

It was an abomination unto mine ears and a grievous sin, steeped in vileness.

So let me stand atop the mount of all that is linguistically holy, and pray for my bretheren that they may not sin in such a manner again.

May the truth be written upon stone tablets for the future generations to behold:

And therein was the word written:

"Thou shalt not speaketh, or writeth with the hand,-nay verily, even with thine keyboard, the word "anyway" with an 's' upon its ending."

And the heavenly host sang joyously over all the land, for truth had gone forth.

Book of Hesitations, Chapter 5, verse 55.
The Blogbiscuit Paraphrased Edition.

(Inter)National Digressions ?

Oh its 2:30 am! In a fit of insomnia, I say "lets hop on the blabbering rollercoaster to Free-Association Land!"


Today on ALL THINGS IRISH:

Tis a great day to pay hommage to himself, America's own patron Saint of Ireland, "Lucky The Leprechaun," .
(Warning, hideous ad banner, but fascinating and Magically Delicious trivia.


In response to the previous post by Blueness Maximus,
this Canadienne says (on the subject of Seperatist movements) :

"Hey! Mes Freres! You want to be seperate? Go for it, everyone should have their chance to try!" Of course I say that about Scotland too.

And I have also been known to hover between saying:

A : "Screw the Middle East and their oil. Let's take Californian's and put them over there and pick up Israel and transplant it to Southern Cal. Of course that would be contrary to what God did in the bible, I mean, He didn't lead Moses through the desert and across the ocean to California. I mean, truth to tell, it ain't no promised land.

and B : "Screw the Middle East and their oil. Let's just forget about it and use up all of our own resources as fast as we can, have a huge civil war about it, and then the survivors can go back to an agrarian society."

Eeny meeny miney.
;o)

And yet as far as my seperatists sentiments go, I also flop to the practical side where La Belle Quebec is concerned, saying, "Mes cher ami's, you cannot make it on your own Franc. You need your "Loonies" and "Moonies. You need the rest of Canada."
(Said while waving the Blue & White Fleur-de-lis, and shouting "Je me souvien!" Yes, it is a schizophrenic moment.)

Loonies-the $1 coin with a loon on the front.
Moonies-the $1 coin with the Queen in front and a "Bear" behind.
;o)

The Queen?
Queen?
Didn't Freddy Mercury die?
(My Great Grandmother (Quebecoise) kept a portrait of the Queen on her fireplace mantle. When she died, her daughter (My Grandmother) burned it. Of course she also burned a portrait if my great-great-great-great Grandfather...but that is yet another macabre tale worth sharing next Halloween. Or so I have been told.)

English Pig Dogs?

And what is up with that?
A teeny tiny little island of a country, originally populated with troll-like beasties, (genuflect to Peter Street and Tweek,who never read this blog anyway. "Beggin yer pardon, Gentlemen") rose up and subdued the known world, bleeding the wealth off the French for 100 years like a parasite, and carting it back across the sea.
What makes them so ferocious?
So self assured?
Who are the inhabitants of this postage stamp sized nation, who conquered continents?
The proof 's of their global dominations are housed within the confines of the British Museum.
How did this scruffy little people manage it?
Probably by harnessing the Scots. (They were supposed to be a pretty scary bunch.)

Well I don't know, and yeah, I can take a happy-go-lucky swing at the English from time to time, (after all it is my birthright, being French) but you gotta admit, they have everything because they have managed to do everything and when it comes down to it, thats no small feat.
And then they show up on this continent in groups of Fab Four and, when they open their mouths to speak, an odd accent rolls forth melting the brain cells of women from one coast to the other. Multitudes concquered and nary a finger lifted.

Well it's all Greek to me.
(While not actually BEING Greek.)

Ah America.
Sufferers of MHD - Multiple Heritage Disorder.
Isn't familial stuff weird?
Do you ever do any genealogical stuff?
Man, it seems like the further you get into it, the more freaks you find buried in the closet.
You should try it sometime, for the sake of your bairns.

