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Saturday, May 30th, 2015
9:49 pm - Pandemonium Hits Gamble's

So I went to Gambles after the kittens were done.  Nobody got sick, nobody "griped", only one, Orange Spot, squeaked when the needle went it (Lucus told me Monday when he did BS Freckles, Blackie's Cali and Blackie's One Eye that one of the shots could sting, but none of those reacted that day.)  The "real" small animal vet among the trio worked on them this time, and he set up four syringes with several different vaccines in each one, giving each kitten just one shot.

I got two dust pans, a sprinkler head for the long hose, three ugly fly swatters in clashing garrish colors, and a neat (heavy) solid wooden two cat sleeper tube coated in carpet, and a cat crate.

I took it out to the car, intending to transfer the kittens at once, as the box leaked What Me Worried on the trip in, leaving her loose on the leather seats... Driving around to the back of the store, which I was told was really the "front" when it came to loading heavy stuff, as Highway 2 is the front of the store, with a steep side parking lot that is wicked to negotiate on, I lifted up the box with the handle, only to have the bottom open up, dumping all four kittens, who have never been outside before, out on the paving.  Swooping down quickly, I got three of the four, stuffing them into the crate, but could not get Orange Spot before she dashed under the car.  The owner tried to move her toward me with a grabber, but she bolted from one side to the other, finally streaking over to the dumpster, behind it, tangling herself around a pallet leaning vertically against the next building's wall.  I used the grabber to reach for her as a friendly customer who had a way with cats tried to coax her to him.  It was five to ten heart stopping minutes of sheer pandemonium, involving both cashiers and three or four customers before she rejoined her litter mates.

If I had to do it all over again, I'd have gotten IN the car, shut the door, and at worst case, lost them in the vehicle, rather than outside.



current mood: relieved

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9:13 pm - Bandita's Beauty's Kittens to Vet
Today Bandita's Beauty's litter got named.  As the vet worked on each one, I christened them... Most changed from what I thought I'd call them earlier.  The Spelunker-colored male became BB's Pale Face (mostly white face capped by yellow above the eyes/on the ears, who really impressed the vet - biggest, fattest, most timid/lethargic.  Then the mostly dark tortoise shell that I was calling One Spot got renamed BB's Orange Spot, the venturesome calico BB's What Me Worried (for the comic look on her face that suits that monicker), and the "normal" tortoise shell is BB's Three Faced.  I'm not real fond of that name for her, but her pattern is so bland that nothing pops out.  She has more personality, but as one of the trio of holy terrors the girls are, I didn't come up with anything smashing on that front, either.  Until Mark came.

He'd brought a pine "spacer" to even out the warp we were getting from having left pieces sit unattached to the wall.  All four of the kittens were loose in the hallway, so I put them into the bathroom and shut the door.  One was missing, but I couldn't see into the back corner, so we thought she was back there, as it is pretty tough to hide in an empty hallway with book cases along one wall.
BB's Sleeper found a way.  She got on the second shelf up from the bottom, on top of a row of paperbacks, stretching out so that she was nearly invisible underneath the shelf.  She was there over an hour before we spotted her and locked her in with the others.

He still has not completed the "second" Friday's stack.  Promises, promises.  The kittens that were unborn when he told me "one a week, on Fridays" are now seven weeks old, with only one useable full case installed, and the bottom of the one next to it.  Sigh.

They are the only kittens here that are NOT SICK.  I didn't get a good scrub job on the crates, so I decided to take just the kittens in a box.  I used a vertical one with a handle, taking them in and out safely, then buying another crate at the hardware store on the corner.  (I was getting embarrassed.  Every time I went in there, I'd ask for something they didn't have.)


current mood: ambivalent

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Monday, May 25th, 2015
9:59 pm - Memorial Day Escapade
Before the large black and white cat got himself into the back trap, he beat up Black Stripe and Four on the Floor pretty badly.  Saturday night, she was moaning in pain, so when Monday came around, I loaded BS into the crate that lives in the utility room and set off to get her treated.  Part way there, I heard a weak kitten cry... I had Freckles, Cali, and One Eye all in there,  hiding in the dark.

