oh, little bird!

Anne of Green Gables - 100 Years of Broken Slates and Kindred Spirits

Like millions of young girls, I read (more like devoured) the Anne of Green Gable books while I was still in grade school. I can vividly recall what an impression they and the character  of Anne Shirley made on me. I'm tempted as I write this to go back to source passages from the books, but I'll resist it because it's sweeter to try to parse the feelings remembering them evokes.  Anne's curiousity, her love of nature,  her anger at injustice and her lack of censorship at righting perceived wrongs - I wanted to be best friends with Anne, that I remember. And the whole notion of a kindred spirit was so noble and poetic...it played (and still does) to that sense of wonderment of something deeper, beyond what we can see, that is nevertheless very powerfull and real. As kids we know this exists, we just don't have the words for it. I believe Lucy Maude Montgomery gave children a lot of credit in that she understood they felt and perceived so much - and I think she must have known a little something about spirits and wonderment even if her own life wasn't particularly easy.

That each year the play in Charlottetown, P.E.I. still draws crowds - my own parents brought me one summer - and that the House of Green Gables draws tourists from as far as Japan, gives me a sense of pride. It's just nice to feel that this complex, wonderful girl, this beautiful story, is from my own country, from a place that I might call home.

Oh, I also remember that I really (really) wanted red hair because of Anne, and I developed a big crush on Gilbert. Pfff, man, yeah. Big.

Coming to a Meadow Near You: Indiana Jones und das Königreich des Kristallschädels!!!

My sister Elena was kind enough to share these photos with me this morning, taken at her bus stop just outside of Zurich. I'm not sure why, but I find this kind of stuff infinitely interesting. But what kind of stuff, Pam? Please, to be more specific. Well, by stuff I mean that this image is currently being seen 'round the world, on bus shelters in Portland, OR, on taxis in Manhattan, billboards in Soeul, and here in this seemingly peaceful spot.

Also, it's always neat to see the translated titles - in this case a pretty straight-forward one, I think. Years ago while visiting my sis and her husband Martin, then in Basel, I passed a saucy poster for Harry und Sally, featuring Meg Ryan straddling Billy Crystal on a chair - still adorable, but somehow I think it wouldn't have flown in the U.S. Then there's the Japanese title of The Grapes of Wrath, which I've heard was The Angry Raisins. (I could fact-check it, but why ruin the joy?).

Whatever the case, I'm sure these cows will be the last ones in the theatre, reading the fine print to ensure that "no bovines were harmed in the making of this picture."

Rachel Ray Online Advert Pulled - the power of the accessory!

As a costume history person, I am always fascinated at how the meaning of an object can change through time, gainging layers of new meaning in various cultures and contexts. Just last week I saw a short "on the street" set of images in the Montreal Gazette illustrating the current popularity of the kaffiyeh, a knotted and fringed shawl typically worn in Middle Eastern countries. It now comes in a plethora of fashionable colours - not just the classic black & white - and is showing up pretty much everywhere, from Westmount to the West Village. (Alliteration always gives me a slight thrill!)

I just learned via an AP article that Dunkin' Donuts (more alliteration, plus that funny phonetic spelling that gets me every time) has pulled an online advert featuring chef Rachel Ray touting iced coffee in a kaffiyeh. Much as it disappoints me that this type of super-sensitivity often rules the day, I am somewhat suprised that D.D. didn't catch this potential problem a little earlier. The same type of complaints  - essentially that the kaffiyeh is a symbol of Palestinian terrorism -  that nixed the online ad were also behind Urban Outfitters recent decision to pull the kaffiyeh from their stores.

Whether or not you agree with the newly-minted meaning of the kaffiyeh, or just see it as a harmless, flash-in-the-pan trend, the fact that an inanimate piece of clothing can mean so many things to so many (and to some mean not much of anything) reminds one of the power of clothes.

Clothes power! - Now say it with clenched fist - clothes power!!!!

For a great read on this subject, see the recent New York Times article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/11/fashion/shows/11KAFFIYEH.html?emc=eta1

Oh my, it appears my digital camera really is kaput. Finished. Toast.

I suppose dropping it didn't help.

I wonder if these clowns could stop, er, clowing around long enough to advise me on a decent, 'not bare bones but not top of the line' digital model. I wonder if they could put it in very, very simple terms. Remember the way that monkey on TV could just plug in the first iMac to make it go? That kind of simple.

We Need a Home, Dang It!

About six weeks ago, someone forwarded these photos of a rescued mother cat and her three kittens who are in need of a home.  Having two cats of my own already,  I don't think I'm able to adopt any more right now, but I am haunted by these beautiful animals and am determined to do my best to help them find a loving, go-to home. Is it my destiny? I don't know. I only know that they're flippin' adorable and I'm irked that the Mum was not fixed in the first place, particularly because she is apparantly about a year old herself and that's too young to be a Mum by anyone's standards.

If you or someone you know is interested in giving one or more of these kids a home, please drop me a line. There's an adoption fee, but that takes care of all shots and spaying.