Well after leaping all over the globe, I have managed to bring it back around to the original subject.
That would be a first.
;o)

Redheaded Redux

There are those who are proud of their ancestry and there are people who simply give it a tip o' the hat from time to time, but for whom it means not more than a yearly brouhaha. And that's OK.

Our host here, however, has got a bit of a personality problem. Not that her personality is at fault, or even fault-y; nay forbid the thought. It's just that she's recently coming to terms with a diverse heritage that will be difficult to reconcile between it's various aspects.

Take the long established Canadian portion, and now let's throw in the possible English connection. Now, would this Canadienne be perhaps a bit of the Canadian seperatist? Would this Mihshehl be more likely to spit on Queen Elizabeth or recommend that she be further immorialized by having her portrait on all of the Canuck Cash being spat out of ATMs in downtown Toronto? It boggles the mind.

Then let's consider the French Celt, similarly long established and borne out by the artistic streak and Catholic outlook. Good Lord, should the Teutonic chromosomal vector bear out, would she attempt to simultaneously go to war with her own Gaullic half and also to invite herself to Belgium for an economic conference and a cigarette? Or, God forbid, the German doesn't pan out and we hit the Angle or Jute of the Isles of Great Brittain for a genetic kegger: Would our Mihshehl attempt to throw herself into either side of the English Channel at once, only to meet herself in the middle for a fistfight and a bottle of Port? It boggles the mind.

So, truly, as you read these words, say a prayer for our Mihshehl, as coming to terms with her own existence will either be A) nigh impossible or B) if attained, it could cause a rift in space time causing universal chaos: wars, death, destruction, plausible Democratic foreign policy, lego chicken legs and a reduction in cable television rates.

May God have mercy on her soul.

Red Haired Skeletons in the Closet.

Well it is St. Pats and this day strangely holds new meaning me.
It was only about a month ago that I found "Skeletons" in the family closet.
This is the half of the family that I don't hang with much.
They are far more quirky than I (as hard as THAT is to believe.)
So, having invested my genealogical research throughout the years into the obvious half of my family -the French Canadian/Acadian side, I managed to ignore the other half - writing them off as being "probably" English, (derisive snort!) and calling it done.
Well...how wrong I was.
My grandmother was apparently full of Green-Leprechauny-Goodness.
(She had the maiden name "Ready", which is a bastardization of the name O'Reddy and more formally, O'Rhiada.

I guess, like alot of Irish immigrants, they dropped the 'O'.

I always wondered what the big deal was with St. Patricks day and my mom.

The woman worked for 3 days to turn beef brisket into corned beef with its accomanying cabbage and potatos.
Her simple answer to my query was always, "Thats what we do on St. Patricks day.
Gramma did it, and her gramma before her did it, and I learned from them how to make it."

Poor gramma, She was a saint.
She married an itinerant Hell-Fire-and-Brimstone-Screaming Preacher who dragged her around the hot southwest, making her and the kids do migrant farm work while he preached from town to town. I can remember him kicking her under the table, interupting her conversations when he wanted to speak, and he would say to her, "Shut up Ethel!" and then he would commandeer the conversation.
Nice compassionate man.
He beat his sons when they found some bottle caps in the street and played with them.
He accused them of stealing the bottle caps.
He beat my mom in the face with a jelly ladel when she was 18 because she put on make-up and went to see a movie.
It is the only time that my gramma got in his face.
She grabbed the ladel right outta his hands, and she told him to "stop that this instant!"
As the story goes, apparently he was stunned by her boldness.
In his pause, my mom raced out the door and ran away to Astoria.
She went on to marry a catholic Frenchman and later returned with him and two children, to Oregon.

So there is apparently a fair quantity of Irish in me that I never knew I had.
Somehow I will have to square with that half.


;o)

mih-

Skype and SOUNDS update

SKYPE:
Gotta Love it.
I can transcend the confines of traditional text and send forth the nuances of all my screwy idiosyncratic speech patterns in all their glory. And Lehsa can bounce them back in reciprocal quirkiness and we laff and laff and laff and laff our butts off - while all the time remaining in CC chat and nobody knows what the heck we are going on about.
hehe hee hee hee he.
Ahhh I like Skype!

