Juggling the balls of justice – Trifecta Challenge

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The prosecutor stifled his laughter.

“Did you, or did you not state, Mrs. Bobbitt, that you would go free because the evidence would not, um, stand up in court?”

She was not amused.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

~~

Written for this week’s Trifecta Challenge – I’m really not sure why I chose Lorena Bobbitt and the misfortune of her husband’s manhood, but I did!  I apologize to all of the guys crossing their legs right now.

On now to our quick and dirty Trifextra prompt.  Plenty of times over the past two and a half years, we’ve given you the beginning of a story and asked for you to complete it.  This time, we are giving you the end, and we are asking you to start it for us.  We want 33 words in addition to and preceding the following:

That wasn’t what I meant.

So, to clarify, you write 33 words and then you tag on the five that we’ve given you.  Our five come after your 33 for a grand total of 38.

From the Horse’s Mouth, literally

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Today was a creatively inspiring day.  Today I went from not having any neurons firing in my brain to a cosmic overload of things I want to talk about.

On Friday I wrote a post about my first crush.  It was a Daily Prompt that inspired me to write a cute, truth-based story in response to the idea.  I haven’t thought about that adorable, freckled-faced red-head for many years but writing that post made me smile thinking about him.  The story also encouraged me to check the vast world-wide web to see if he would appear in real form instead of just the memory of a six-year-old.  The result of my search was successful and way beyond my expectations.  It also took me in a few directions I had not anticipated.

I had reached out to him on LinkedIn and found that he graciously accepted my invitation, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, but he accepted nonetheless.  We exchanged a few words and he inquired about the blog post that led me to him.  I acquiesced and sent him the link.  His initial response after reading it was more favorable that I imagined and I was curious to see where his life had led him after our brief time together in school so many years ago.

The object of my youthful affection is a now a documentary filmmaker in Toronto.  He has won several awards for his talent, including two Juno awards, and is now working on a project that is far closer to my life than I would have thought possible.  His company is called Regular Horse Productions (he was formerly with Horse’s Mouth Media) and he is currently making a film about Massey Hall, a significant Canadian structure, a piece of history that MY ancestors donated to the city of Toronto in 1894.  My middle name is that same family name and carries on the tradition of the historic family that is etched into the arts and entertainment district of one of the most popular cities in the world.

I have yet to discover the direction that his documentary will follow but I will be waiting with bated breath to see how my family history will come to life.  I have three original Chatelaine magazines from June to August of 1964 that document and detail the pilgrimage and the ancestral tree of the Massey family dating back to 1531.  Perhaps one day Andy and I will share a coffee and some conversation about my ancestors that will help shed some light on how that beloved plot of land was donated so many years ago and still thrives in Toronto today.

And to think, this random connection almost forty years later began with a school-girl crush and a lost bunny……who knew?

First love

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The Daily Prompt asks:  Remember your first crush? Think about that very first object of your affection. Oh, the sweaty palms. The swoony feeling in your stomach. Tell us the story of your first crush. What was it about this person that made your heart pound? Was the love requited? Change the names to protect the guilty or innocent if you must! No judgement here. Happy Valentine’s Day!

heart

He had red hair and freckles and was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.  His name was Andy Keen and we were in the same first grade class together.  I was six, and although I was too young to really comprehend what romantic love was, I spent hours gazing at him across the classroom.

My family lived in a cozy neighborhood in Oakville, Ontario.  Back in those days it was safe for kids to play in their front yard and wander back and forth to the neighbors.  On my way home one afternoon, I saw a white bunny rabbit hopping down the middle of the street.  I was elated.  I had been asking for a pet rabbit but couldn’t have one due to allergies.  I scooped up the bunny and took him home.  I named him Thumper and was allowed to temporarily set him up in our home until we found his owner.   As fate would have it, his owner was Andy Keen.  At the tender age of six, I took that as a sign that we were meant to be together!

At Show And Tell the next day, Andy was at the front of the class expounding on the traumatic events his pet bunny experienced as a runaway on the hard streets of Oakville.  During his emotional tale, I was overcome by desire.  I ran to the front of the class and kissed him on the cheek in front of the entire class.  I’m not sure whose cheeks burned hotter with embarrassment, but I took off like a shot out the classroom door and left Andy standing in front of the whole Grade One class, mouth gaping open, completely speechless.

