Analyze This!

I am feeling a bit uneasy and cannibalistic discussing this but did you know that how you eat gingerbread boy tells a lot about you? There are so many ways we can self-analyze ourselves, but I found this one particularly entertaining.

Apparently if you eat the head first, says Dr. Alan Hirsch, you are a natural born leader. I always eat the head first. For some reason it just makes sense to me. As for the natural born leader stuff, well, maybe—because I am not a very good follower. Just ask any man I have ever slow danced with or with whom I have ever slow danced if you are in proper grammar mood (although I am not 100% sure of this as I am getting a bit spongy.)

Dr. Hirsch is the neurological director of the Smell and Taste Treatment and Research Foundation, and one would think he had better things to do than analyze how we eat our gingerbread—but apparently not. Personally I think he may have just made up this seasonal anecdote, but I am a bit sceptical by nature.

If his analysis is true, then I wish that I ate the left arm of my gingerbread boy first because that means that I am creative. I am going to stay away from the right arm altogether though, as eating it first means you are pessimistic. I do not need any more pessimism in my life, so if you see a trail of gingerbread right arms anywhere, you will know I have been there.

Now, eating the legs is a whole different ball game—if you prefer to start there it means you are sensitive. I do not start with the legs, but my husband often says I have “delicate sensibilities” which translated means of course, that I am a pain in the neck, and possibly down a bit further. So it is amazing that I do not eat the legs first, but I don’t. (Are you lookin’ at me?)

The article from which I gleaned these fascinating facts was written by an unknown editor in the December Food Network magazine. It was accompanied by a picture of a gingerbread boy with his mouth likened to the famous “Scream” painting, and there was a bite out of his head. A little unsettling to say the least—maybe I will forego eating any gingerbread boys this season.

So, where do you take your first bite into a gingerbread boy?

Yay!

I am not sure what this means–but it can’t be bad:

Can Weblog Awards ‏@CanWeblogAwards 13h13 hours ago

http://onthehomefrontandbeyond.wordpress.com/  from @HomefrontBeyond has been nominated in the 2014 @CanWeblogAwards! #2014CWA

Why Did I Feel I Had to Blog This?

Raindrops on kittens
And whiskers on roses; much
more interesting.

17 syllables are sometimes very unforgiving.

Getting a word in early……………Dear Santa

Never having written a Dear Santa letter in my youth, this week I write to him for the first time in my weekly column:

I am going to do something that I have never heretofore done. I am going to write a letter to Santa. I do not remember ever writing to Santa to ask for something for Christmas, so it is nigh high time. I may have scribbled a note to him left with milk and cookies, but a true Dear Santa letter has never been written, so here goes:

Dear Santa;

Hope all is well at the North Pole and that the elves are being diligent. Tell your wife hello and wish her a Merry Christmas for me. I suspect you are getting ready for the big day even though it is still a month away. I hear you were in my small town last week in the parade, and from all accounts you did yourself proud.

Okay, now that I have dispensed with the preliminaries, let me get down to the nitty gritty of this letter. As you probably know by now, people write to you asking for gifts but in the process couch their requests in niceties as we have been taught that it is impolite to be greedy. Far be it from me to be thought greedy, but at this time of year I have to admit, I like to receive as well as give. I am being honest here and hope you will at least get me some credit for that.

I would like to ask for peace on earth and that everyone be fed and clothed and warm this winter but I know that it is not your responsibility, so I will leave that to a higher source to guide the rest of us to continue the quest that though seems impossible, is not one we should give up on.

Okay, so here is what I want for Christmas. It is a book called “The Sense of Style: The Thinking Person’s Guide to Writing in the 21st Century.” Quite a mouthful isn’t it? I can understand why you might think that it is a rather pretentious request, and a less than modest one, in that the title includes the words “The Thinking Person”, but I think I should be congratulated for wanting to better myself.

The book is written by Steven Pinker, who until he wrote the book was a high ranking academic (and still is, the fact that he wrote the book did not change his status.) He was born in Montreal, is around my age, and seems to be approaching the whole thing of grammar in a rather tongue-in-cheek way from the review I read in the Sunday Toronto Star. Tongue-in-cheek, yet still serious.

Pinker, unlike legions of us lesser folk, believes that “grammar is a fascinating subject in its own right”. Now I must admit that I like grammar too, though I break many of its tenets on a regular basis. In order to make the subject more appealing to a broader base he says that one should think of “grammar as the original sharing app” which is our “solution (for) getting complicated thoughts from one head into another.”

He rails against what he calls academic “highfalutin’ gobbledygook” wherein academics use “ponderousness as proof of gravitas” when in reality “their writing stinks”. I know firsthand whereof he speaks having turned out numerous essays in my younger days that make me scratch my head when I reread them today. (It humbles me that I do not understand the writings of my youth, but then I comfort myself with the fact that one has to put them in the context of being an answer to a dubious assignment by a crafty professor.)

Santa, I know it makes me sound like a bit of a book nerd to want this book for Christmas when I could ask for shiny baubles, warm sweaters, and perfume (all of which are welcome btw) but I have always found that the voice behind the books I read are comforting, compelling, and sometimes I even learn something (though retaining it is another story).

