Rainy Days And Gladiators

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We were met with a light morning rain as we walked out of our hotel. It was our sixth day in Rome and this was the first precipitation we had seen on our trip.  The mild downpour had also brought cooler weather, which after the usual ninety degree heat, was a relief for us.

I was confident that we would be able to purchase some umbrellas at one of the many kiosks which lined the narrow cobbled streets.

And sure enough, within ten minutes I was sporting a small yellow umbrella, and my husband a blue one.

It was when we passed some significant ruins close to the forum that we noticed two burly gladiators taking refuge from the rain in a covered rotunda.

These gladiators, of course were men dressed in gladiator costumes.  They make their living by posing with tourists who are eager to have their pictures taken with ferocious looking killers.

These, and other interesting characters can be easily found near the forum, coliseum, and other historically significant sites.

The cost to have a picture taken with them is around ten euros, which then, came to about thirteen dollars.

I could feel the poor gladiators discontent with the gloomy weather as we approached.  They were unhappily muttering to each other in Italian.  Clearly, the rain was putting a damper on business.

We had just barely passed them when we heard a gladiator loudly address us from behind.

“Picture with your wife for seven euros,” he yelled at us. The resourceful chap had dropped the price on account of the rain.  He was hoping we would jump at the chance to save three euros.  

We did not stop, nor did we look back.

After a few moments, seeing that we were not interested, he snarled out his final offer to my husband.

“Five euros for a picture,

               ... and I’ll kill your wife for free.”

A Thing About Vampires...

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Everyone has a fear of one type of unnatural creature or another.

It could be mummies, a disembodied hand, zombies, werewolves, on and on.

For me, ... it’s vampires.

It all began in the early 1970’s when I went to a vampire double feature at the movies. The first movie was THE FEARLESS VAMPIRE KILLERS or “Pardon me, but your teeth are in my neck” and the second feature was DARK SHADOWS, the movie based on the popular 1960’s television show. 

There was a scene when Barnabas Collins suddenly appeared behind a sheer curtain at a moonlight filled window.  Only a few seconds later, he was feasting on some poor girl’s neck.  For quite a while after that, I wore a scarf to bed and tried my best to sleep with one eye open, because I had those same sheers for curtains.

Okay, now fast forward to 1977.  It is June and I m on my honeymoon in Toronto at the Eaton Shopping Center. We enter a bookstore and begin looking around for nothing in particular. 

While in the paperback section, my husband reaches for a paperback, skims the back cover, and then holds it out to me.

“Here,” he says to me, “I want you to read this.”

I take it into my hands and begin to read what it’s about.  I quickly learn that it’s about... guess what?  Of course, it’s about vampires.  Even the title SALEM’S LOT (by Stephen King) is ominous.

I remember shaking my head NO and muttering something to Frank that I didn’t like vampires. But unfortunately, he was most insistent.

“Read it,” he repeated as he held it out to me.

It had been a while since I read a book, and I had heard alot about this new author. 

Besides, within a few days we I would find myself on a long voyage out east to Nova Scotia where Frank had been newly stationed.  I thought the book might help break the monotony.

We bought it.

Sure enough, before I knew it, Frank and I were on our way to start a new life in a new province.  The car was filled with all that we owned, clothes, music, and each other.

I think we were in the middle of Quebec when I first opened the book and began to read it.

Oddly enough, when I think back, I remember reading it while listening to Art Garfunkel’s new album ANGEL CLAIRE.

As days went by, I delved further and further into the book.  It became more and more bloody and increasingly difficult to bear.  Every now and again, Frank would ask me how I was enjoying the book.

“It’s bloody scary.” I’d answer.  He’d give me an odd look of puzzlement, which I could never really figure out. 

 At long last came the day when I finally, ... finally finished SALEM’S LOT.

With a deep and heavy sigh, I closed the book for the last time.  No doubt the visions of glowing eyes, and bloody necks would stay with me for a very long time.  I wondered to myself how long it would be before I ever read another vampire novel again. (About 20 years – INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE by Anne Rice)

To this day, whenever I hear Art Garfunkel, scenes from SALEMS’S LOT floods my senses.

And of course, came the moment when Frank ultimately asked me the question that I knew he had been dying to ask...

“How did you like the book?”

“Well,” I began, “the first few chapters weren’t that gory, but boy by the middle of the book I was completely immersed in all the gory ritualistic details that make vampires the blood soaked individuals that they are.

Again, he gave me one of those quizzical looks.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

With that, I recounted several high points of the plot... the ones ever etched in my mind and never to forget.

“Hmmm,”  he said.  “Are you sure?”

I nodded yes.

He thought for a moment then said to me... 

“Sorry, I must have read another book.”

Remembering The Barbie Days Of Summer...

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For the last little while I have been thinking about how much I loved playing with Barbies all those many years ago.

How wonderful was that?

It was a very good feeling when you popped open your Barbie Suitcase or emptied your bag on an outstretched blanket in the middle of the park.  Remember the instant effusion of fashion, color and fun?

Do you recall the little mini Barbie fashion magazines that came with an official clothing purchase? That was my very first introduction to haute couture.  I was only four years old. 

There were a few lucky girls who had acquired all things Barbie thanks to their affluent family ties.  However, the vast majority of us had a tolerable amount of Barbie clothes. There was one credo though, that was shared by us all, whether you came from an affluent family or not.  And that was.....