Our love affair was short-lived.  Andy was mortified after the Show and Tell episode and made every effort to run the other way when he saw me coming.   I hope his therapy was brief and inexpensive.  🙂

A Groundhog said what??

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groundhog3

(image credit: ricochet.com)

It’s that time of year again.  Tomorrow is February 2nd – best known as Groundhog Day.  Tomorrow is the day that the nation puts its faith in a furry, rotund, hibernating member of the squirrel family to accurately predict the coming of spring.  (Currently their rate of success is posted at 39%.)  The folklore behind Groundhog Day allegedly originated in the area of Europe that is now known as Germany and became a tradition in the United States when the German settlers landed in Pennsylvania.  The original foreign prognosticator was a badger.  I’m not sure who the enlightened historical figure was that originally thought that this was a judicious way to plan their crop planting schedule but, many decades later, we are ready to celebrate this auspicious occasion again.

Hundreds gather, some donned in period costumes, to anxiously await the report that is passed from whiskered lips to attentive ears.  We must all consider ourselves fortunate to even see this furry forecaster as hibernating groundhogs will generally only leave their burrows for food and sex.  (I know some men who could take over the role as the purveyors of the changing of seasons based on their similar habits!!)

Mother Nature must really enjoy this celebrated day, especially if she sees fit to part the curtain of clouds to let the sun filter through.  The luck of the early spring prediction lays solely at her discretion and no member of the rodent kingdom will change that.  If the sun is shining on that frightened creature, he will inevitably see his shadow and it will be broadcast that we must brave six more weeks of winter.  If dear Mother Nature is moody and the sky is mottled with grey clouds, Punxsutawney Phil and Wiarton Willie will see no shadow and be said to have deemed an early spring.  I can only hope that tomorrow will begin under a blanket of condensed water vapor and their shadows will be non-existent.

Although his sweet, fuzzy exterior and chocolate-brown eyes may hold a place in your heart, do not trust a groundhog to foresee the accurate coming of spring!!  I may not be as hairy (thank God) or as cute (up for debate) as Wiarton Willie or Punxsutawney Phil but I, on the day prior to the 2nd of February 2014 will make my prediction.  Spring will arrive on Thursday, March 20th at 7:04 am!  Shadow or not, I’d put money on the fact that I’m pretty close in my estimation.  Sorry Willie and Phil, you might as well stay in bed!

Going on a Scavenger Hunt

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DJMatticus over at The Matticus Kingdom is having a Scavenger Hunt.  I am having a rather quiet afternoon at work and thought ‘what fun!”, so I’m sharing this with all of you in hopes that you’ll join in the merriment!

Here is what he’s after:

Let’s do a scavenger hunt!!  Doesn’t that sound awesome?  I have no idea how it is going to work!!  And, yes, I’m so excited about that I am using the double exclamation points on purpose!!

How about this:

Go forth, using whatever methods you like, and bring me back whatever you think best represents:

1) The Jester (he obviously had to be writing!!)

bigjester

2) The Queen

crown

You’re the best friend
that I ever had
I’ve been with you such a long time
You’re my sunshine
And I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
You’re my best friend

3) The Little Prince

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4) The Kingdom (couldn’t live anywhere but a mountain top)

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5) The End of the World… or, for bonus points, The World NOT Ending (it may look like the world has ended, but there is always a soft place to land.)

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6) Silly

Roses are red,

violets are blue.

I f&*king hate winter.