I am convinced that I want this book merely by reading a deft review by Jim Coyle. In his article he dedicated the last paragraph to a quote by Pinker who stated rather elegantly that “To a literate reader, a crisp sentence, an arresting metaphor, a witty aside, an elegant turn of phrase are among life’s greatest pleasures.”

Santa, just so you do not feel any undue pressure, I am letting my husband read this letter too—so between the two of you maybe you can come up with a plan to have this book, shiny and new, wrapped up and under my Christmas tree, in oh say, a month’s time?

With love and admiration, LouAnn

What would you ask Santa for?

Thanksgiving = Blogging Break

Although our Thanksgiving is long past, I am saving these instructions for Christmas–make sure you read “How To Cook A Turkey”……

sharechair

As Thanksgiving approaches, we often reflect on the many things for which we are thankful. I am so very grateful for every individual in this blogging community. I appreciate each and every reader, and I want you to know that. 🙂

Wishing a Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate the day and a Happy Last-Week-in-November for everyone else.

I leave you this week with these directions for cooking your Thanksgiving Turkey.

( I dedicate this to a certain group of friends….. you know who you are 🙂 )

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5:00 PM Bell: Let’s Go!

reblogging just because I liked this

Live & Learn

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Source: gifak.net

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Rose Coloured Glasses

Sparkling bright silver
The colour of November
Not doomsday dull grey.

It is time to put our optimism on and wear it gladly and gaily.

TOO SOON!

Thrown into winter
Windy, snowy, freezing cold
Shiver me timbers

Zenku #214

the power of eight words…………..

Zen Kettle

Every day

Dawn Noon Dusk

Birth Life Death

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The Place “Just Right”

The Santa Claus Parade and Festival of Lights have started the holiday season in my little town, and this is my weekly newspaper column dedicated in part to that tradition and my own traditions which are, if I do say so myself, a bit quirky:

The strains of holiday cheer fill the air. In my mind’s eye I can see the Christmas parade replete with bands in their regalia, floats full of red cheeked faces, drummers drumming, and the festive evening’s darkness cut by glowing lights. I imagine the jolly old elf punctuating the night air with “ho ho ho”; his lovely wife loyally by his side waving and smiling at the crowd. And I see the children full of hope as the magic of the holiday season begins in our fair town.

I see these things clearly. But this year I participate from the warmth of my home. The thought did cross my mind to leave the toasty confines of my little red chair in the corner of my living room, but it was fleeting. No one wanted to accompany me the half a block walk to the corner of my street to watch the annual parade and I did not want to bundle up and venture out on this cold cold night by myself. I noticed on Facebook the day after the parade that several of my friends tempted the cold and watched the parade, but their conclusion was the same—the parade was wonderful, but it was “freakin’” (a term I am convinced was coined by Regis Philbin) cold.

Nevertheless, I did participate in a way that has become somewhat of a tradition that I have donned since my kids have grown up and are no longer interested in standing out in the cold with me. I left my chair and the glow of the TV and climbed the stairs to my upstairs bathroom. From that vantage point I could see the fireworks that both noisily and colourfully ushered in the “most wonderful time of the year.” I corralled my youngest son to join me, and we gazed out the window together, warm and cozy in that little utilitarian room. He got a little agitated at one point, wanting to get back to whatever he was doing before I asked him to join me, but I prevailed upon him with that most poignant of tools a mother has in her arsenal—guilt—so he stayed until the bitter end. Which was not bitter at all.

From our perch on the bathroom counter we had a view most others could not replicate. There was no straining of necks, no chill up our spines, no jockeying for position in the crowd. We could just enjoy the display and hear the oohs and awes of the crowd a mere few blocks away. I actually oohed and awed a few times just for good measure and ironic pleasure—but to be honest, there were some undeniable wows in the display. It was a fitting way to begin the season. I have quietly been introducing a few decorations into my home décor—a “real” evergreen wreath on the front door, a festive planter on my coffee table, some red and green ribbon waiting patiently to festoon its way through the house.

As I write this there is freshly fallen snow outside, forming crests on our bushes and adding newness to our surroundings. According to the weather men and women we are in for a November week that rivals mid-winter. And that is okay. We have to make the transition and if it is early this year, so be it. I will be taking on decorating with fervour in the next couple of weeks, my motto being “if it takes a day or so to put up and a day or so to take down, I need to enjoy it for a few weeks”. I am someone who is no stranger to hard work (and don’t let anyone tell you that decorating is not hard work) but I like the fruit of my labours to last for a while.

This year, as in others, I will start out determined to simplify Christmas, and get it down to an art. But Christmas is not an art. It is not perfect. I have come to the conclusion that it is a craft; one that is original every year yet has aspects of its forebears. A favourite little ditty that I love and brings to mind all that is simple and good (and unattainable) follows. It is called “Simple Gifts” and is attributed as an American Shaker hymn. On the surface it sums up how I would like life to be in general, and Christmas in particular: “ ‘Tis the gift to be simple, /‘Tis the gift to be free/‘Tis the gift to come down/Where we ought to be/And when we find ourselves/In the place just right, /Twill be in the valley/Of love and delight……………..”

Here is hoping that in this Christmas season, we all land “in the place just right.”

Where is your Christmas “place just right”?