Lucus did a very thorough check of Black Stripe, then treated her for the tape worms on her, the cold she had, and suggested "rest" for the ribs, etc.  As with humans, they are painful, but relatively untreatable.  Usually, if she curls up for ten minutes, that is a long stay for her.  She's been under my chin between me and the keyboard for three entries, now.  She look his advise to heart, it seems.  She seems to be breathing easier now, too, cold/cough wise.  (Moved from 5/30)

current mood: embarrassed

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Wednesday, April 22nd, 2015
12:20 am - Best Expression of Extreme Surprise

Nora Roberts - The Search

copyright 2010

My sister sent me a copy of one of my favorite Nora Roberts books, The Search.  As soon as I finished what I’d been reading, I started re-reading it.  When I got to page 169, I ended up laughing out loud, which startled Freckles, who was asleep in the crook of my arm.

The MCF runs a dog training school, and uses her three personal labs as part of a search and rescue team.  She actively trains other area’s volunteers around the state.

The local veterinary (female) is part of her team, and at the start of the story, the two best friends, both single, are trading “I’ve gone longer without” stories.

The MCM enters with a chewing pup he’s named JAWS.  Even though he’s missed the first two beginner lessons in a series that builds on past training, the bond is formed, and she begins to work with the pup and his owner.  She only accepts dog/human teams.

Shortly after both the MC amd her best friend, a female vet, line up interesting men in their lives, they have a redo of an earlier conversation frankly describing their romantic encounters.  The vet, mock offended that she didn’t receive an immediate follow up after the date took place, pops out with the line that made me laugh.

“Sweet magnetic Jesus on the dashboard.  On the table?”



current mood: amused

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Tuesday, April 21st, 2015
11:19 pm - Black Stripe's New Trick -- The Silent Meow
Last week, Bandita's Beauty has, in the recent past, "defended " her kittens from Black Stripe's invasion (who was innocently thinking sharing a kitty litter was not a provocation) when I stepped out to use the scale, leaving Freckles and BS at the much larger Bandita's Beauty's mercy.  Turns out, she has none.

I stomped back into the room, picked BB up and plopped her back in the tub with her kittens.  The instant the doorway was clear, BS shot out into the hall.  I collected the scattered litter, refilled the water, and turned the cat food container right side up.  Had it not been tipped, I probably would have had to toss the whole panfull out... Nobody wants litter garnished Science Diet!

I hadn't even taken the dust pan and broom back to the holder beside the kitchen cabinets yet.  Normally, I put it back when I refill the cat pan with food.

Finally, I realized that Freckles had not fled with her mother.  I found her in a kitten-sized space between the tank and the toilet cleaner.  She's too little to have been on the seat, and the smooth holder for the scrubber is twice her height and offers no claw holds, so I'm not sure how she got back there.  She seemed to be unhurt, but her little heart was really thumping.  I now take her for litter walks periodically, as though she were a puppy.

Afterward, I'd have to move the litter into the hallway and close the door before BS would use it.   Even then, she took to using a silent meow.  It's been years since I had a cat who did that.  She's in stealth mode.

Tired of switching the litter pan back and forth every few hours, I decided to leave the door open.  I still "walk" the kitten in, sitting on the end of the tub so I was between the other mother and Freckles, but she has never reacted to her presence.  (When I first took her into the room a few weeks ago, I took BB's kittens and held them in the skirt of my night gown, then added Freckles.  No problems there, so I let her go into the bath tub with her new friends.  BB ignored her after the first sniff.)

One more attack took place when Black Stripe went into the room when I'd started leaving the door open, but when I hollared, they quit.  BS growled when I finally arrived (I was in the kitchen when the row started), so I tapped my finger on her head lightly.  I moved the litter box back into the hall for another day of shifting it back and forth.

Yesterday, after several quiet days, Bandita's Beauty came out into the living room.  As they tried to pass each other in the entryway to the living room, they got vocal, and I hollared at them.  Black Stripe ran to me, while Bandita's Beauty took off back down the hall to her kittens.