SOUNDS:
In honour of St. Patricks Day, I loaded a sample of Flogging Molly.
It is a 3.9 MB wma

Enjoy

Updated 3/14/2006: Help with UU

Tuesday March 14th

The boy knows I am neurotic.
My friends have me pegged.
As embarrassing as that may be, it is also a comfort, because I know that they know and there is no fooling. I can't hide the fact that I get...uh...wound up.

So in his grace he writes the following:

Suggestions,

Start by making a nice cup of coffee.

Then turn the computer on... if the computer doesn't respond make sure that the cat didn't eat the power cord.

Then go to this site: http://plasma.cyanworlds.com/getting-started.xml

If you own regular Uru Ages Beyond Myst - use this patch http://plasma.cyanworlds.com/cgi-bin/pick.cgi/patches/until-uru-abm-patch-0.38.9.exe

If you have Complete Chronicles- use this patch http://plasma.cyanworlds.com/cgi-bin/pick.cgi/patches/until-uru-cc-patch-0.38.9.exe

When patching make sure you direct the patch to where your Uru is installed.
Mine is C:\Program Files\Ubi Soft\Cyan Worlds\Uru-Ages Beyond Myst

If you still have problems after all of this, it might be because your firewall ports aren't opened.

If nothing works. Take a walk outside and smell the roses. If the roses aren't out. Smell tree bark.

If tree bark seems funny. Call me

Ryan


Now if that weren't all, I get another phone call from a very good friend (who's Airline and Storm Door Company shall remain nameless) and after only a few minutes he discovers that the first thing to do is to get out of the router and straight into the modem.

Again, I have to say, I have THE best friends.

They put up with me.
They educate me.





SUNDAY MARCH 12th

In the old days, James would have told me, step by step, what to do and what to expect.

I am so THANKFUL that I have Lehsa.

She doesn't make me feel stupid for the asking.
As though I should already know something.

Thank you Lehsa.
:o)

And also, many thanks to Barb, Blue, Walt and Peter.
Just for being knuckleheads.
:o)

What great friends I have!

Brue Matz Have Happy Fliday Menu of Joy Luck

Special Alert:

To BabZ: you must go here now. You will read. You will laff. You will die from laff.
The you must go here and thank Mr. Max for making path to Happy Menu of Joy.

To everyone else:

Go therefore, and do likewise.

yes I am frustrated with UU

But it is ok.
I am quite USED TO it.

It's probably some incompatability issue with some hardware in my computer.
Oh well.
Such is life.

Many many many thanks to my dear friends, namely Walt and Gavin C, Aeronie and Toria who have all been so open with invitations and good advice.
Bless you all, I just canna get the bloody thing to fly.

And most of all, thank to you, DragonBoy. Your patience has gone into the "long suffering" zone.
Thank you for always being my friend.
Even when I am stupid.
EXPECIALLY when I am stupid.

Anyway, I wish you all thebest on your "Cavernsome" adventures.
I do not have the time or skills required to join you.

And some how, it's really ok.
:o)

Weird little Tune

Blake came across this oddball little tune.
I have no idea what its called or who did it.
Or even how old it is.
It was on a mixed CD he got from a friend and forgot about.
It had things from the 70's, it had Sinatra. It had all inds of odd songs.
Anyway, this funky jazz whistling number will remain in the "SOUNDS" link in the side bar for a while.

Its 2.70MB

To answer or NOT to answer, that IS the question.

Since Summer of 2004 I have become a "screener" of phone calls.
Granted, with moments of irregularness, but for the most part, a screener.

Those moments of laxity do often carry profound and reinforcing consequences however.
And so, tonight I crafted my own personal post-it note and stuck it to the front of the cabinet housing my Message Machine.

The Note reads:

The phone is EVIL!
Do NOT ever answer it.
Listen to ALL calls first and NEVER pick up.
You can always call back.

(Exceptions to those rule are the kids. Only the kids.)

Why must I hit myself in the head (as with a hammer) with this message more than once in a lifetime?
Surely it is because I am a stupid, gullible idiot.