Random Rupert Thoughts

If you were to base everything you know about Rupert on this photo alone, you'd think "what a wise, tranquil little GLC (God's Little Creature) he is. Just look at that calmness, that old-soulness. And it's true, sometimes he is tranquil. He's also got an incredibly soft head, which I love to smoosh my nose and mouth on. He's adorable. He's a gift. And right now he's driving me a little crazy.

Sometimes I look at Rupert, and his partner in crime and fellow demon seed Noah and wonder "What in God's name is going on in that head?" And they're such a little heads, though half the time they are more canny and on the ball than I'll ever be. The other half they're batting balls affixed to the top of a wires or biting their own tail, like that feels good. They're wrapping the pads of a lone paw around the tip of my nose, nibbling on my hair, lunging for squirrels through the window screen or rolling on to their bellies for a good rubdown, paws flopped over in "try to resist me" mode. In short, they're like four-legged seven year olds that shed. A lot.

I don't know if it's the warmer weather, but lately Rupert seems to be dealing with an overabundance of adrenaline. It's like all the thigns he usually does, he does faster and does more often. He is more snuggly, which is flippin' adorable, but he's also more verbal, in the 'haul your head off the pillow, it's 6 a.m." verbal variety. He reaches onto my plate - I know, I should not be eating in front of the TV, but I digress, or you do - when he's interested in my food, and runs right to a broken robin's egg I just brought home and tucked away, safely, I thought on the bookcase.  The other day he started to scratch at my bedroom curtains, which is a first. I accept that my mattress is toast, but the curtains are off limits. If he sees me even begin to walk in the direction of the bathroom, he bolts past me like a kid trailing a fire engine. And the bathroom is where the real situation unfolds.

I'ce wondered about Rupert's thoughts, and come to the conclusion that they might go something like following: OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod, she's turned the tap on. Ohmygod. I will jump on the tub, then on the left side of the sink. I'll be in there in seconds. Crap, she's opening the cabinet door; I must duck. Now what? What the hell, she's putting me on the floor. Noah, too. I will repsosition myself right behind her. I am jumping back on the tub. I'm waiting. I'm back on the sink. She's saying something, which is stupid, because I can't understand her. I think she's kind of pi**ed off, but that never means anything. Crap, I'm on the floor again, this time with a little more vigour. I'm on the tub. I'm on the sink. I've just inserted my head under the little waterfall. Noah is waiting his turn, sink right. She's pulling me off and...saying something.  I am on the floor again, looking at her expectantly. I'm going to try again...now! I'm back. She's exhausted, but perseveres. She's putting crap on her face...still applying crap...squinting and frowning, shaking her head...and she's done! She is pausing - and.... she gives in.  We, Noah and msyelf, are triumphant.  My head is all wet...my head is wet. The water is cold. The water is good. So good. Good and cold."

But I could be wrong. I'm not a mind reader.

I spy with my little eye, a cow. A Swiss cow.

This peaceful, bucolic (which is so much nicer than bubonic!)vista lies right outside my sister Cookie's office located outside of Zurich. If I were her, I would constantly be fighting off the urge to run outside, dosey-do through the poplars and spin, arms outstretched into the mountain grandeur. And when the lunch bells rang, I'd have to dash back to pick up my habit.

The laughing cow is her office mate, always at the ready with a kind word of encouragment and a little protein pick-me-up.

Mini Golf - Strangely Wonderful!

If there's anything more fun, and a little weird, than putting a ball over tiny fairways, or through the mouth of a ceramic whale, I have yet to find it.

This course is in Kittery, ME, just awaiting the summer crowds dripping pistachio s'cream after a long day at the beach.

2008 Boston Marathon - It's hard to take your eyes off the runners, but sometimes that's not where the action is.

Goodness knows when you're watching the marathon, it's the runners - smiling, limping, bleeding, staggering, wearing tutus and carrying star-tipped wands - that deserve our full attention. Nay, not just our attention, but our support. But sometimes the true spirit of the marathon lies just to the side of the course, in this pile of discarded water cups, say (I think one of the best things about running a race is the ability to strip and litter with impunity) or in this messianic fella in the white blessing runners as they pass Coolidge Corner. "Do you think he'll mind if I take his picture?" I asked Jeri. "Oh no, he loves it! He directs traffic around here all the time and people are always stopping for a photo." Well, this guy was never around when I lived in the neighborhood, which is a pity, because it would have prepared me for what came next: New York. Except this man isn't wearing his poop laden trousers down around his ankles, so New York would have still come as a shock.

Boston-Portsmith-Kittery

One of the many things I loved about Boston is it's promiximity to the other places I loved just as much. On my recent visit back, Jeri and I took Maude (the silver Mini-Cooper!) on a day jaunt to Portsmith, NH and then right across the bridge to Kittery, Maine. I'm one of those people that likes certain places to stay just as I remember them, but I knew going in that my fave cafe in P'smith, Cafe Brioche, was now another cafe altogether. Still, you can have your cuppa across from this lovely church right in the central square. As for Maine, I paid homage to all the usual suspects: the Crate & Barrel outlet, but more importantly the ocean (the salty air was amazing) and those wonderful larger than life lobsters that seem to decorate every second sign. In just a few weeks the beaches will be filled with people and the ice cream stands will have crowds up the yahoo. I dream of things like this...