Tonight, I had again left the door open.  BB streaked through twice, running sliently into my bedroom.  Hopefully, the detaunt will stabilize as her kittens become more mobile.  This afternoon, Hint of Orange came into the kitchen for the first time since losing her kittens.  She and Black Stripe politely sniffed noses.  Freckles sometimes sleeps in the utility room in the same crate with HOO, sometimes with BS and I.  She's a really bright little girl; no accidents, and one lesson in how much force she could use when she played chew or bat the fingers.  She will play with the pink ball with the bell inside, but gets distracted easily.  I shut her in with it while I cleaned the litter pan, then set her in it.  She dug five holes before she'd use it.  Without someone else's poop already there, she didn't seem to be sure she was supposed to make a deposit there.  

current mood: long winded

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11:44 am - Bandita's Beauty's Litter
Bandita's Beauty is a dedicated mother, and has not dropped weight as she constantly lies on on side or the other, purring.  At least one kitten also purrs loudly.

Using my newly devised naming nomenclature, Bandita's Beauty's litter have acquired some names.

The calico one who died Easter morning had the most interesting pattern, of course.  She had an inverted black pyramid over her nose, and was a lovely distribution of orange and black spots on a white background.  Her name, BB's Inverted Pyramid, was, therefore, a no-brainer.

Not to be far outdone, the other calico, whose white background covers a bit wider area, has a black spot the size of a No. 2 pencil's circumference on the side of one eye.  At present, it is approximately the same size as the eye.  Needless to say, she is now BB's Black Eye.

One of the tortoise shell females is the squealer of the bunch.  She is marked quite a bit like her mother, and is as yet unnamed.  Squealer may be what she earns, should she not outgrow it.

The last tortoise is very dark.  She has tiny white dots around her eyes, creating a reverse raccoon style black mask in white.  Hers is not as well-defined.  She is a pretty close match to BS Freckles, with larger orange patches on her front half.  She is therefore called BB White Mask.

The yellow and white male is also still nameless.


current mood: tickled

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Wednesday, April 15th, 2015
7:28 pm - Correct Punctuation Use Sighted in Selection Demonstrating GOOD WRITING!
Maybe I'm going about this backward.

Same website, a few days earlier:


gibber Audio Pronunciation
\JIB-er, GIB-\
verb
1. to speak inarticulately or meaninglessly.
2. to speak foolishly; chatter.
Quotes
Representation gets a bad rap.  Its inadequacy is inbuilt; it’s doomed to fail us; the thing it strives to capture and communicate endlessly eludes it.  But it’s what we have, so we use our crude visual and verbal tools to circumscribe, gibber, and gesture.
-- Cassie Packard, "Martha Rosler Tackles the Problem of Representation," Hyperallergic, October 16, 2014
Origin
Gibber entered English around 1600 and is of uncertain origin. It is perhaps related to the obsolete word gib meaning "caterwaul, to utter long wailing cries."

••••••••

Perfect score on some difficult seeming distinctions in our modern rush to minimize everything:

Punctuation: +10

Its inadequacy/it’s doomed/it’s what (first one is the possessive, next two the contraction for it is)

Grammar/Usage:
Maintaining a long series of correctly punctuated items in a series, [extra points for the balanced parallel structure, allerative diction thrown in :-) ].

Parallel: Complete sentence; c
omplete sentence; complete sentence.

Alliteration:
Its inadequacy is inbuilt, (especially inadequacy/inbuilt), capture and communicate, endlessly eludes, crude...circumscribe, (tools to), visual and verbal, gibber and gesture

Rhyme: (near/slant) bad rap

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6:53 pm - And In Other News
Several of the yellows from Black Stripe's latest litter are now successfully pouncing, and producing squeals and in one case, a turned back ear.  Mostly boys, again, I'm assuming.  One black and orange, but not a typical tortoise shell or calico pattern.  Front half, black.  Back half, brindle.  She does seem to have the "unique" down.  She's a lighter shade of brindle over most of her body, with tiger stripes visible on her legs, where solid orange happens in a few places large enough to discern the stripes.