...no Barbie should ever,

EVER, have to go naked! 

Naked Barbies were a very sad and sorry sight, (unless they were in the process of being changed or getting bathed of course.)

It was surprising at how far girls could stretch and manipulate a very limited amount of Barbie clothes.  When times were desperate we would take to needle & thread, crochet hook, even fabric remnants and craft Barbie fashions of our own.

Indeed, I remember times when a new Barbie initiate had only a swimsuit or single dress in her possession, then we would rummage through our bags for bits and pieces of garb that we were willing to part with.  Mind you, these would tend to be well worn, and most likely in need of several stitches, but nevertheless, these small tokens were welcomed by the needy recipients.

I’ve lost track of what Barbie is up to these days, but I have no doubt that her figure is still perfect and that she has not developed the obligatory grey hair and other challenges that come with age.

I am happy to report that I still have my original Barbie doll given to me way back in the early sixties. She’s a bit scarred here and there mind you.  Her red bouffant hair has regrettably, had a bit of a trim, and her left hand has lost a finger thanks to one of our former dogs, Mr. Itchy. Otherwise, she is good.... better than me in fact.

And do you know what? 

I think that it may be time for another Barbie summer.

P.S.  My Barbie is currently as naked as the proverbial jay bird.

Any and all donations are welcome!

The Pen is Mightier Than the App

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Earlier today, I could not help but feel a sense of loss when I was introduced to the Mac's version of a personal daily journal.

Certainly, you must have wondered as you walk through your favourite bookstore: "Who on earth would pay that kind of money for a writing journal?

Me, that's who.

In the last twenty years I have filled in dozens of journals in every size, shape and price range.

And what do I put in them you say?

Notes, stories, wishes, even favourite pictures from magazines and favourite quotes.

There is always, always one within arms length from me no matter where I am, or what time of day it is.

And so... now there is a journal app on my computer as well.

What am I to do with my pens, pencils, sharpeners, erasers?

I certainly fear that an art form is falling by the wayside.  Indeed, it was not that long ago when I read of a school board in the state of Georgia who decided that long hand writing is now obsolete and will no longer be taught to students.

And it seems like only a few weeks ago, that I walked by a rotary pencil sharpener and took a picture of it lest it be the last one I ever see.

Got kind of misty too...

And so, I will continue to practice in the way of of the ancients and continue to put pen and pencil to paper in favour of keeping an online journal.

For ever and ever,

Amen.

You'd Better Pack Lightly If You Want to Travel With The Doctor

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I am experiencing a sort of envy for Amy Pond, the girl who waited in the Doctor Who Series.

At the mere suggestion of an invitation to travel with the Doctor, she walked through the Tardis clad only in her nightgown.

How I aspire to be like that.

You see....

I was never one to travel lightly.

Should I ever get the profound pleasure of hitching a ride through the galaxy, my first thoughts most likely would be...

Hairbrush, lipstick, suitcase full of clothes, journal, pen, ample supply of gum, cell phone.

Have I turned out all the lights?

Is the iron unplugged?

By that time of course, the good Doctor would be all the way to the 26th century or beyond and found himself another companion, who isn't quite as high maintenance as myself.

Many years back, I came across a website offering the chance at time travel.

For a fee, they would draw up legal documentation making it clear to any time travellers in the future, that you are willing to tag along and are willing to forfeit any legal ramifications on the time travellers behalf.

To this day, I am unsure if I would be willing to risk my pleasant little humble life and joys of family and friends.

And so, with this in mind, I appreciate Amy Pond's fortitude even though she is only a fictional character.

I appreciate daily lessons wherever & whenever I can find them.

To Err Is Inevitable...

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"Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it." ~ Anne of Green Gables


My daughter likes to quote that saying alot. Probably because she knows that it annoys me so much.

Mistakes are inevitable with me because I am truly flawed. My goal is to keep them to a minimum and learn from them when I can.

For my friends who get stressed over their mistakes, I relate the following true story.

Oppenheimer & Einstein developed the first nuclear bomb together without ever having met.

It was at last decided that a historical meeting would finally be arranged and only one photographer would be allowed to document the event. This photographer was best known from his work at Life magazine and was considered at the top of his field.

This meeting did not last long and was quickly over. Oppenheimer and Einstein would never meet again.

The photographer went back to his lab to develop the pictures for the blockbuster story.

Imagine his utter disappointment when he realized that he had neglected to remove the lens cap cover.

So, with that in mind, I refuse to be daunted by my future mistakes...

Bring it on....

OLD CANDLES...

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I love candles.

Throughout my house, there are candles large and small that I have collected over the decades. My Christmas candles are particularly prized because all have come as gifts from departed loved ones.

What saddens me is that over the years, the older candles have lost a portion of their colourful charm. Their smooth texture has taken on a dusty grain.


Each year, as I place them about the house I question myself as to why they remain unused. Perhaps it would have been better if they had been put to use while they were still vibrant and new.

Maybe so.

However, what sets my heart aglow is the fact, that the moment I decide to take a match to it's waiting wick it will burn brightly, no matter how old, faded or dusty it may be.

Like these candles, I too grow older. And as oncoming years fade and dust my exterior, I have one resolute hope. May my family and loved ones always know without a doubt, that like these old candles, when lit, I will always have the potential to burn brightly into the night.