The End.

~~~

Well, now that WAS fun…..hope you all take a minute or two to participate!!

Stories of Christmas

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Another Christmas has come and gone leaving us with more great memories for the scrapbooks in our minds.

My sister-in-law kidnapped my mom from her new home and Christmas Eve was spent standing in a sub-zero temperature to watch Santa Claus go by on the fire truck.  This has been a tradition in our family since we moved to our small town in 1976.  This year, however, was the first year that a Command Post vehicle followed behind the fire truck in case Santa became thermally challenged.  I’m sure somewhere in his mind the Ho-Ho-Ho evolved into Ho-Ho-Holy S*&t it’s cold up here.

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Once again we went, as a family, to church but this year there was no fear of having to don a Shepherd costume and stand in front of a crowd.  Roles had been pre-assigned and we were able to sit in our pews and enjoy the performance. The three Wise Men this year were comprised of an older gentleman, a seven-ish year old and a stand up comedian, turning their show into a couple of wise guys and a very confused child!  Hilarity ensued and our hearts were definitely light allowing us to forget the frigid temperature outside and the fact that the heating system inside the church couldn’t fight off the cold.

Christmas morning welcomed us with a beautiful sunrise and a temperature of -30C but nothing could slow the pace of gifts being exchanged and paper flying.  Although we had decided a few years ago not to exchange Christmas gifts, my brother surprised me with a CD of my grandfathers dialect stories that had been converted from a vinyl album.  It was an amazing gift and one that I will treasure.  My nephews ventured off in their own directions, one wearing his new blue tooth headphones and the other jumping into a new book and devouring the words.  My brother headed for the kitchen and, even after five cups of coffee, I still managed to squeeze in an hour and a half nap before enjoying the turkey dinner my brother and family created.

After pushing our chairs back to let the turkey settle, we listened to some of my grandfather’s stories as a family.  My youngest nephew had listened to the recording so many times he could recite bits of the stories and my oldest nephew punctuated the end of a conversation with one of the best endings to one of the stories – “so long, fat ass”.  His timing was impeccable and there may or may not have been some cheesecake remnants sprayed onto the tablecloth.

It was agreed that my mom would have another sleepover and, one by one, we began to assume something reminiscent of a reclining pose.  My 13-year old nephew was a sitting duck on the couch when the tickling began.  The musical sound of his laughter filled the living room and, after exhausting all my efforts, I finally heard the three words that every Aunt longs to hear – “Stop, I’m peeing.”

I hope you all had a Christmas celebration that will leave you with stories of your own to pass down over the years.  May our hearts continue to be light and may we feel this same Christmas spirit throughout 2014.

A little witty banter

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Small talk is an art form.  It is the informal banter that covers no functional topics of conversation yet seems to fill the void of silence. People generally find dead air uncomfortable and prolonged periods of silence can be unbearable.  Regardless of whether or not we know the person, something compels us to bring up some inane conversation and we generally state some very obvious rhetoric to pass the time.

Small talk is a social skill that some have honed over the years and others struggle with it on a daily basis.  Perfect strangers may feel comfortable enough to talk about things on a more personal level but the bulk of small talk is made up of conversations about things as uninteresting as the weather.  Who knew we all had such an obsession with meteorology?

Depending on where you are when engaging in small talk you can certainly make it more interesting than the state of the atmospheric pressure and relative humidity.  It doesn’t have to become completely personal but you can lift the mood of someone’s day by having an intriguing conversation about something they weren’t planning to discuss with a stranger.

Make the first move and initiate some witty and enlightening repartee that will leave both of you in higher spirits.  Compliments are always welcome and interjecting some kind words into your small talk will go a long way.

Don’t let your cartoon balloon of small talk remain empty.  Fill it with something that will make people think and will allow them to leave your presence with a smile on their face.  Be original and be appealing but most of all keep it simple and honest.  You never know what new connections you could make by starting with an elementary bit of small talk.

What rhymes with Mousseline?

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Perhaps I have been stuck in this hotel room for too long and am beginning to lose my mind, or maybe this trip down memory lane was just the journey I needed to lighten my mood.

I will preface this post with a small back story.  I used to work at a hotel years ago and the Executive Chef and the General Manager, both from England, were a lot of fun to work with.  After working long hours and busy shifts together we all became friends.  We would spend our down-time after our dinner shifts by sitting the Chef’s office drinking Port and eating Stilton on Rice Crackers.  Ah, the good old days.