And, I've now named her - BS (the official designation for Black Stripe's kittens, for as long as I remember that I decided to do this) Freckles.

Her face has orange/white dots across nose and underneath eyes...

current mood: tickled

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6:27 pm - Well-Seen Run-on, Sigh, Courtesy of a Well-Respected Author
nonevent Audio Pronunciation
\non-i-VENT\
noun
1. an occurrence of only superficial interest or content; a dull or insignificant occasion.
2. an event or situation that is anticipated but does not occur or occurs with much less than the expected impact, especially one that has been widely publicized; anticlimax.
Quotes
(")A non-event,(") says Phil, (")is better to write about than an event, because with a non-event(,) you can make up the meaning yourself,[sic (should be ; )] it means whatever you say it means.(")
-- Margaret Atwood, Bluebeard's Egg, 1983

•••••••••
Is channeling ULYSESES now in vogue?

The Iowa Basic Skills tests still expect students to use proper punctuation for compound and complex sentences.  From Second grade, on, in simple forms, in more difficult examples from third grade.  I'm not sure when direct quotation marks are added to the list, later on, but certainly still in grade school.

Evidently it means whatever you say it means, no matter what it looks like, or if a confusing structure results.

Punctuation score: +3, -4 (each pair of "xxx" = 1 if both are missing.)

I was calling this stuff Grammar Gaffes, but it more exactly should be Punctuation Potholes...

(I own several of her books, and enjoyed reading them, but they were later works, beginning with Oryx and Crake, which, had the quotation marks been missing, might have signaled an unreliable narrator.  I have not read Bluebeard's Egg, nor do I own it.)


current mood: disgusted

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Sunday, April 12th, 2015
10:58 pm - A "Catchy" Day
Saturday, I was typing away and listening to some music when my computer picked up a very annoying thump every so often.  Since the piece playing was somewhat jazzy, I thought the drum machine was working overtime.  Electronic overdubbing is de regior in some types of music, judging from three daily song podcasts, one from the Northwest, one from PA, and one from NPR, so a geographical spread, all of which sample from a wider area.  (I'd just dumped a Canadian weekly program I'd listened to for over a year, never hearing a song that "hit" with my tastes, that recorded things in artists spaces all over Canada once a year.  They featured alternative music.  Evidently, not my genre.)

Black Stripe's kittens are now in the utility room, while Bandita's Beauty is nursing the four of the five that survived in the long suffering guest's bathroom's tub.  The sheet I've been using no longer will come back to white between births... I let BS out to roam for a while, as she will make a special trill when she wants access to kitty litter.  She's good company.  I had my lap board covered with stuff I was sorting when she suddenly leaped up.  Since she generally will lie on a pile, but otherwise not interfere, I was quite surprised when she put her head under my hand and turned her head away.

She is the first cat I've ever had who likes to have her JAW scratched.  I never know how hard, so I start softly, then increase the pressure until she either backs off, or turns her head to have the othe side scratched.

But NO!  My hand collided with something.  I popped up, clearing the lapboard into one untidy pile on the coffee table in front of me, and quickly moved to the utility room door before she loosed the MOUSE she'd caught.  Two Faced, her mother, always taught her kittens to hunt, but she generally waited until they could at least POUNCE first.  She's evidently in quite a hurry to get this litter out the door.

current mood: cheerful

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Friday, April 10th, 2015
12:42 pm - Catch of the Day -- First Raccoon of the Season
Last week, I heard a commotion on the porch after dark.  Investigating, I saw a huge boar coon facing off with the hungry cats.

Eventually, I got him in the trap.  Over the winter, all the males but the oldest reacquainted themselves with the interior of the cage.  The first night I didn't catch a cat, I got the coon.  He looked much smaller once he was safely inside the cage (or did he send a smaller relative/spouse?)


current mood: relieved

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Monday, March 16th, 2015
3:39 pm - T-Shirt Slogan on MATH, (yes, math)
Gena Showalter in The Closer You Come, writes on page 89, "Her T-shirt read Math Problems? Call 1-800- {(10x)(In{13el)]-[sin(xy)/2.362x1."

