Take a gander at the Moron's Guide to see how it really came about.
{Image borrowed from this delightful page here.}
*addendum
Meant to ~ but forgot to ~ post a link to Told After Supper, an utterly delightful collection of turn~of~the~last~century ghost stories aimed at an audience that is bloody well sick to death of listening to them.
More words that have occurred to me in the mornings:
Chaparral; popinjay; Passendale.
~ ~ ~
Also dreamt this: I was crossing over the border from the States into Canada. Customs was a check~out counter at a supermarket, and the cashier was the border guard.
For some reason, I had lied and described myself as the wife of an Israeli citizen; can't remember why, except that I felt that I had to... maybe I thought it would get me through Customs more quickly, or that it was more respectable for me to be a wife rejoining her husband than a woman travelling alone.
And the cashier/guard subtly questioned me, under the guise of making small~talk, on the places I was planning on visiting after returning to Canada, like maybe, hmmmmmNew York, maybe?
And I laughed nervously, and said, New York? That's more dangerous than Israel nowadays! I wouldn't even dream of going there, and tried desperately to think of what would be the New York equivalent of the West Bank & the Gaza Strip, so I could say something incisively poignant yet disarmingly witty...*
I was worried that they would be able to access my personal information and ascertain that I wasn't in fact married to anybody; but I decided that I was probably safe for the moment, and that despite all efforts we hadn't quite reached that Orwellian state of perfection yet if only thanks to everpresent human fallibility. {And besides, it's only a supermarket, right? How efficient could they be?}
The whole process was taking longer than I expected. The guard/clerk finally told me there was one last, small, fee to pay before I finally could go through {y'know, like one of those unexpected hidden fees you have to pay at the airport}. I gave her the {worn, blue, Canadian} five dollar bill & waited for my change.
Bu instead of giving me my change, she just held onto the bill; and she looked a bit abashed, as if she was trying to casually segue into another conversation but she couldn't think of anything to say. I looked around and saw that they had turned the lights off in the rest of the supermarket, and I was the only customer left.
I realized she was suspicious of me, but had nothing she actually could pin down; so she was using every delaying tactic in the book, hoping I might let drop something incriminating. She didn't want to be the one who let me get away.
I think I may have accused her of stonewalling me, but I can't remember; I think the dream may have ended there. I don't recall making it past Customs.
~ ~ ~
* This comparison of NY to the Holy Land was probably prompted by a clip {seen on Jon Stewart's Daily Show} of Madonna on her recent pilgrimage, giving a speech wherein she desribes Israel as being no more dangerous than New York.
According to the CBC, the moon will turn RED tonight, thanks to a lunar eclipse & the ash from Mt. St. Helens. NASA says so too.
CBC Weather says cloudy but clearing, and a low of minus one. So dress warmly. Bring a thermos. And look up, waaaay up...
Let's see: presticles, spectacles, wallet, watch... hey, what the ~ where's my glass eye?
Is it possible you might have recently lost some sensitive government documents? Or could it be that you're just hoping to stumble across some sensitive government documents? Then it might be worth your while to check out the Oktoberfest Lost & Found Dep't.
Wonder what a perusal of the Scotchtoberfest Lost & Found Dep't would turn up... perhaps a wild haggis* or two...
FYI, the Kitchener~Waterloo Oktoberfest opens this Friday. Keep an eye out for lost stuff...
~ ~ ~
* I used to have an aunt who raised wild haggis. My Aunt Fanny.
Yep, Fanny Adams, that was her. Sweet little old lady, she was; dear, sweet Fanny Adams... sole owner and proprietor of the Sweet Fanny Adams Wild Haggis Dude Ranch. Happy childhood memories, watching haggis wranglers round up the wee yins and brand them with the ranch's SFA logo...
Sadly, she lost everything in the Mad Haggis scare of 2003; now, she can't even look at an oatmeal cookie without squiffing a shot of Glenfarclas from a memorial hip flask. So as a healing spiritual retreat, I'm going to take her on this year's Haggis Hunt. And then, if she's up to it, we'll go Haggis Hurling.
Incidentally, if you can't stomach a haggis, then perhaps I could tempt you instead with a sloe comfortable haggis against the wall?