It was during one of these evenings that I revealed  how much I liked to write poetry.  They were intrigued and asked many questions about the type of poetry I wrote and the subject of my poems.  I could not really pinpoint a common theme because I wrote about anything that struck me as worthy of writing about.  It was then the gauntlet was thrown.  Between the two of them, they would choose a subject and I would have to come up with a poem worthy of both of their praises.  The challenge was on.

I arrived at work the next morning to a very official looking envelope on my desk.  The content of that envelope was my writing challenge.  Knowing these boys as well as I did, I opened the envelope with a bit of trepidation.  Written on a piece of hotel letterhead was nothing at all what I expected to find.  It was a recipe.  They wanted me to write a poem from a recipe and, judging by the smug looks on their faces, they fully anticipated failure on my end.

I took the recipe home and vowed that I would emerge the victor.  I wrote, rewrote and when I was satisfied with my final product I took my own piece of letterhead, printed my effort on that letterhead and put it in an envelope, leaving it on the Chef’s desk for his perusal when he returned the next day.

You’ve no doubt heard the term radio-silence.  That is what work was like for the next 24 hours.  The boys said nothing.  I was too proud to ask what they thought and waited patiently until they finally broke the silence and handed me a full bottle of 25-year old Taylor Port.  They had conceded.  I had won.   Here are the methods of the recipe and my poetic adaptation in italics:

maple mousse

(image credit: mapledelights.com)

MOUSSELINE OF MUSKOKA MAPLE SYRUP

Method:

Mix the egg yolks and sugar together and stir vigorously until it becomes white and creamy.  Add the maple syrup and, in a bowl, stir over a pan of hot water, stirring constantly as you go.  When the mixture thickens, take it off the heat and set aside to cool.  Add the gelatine leaves while it is still warm and stir.  Fully whip the cream and fold it into the cool syrup mixture.  Then half whip the egg whites and fold them into the mixture.  Place in the fridge for 1 hour and serve with the Lime Coulis.

Mix the yellow, let it mellow, in a bowl with sweet, Add the syrup, gelatin and water, stir over a pan of heat.

When it thickens, give it a lickin and take it off to cool,  Whip the cream, and fold it in, don’t eat it yet you fool.

Take the whites to make it right and add those in as well, Put this in the fridge to cool and your mousse is done pray tell.

LIME COULIS

Combine lime juice, orange, sugar, cinnamon and water and cook for 20 mins.  Run through fine chinois and add lime zest.  Return to heat for five minutes and then chill.  Pour over the mousseline and top with dark chocolate shavings.

Combine the stuff, although it’s rough, and simmer on the stove, Leave out the zest, as this is best, cook for 20 mins by jove.

When this is done, through fine chinois it will run, and then you add the lime, Return to heat, til 5 minutes is beat, and then you’re out of time.

Chill the sauce, this is boss, then pour over the mousseline, Top with choc, you’re ready to rock, dig in with spoon until clean.

Oh yeah, well wait ’til you hear what happened to me….

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Perhaps this is a rant or perhaps it is a series of casual observations that have manifested into cause for a blog post.  Regardless of the reason, these words interrupted my sleep and wanted to be written.

Each one of us has a collection of friends that is as diverse as the hues throughout the color spectrum.  And although we tend to gravitate to like-minded individuals, there are always the few friends that add the spice to our lives – those people who share similar interests but sometimes deviate so far from our idea of normal behavior that we simply shake our heads and wonder why.

During my 44 years on this revolving Earth I have met a myriad of characters – it comes with the territory when you work in hospitality.  But I have only experienced a few people who live their life by one simple standard.

keep-calm-its-all-about-me-3

(image credit: keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk)

Every story ever told seems to pale in comparison to what this person has experienced.  If you have faced medical issues, they have narrowly escaped amputation.  If you were in a car accident, they were extracted from an accordion, that used to be a vehicle, by two fire departments using the jaws of life.  You will never have one experience in your life that this person has not endured more suffering under the same circumstance.  There is no conceit involved.  They don’t ever claim to be the best at anything in their life, but they most definitely have encountered every situation in a more personal and more painful way.

Over the years I have learned how to spot these people fairly quickly.  They don’t tend to hide in a crowd for long and I have learned to limit my conversation about any personal issues for fear of hearing another calamity that is monstrous compared to my story.

Perhaps during my next encounter with one of these people I will suggest that they should live in a bubble!

Five Cold Toes (Trifextra Challenge)

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It lurks waiting for food,

never hiding behind a rock.

It has a certain penchant,

for neither pants nor frock.

It waits patiently in my dryer,

taking no more than a single sock.

socks

~

Written for the weekend Trifextra Challenge – It’s now time for some Trifextra fun. Thirty years ago, Roald Dahl published the book Dirty Beasts, a collection of poems for children about weird and wonderful animals. The last poem, however, is called The Tummy Beast about a boy who thinks there’s someone living in his belly. Your Trifextra challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place. No swamps or forests or caves, we really want you to take your beast out of its comfort zone