I'm not sure my computer accirately typed what I thought I read... That first symbol after the 800 hyphen is supposed to be a brace, but although I typed that symbol, it certainly does not look like one to me.  Glasses trouble, or symbol typing incompatibilities?  Sigh.  (ed. ah, adding a space lets the brace part show instead of running it into the dash...)

It's pretty funny and surprising to hit in mid-story, however.

Multiplying anything by 1 does exactly what?  And if you have a forward brace, shouldn't there be a backward one somewhere, not a second forward brace?  It's been a LONG TIME since higher algebra, but...

current mood: amused

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Sunday, March 15th, 2015
11:32 am - Hint of Orange Returns
When I went out yesterday to feed the outdoor cats, not only was the elusive tortoise who is either Bandita's Beauty or Licker, same mom, different litters, but Hint showed her face, for the second time since she escaped from the cat house.

I would trill; she would answer, from a distance. The black and white wild tom cat was barely visible peeking his eyes and ears above the hilltop just behind the gate to the west pasture beside the garage. There is a level area wide enough for a horse to walk, then the downhill slope to the overflow area behind the pond where the deer spooked right after a hunter took a buck and a deer from the back 40. (Nearness to people = safe area?)

Dumping a plastic container of cat food in the porch pan, then piling some on the floorboards, I held open the utility room door (house hall door closed - free house access for semi-wild outdoor cats not being on option). Black Stripe's three surviving from her first litter all came in; her mother Two Face's son Four on the Floor or his son Four's Son (can't tell them apart now that both are full grown) eventually came; Two's Blackie, her eldest daughter from the same litter as Four on the Floor came (the wildest of the wild ones), and Bandita's Beauty or Licker, who let me touch her and actually DID go inside for a second at one point.

When nearly an hour of coaxing still did not net the prize, I went inside for the hand dandy gripper. All but Blackie and BB/L were trapped inside, so Hint actually got up on the porch, putting her within reach.

The instant I had her trapped, she began panic purring, but relaxed in my arms. I'd recently had the inside house door handles switched to flippers that I could operate with my elbows, or I'd have probably lost my hold. Using the infamous foot shuffle to coax those inside back outside, I bumped the door closed with my rear and let her climb onto the top of the washer.

current mood: elated

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Monday, March 9th, 2015
10:37 pm - Mom's Stories
My sister called to report the day's events.  She spent the day with a female cousin her age who once visited us as a teenager in Minnesota.  Aunt C went in to count the Sunday school money, as she usually does on Mondays, then worked with a children's group (new, or just not mentioned before?)

Mom, who has been unable to recognize people quickly, is in rare form remembering older episodes, typically for those with Alzheimer's.  LBHH had not heard two of the stories she told today, but the first one sounds vaguely familiar to me.

Uncle Frank, mom's oldest brother, smoked, as did my maternal grandfather, and mom, until I was fifteen or so, but her smoking was not as acceptable, and nobody did the smoking openly.  It especially was not generally done in the house.  Women smoking was somehow more shameful or more hidden, back then.

Mom and Frank were sitting in the living room, both smoking on this particular day in her memory.  (LBHH explains that mom's tone of voice expressed outrage that grandmother came in, as she BELONGED in the kitchen...)  When grandmother came into the living room, Frank protected mom by reaching over and casually taking the cigarette from her hand.  That left him with one cigarette in each hand, which grandmother either did not notice, or chose not to react to.  I remember this event being related with glee.

Mom also told a story about crossing the bridge between Biloxi and Ocean Springs.  There were two bridges - the drawbridge with a pedestrian area, and a railroad bridge, which had no such accommodations, no sides to deflect cars that should somehow become dislodged from the rails, but did have a lower platform under the ties to act as a work area as needed.

Mom decided to cross the railroad bridge.  Before she'd gotten clear across, a train came.  She hurriedly stepped from tie to tie until she reached the gap that gave access to the lower platform, where she crouched while the train thundered noisily overhead.  The noise and the terror were horrible.  Asked why she'd done such a dangerous thing, she replied that she had wanted to do something her three older brothers had NOT already done first.