Why do I continually think that things and people can change?
Why?
Well, frankly - OMG there it goes AGAIN! The phone is ringing NOW!!!!
Let's see who it is....

(listens...)

It is Stu calling for the kids. Good I am off the hook.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh...

Why do I continually think that things and people can change?
Why?
Well, frankly because they DO.
It's not always for the better, but sometimes it IS, and doesn't everyone deserve a chance?
A second chance?
A third, fourth, fifth chance?
All that "70x 7" crap that Jesus spoke about with regard to forgiveness? Why woud i expect to receive such forgiveness if I am not willing to extend it?
I dunno.
I am danged if I do, and danged if I don't.

But at least I have gone back to not answering the phone!...except... I just did, didn't I?

ugh!

Labour -VS- what EVER!!!!!

Man!
I am SO angry!!!!
I just got off the phone with my friend. (Not Barb)
She was speaking about her job situation and how she was going for a job at the hospital.
No problem.
Its all good.
Then she mentions how her landlord said that there was a job down at the local grocery store, they were looking for checkers.
She said, “Oh! No way! It would be like waitressing! I want SO much MORE for my life than some loser job like THAT.”

This pissed me off on SO many levels and I decided to not back down, but to drive it.
So I pointed out that, if one does not live in a small town (like ours) then there is a Union for Grocery checkers and they make good money AND retirement AND benefits (all of which she does not currently enjoy) She said, “Oh no. If I did THAT job, then I would be ashamed and couldn’t show my face. Not in public”

Now I am filled with a white-hot blinding rage.
So I ask her, “why?”
She says, “Well I want MORE for my life.”
I said, “No. you want different.” You want different challenges in your life. The people who make a career out of union grocery checker jobs want job security and pensions and retirement and health benefits etc. They just have different priorities. So what you want is not “more” or “better” but just “different.”
She did not agree.
I after she went on to further berate the value of service jobs such as grocery tellers and waitressing, I said to her, "I want you to know that I take offense. I know VERY good people who spend their lives working in just such a vocation, serving others and providing for the needs of their families, and what you are saying is that you are judging them.”
She says, “No I am not judging anybody”
I replied, “Well then, is a grocery clerk or waitress job, a “loser” job.
And she said, “well YES!”
And I said then you have misjudged and demeaned valuable people in my life.
She totally did not see this.

I am so pissed.

She says "I am just talking about ME. (me me me, blah blah blah me me me)
I personally would be embarrassed to be seen in any of those jobs.”

I said, “I am not asking you about YOU anymore. We are no longer speaking about YOU.
"I am talking about value and about losers. Do you see people who take those jobs as dead end losers?”

She hemmed and hawed and she would not answer.

Finally after some spluttering, she said, “well, I don’t know how the conversation got there. I was talking about ME.”

And I said, “well I am not talking about YOU. And you have just dissed some VERY good and valuable people I know.”

We hastily ended our phone conversation.

I am pissed at her viewpoint, she seems to think that some one who does a service job is of lesser value than some one who does a media or art job.And she seems to think SHE is more special than somebody else.

Even though she said SHE did not want such a job, she spoke with derision for such jobs and the people who “sink” to doing them.

I am SO offended.

In Gods economy, there is NO job too menial.
There is NO task that is valueless.
And the relegating to the “Loser” category of people who work in service jobs is offensive and unacceptable to me.
Everybody has value!

Greater is he who works hard and supports the needs of his family, than he who earns little for the sake of his/her arrogance.

The poor man/woman is the one who will not give 100% to any task that comes to hand, no matter how small or insignificant it seems to be in the beginning.

And I would love to quote God Almighty here even, by saying, “to the one to whom much is given, is much required.”
“Do your best in all things, as though unto God himself, and much will be given to you.”
That last sentence was the Mih paraphrase)

The point is, EVERY ONE has value and EVERY job has value.
How dare(HOW BLOODY DARE!!!!!!!!!!!) anyone relegate any task or person doing it, to the unwanted or valueless pile.

I am so mad, I can almost vomit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!