Was she called a copy cat one time too many?  Although she tells many stories of collective escapades of the children as a group, especially the three older brothers, I don't recall any where she undertook dangerous actions on her own.

current mood: surprised

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Friday, March 6th, 2015
7:42 pm - Sister/Mom
This week, until next Thursday, my sister is in the sunny south visiting mom in the assisted living facility and staying with our aunt and uncle nearby.


Mom's been hoarding.  She gets cups of coffee - two or three times in the morning, then three or four more times in the afternoon.  She uses sugar and creamer, or at least takes the packets.  However, she is NOT throwing anything away.  She has filled all six of her dresser drawers with EMPTY cups, and unopened packets of sugar and had filled her fridge with cream, some frozen solid.

My sister and my aunt spent four DAYS sorting and cleaning out everything.  Each day, they'd pile bags of trash by the door just inside the entryway, creating a waist high pile.  They've alerted the caregivers to remove the extra cups each day while she showers.

(When I was there, she would not shower... I don't see a good future coming.)  She'll be 91 May 3rd, and walks all over the place.  She has macular degeneration in both eyes, so that's probably why she's not reading.  We thought it was because she probably couldn't remember the plot long enough to get through the books.  (That also may be contributing to the situation.)  She can stay there until she can't get out of bed on her own.  My uncle took home two boxes of books, which will be sorted out later.  Some are disposables, others are parts of collections I would like to have back.

My sister said mom, who knew she was coming, still did not recognize her when she walked into her room.  Mom's sister and her husband were there, too.  Mom brightly asked her brother-in-law which one of the lovely ladies he belonged to. My sister is in her 60's, while our aunt and uncle are in their 80's, so he is of an age match his wife, even if they had been total strangers, yet mom couldn't tell who he matched up with.  She LIVED with them right before we had to put her in the assisted living facility for a long time.


current mood: upset

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Monday, February 16th, 2015
2:01 am - The Marriage Charm, Book II by Linda Lael Miller
So I'm waiting for the doctor to come in, reading about when Linda Lael Miller has her MC sport a t-shirt with the legend "Wyoming will rock your Tetons", page 52.  I was still laughing when he came into the room, so he asked what I was reading...   

current mood: amused

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Saturday, February 14th, 2015
8:34 pm - Punny Love (Moved from 4/15 to Valentine's Day, to correspond to the date the original email was rec
Hope you are doing well.  I live you.

(Signed, sister # 2, by name, omitted here for privacy concerns.)

Forwarded to sister #3, so she dasen't get her feelings hurt and feel left out...  (For some strange reason, her ! always translates to
J...)

Not to be outdone, I live you tooJ

(Signed, sister#3, by name)

Which in turn, prompted me to respond,

As I took a bath, I thought of the perfect come-back. I lave you!


current mood: laughing

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Monday, February 9th, 2015
6:08 am - from The Hostage - Brendan Behan
http://pandemo.livejournal.com/358539.html

from The Hostage

Never throw stones at your mother;
You'll be sorry for it when she's dead;
Never throw stones at your mother;
Throw bricks at your father instead.

I'd never heard of him before, but today, on Dad's birthday, Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac featured him, among others.  Brendan Behan, born in Dublin in 1923, whose father took part in the Irish rebellion of the early 20's.  His father was in prison when the boy was born.  By the time he was 16, he was being sent on missions to bomb British targets.  While in prison, he began to write.  His first play was The Quare Fellow, then the novel Borstal Boy and The Hostage.

I can't imagine a childhood that violent, but readily understand that many in our world can't imagine anything else.

footnote:  He died at age 41, an alcoholic. When writing his obituary, the critic Renee McCall said of Behan: Too young to die: too drunk to live.

When I saw a notice which said, "Drink Canada Dry", I got started at once.

I am a drinker with writing problems.

New York is my Lourdes, where I go for spiritual refreshment... a place where you're least likely to be bitten by a wild goat.

I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.

When I came back to Dublin, I was courtmartialed in my absence and sentenced to death in my absence, so I said they could shoot me in my absence.

If it was raining soup, the Irish would go out with forks.

 (line drawing of a drunk Brendan Behan toasting a nun, three shot glasses in front of him, bottle in hand) Ah, bless you, Sister, may all your sons be bishops.

Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it's done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves.

There is no such thing as bad publicity except your own obituary.


current mood: amused/repulsed

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Sunday, February 8th, 2015
8:42 am - Black Stripe's Nighttime Noises
So a couple of weeks ago, around three a.m., I was roused from my sleep by odd sounds.  (Yes, I *DID* intend to post that day... Sigh.  Best intentions, and all that.)  The culprit, Black Stripe.  She was between the end of the bed and the bathroom door, leaping into the air, twirling in circles, crouching and creaping, under the bed, behind the dropped sheet.  I couldn't imagine what she was up to.

Reluctantly, I climbed from my warm nest, bumping the light switch as I rounded the corner of the bed.  Black Stripe tossed the MOUSE in her mouth into the air, then pounced on it again.  And again, and again.

The next morning, I could not find it anywhere.  Could it have been alive, and escaped once she lost interest?  Or did she eat it, fur and all?

Do I REALLY want to know?

current mood: amused, in retrospect

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Friday, February 6th, 2015
2:38 pm - Speaking in Tongues
In Blood Magic, book three of the Cousins O’Dwyer Trilogy, author Nora Roberts pops up with several Irish expressions, explained adequately in the context of the story, but it set me to wondering.

Nollaig Shona Duit p. 110 translated word for word as "Christmas, happy, to you."

Wiki to the rescue!  Mentioning, among much more: (Irish pronunciation: [nʊll-ɡ honˠaː dɪt]) the literal translation of this is "Happy Christmas to you".  If "Nollaig, Shona, Duit" was literally translated, word for word, into English, it would be "Christmas, happy, to you".  The British English expression "Happy Christmas" is more common in Ireland than its American English equivalent of "Merry Christmas."

Either I did
n't copy down commas between the words, or she didn't include them.  I'd check, but I sent the book to my mother (yes, she with the Alzheimer's...)

céili p. 109 (and others) an Irish folk dance, in any one of thirty dance forms that form the exam to become a teacher of it in Ireland... (Wiki again, with tons more).  I gleaned that it was a joyous party type thing.

craic p. 111 Urban Dictionary version: Irish word for fun/enjoyment that has been brought into the English language. usu. when mixed with alcohol and/or music.

'Bhi craic agus ceol againn' : We had fun and music.

Fun doesn't really cut it though. General banter, good times had by all.

Also, a person who is good fun/great company.

Back to Wiki: "Craic" (/kræk/ krak), or "crack", is a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland. It is often used with the definite article – the craic. The word has an unusual history; the English crack was borrowed into Irish as craic in the mid-20th century and the Irish spelling was then reborrowed into English. Under either spelling, the term has great cultural currency and significance in Ireland.I *think* craic is also the word Irishman Raymond McCullough uses frequently in his Celtic Roots Radio - Irish music podcast as he is telling his marvelous stories.

Oiche ne Coda Moire p. 137 from Wikianswers, "The night of the big portion.  Last night of the year."

deirfiúr bheag p. 140 from Yahoo Answers, " It depends on which Gaelic language you want.

In Irish, "deirfiúr bheag" means "younger/ little sister".
If you want to specify youngest, and not just younger, it's "deirfiúr is óige".
If you want Scots or Manx, it'll be different. Source(s): Native speaker (I corrected nonstandard English spelling before posting this...)

a ghra p. 164, which she has also had her Irish character Roark use to his wife in her "In Death" series (writing as J. D. Robb) often enough that I actually recognized it. I had no intention of actually learning Irish (or Gaelic)...

From Irish Gaelic Translator.com: Redwolf Ard-Banríon na Ráiméise   "A ghrá" means "my love" if you are talking to the person you love.  If you're speaking OF him/her, it's "mo ghrá."

But, obviously, I enjoy reading/listening to things involving foreign lanuages and the results of blending the two.

current mood: tickled

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