One of the Family

I have an olde-worlde soul...and this painting ('One of the Family' by Frederick Cotman) captures my idea of a perfectly rustic, domestic household.

Google's Sesame Street tribute

To celebrate the 40th Anniversary of 'Sesame Street', Google came up with some real cute logos. Here goes:

The best of SnorgTees.com

Leo, The Mighty Lab

I used to look at (my dog) Smokey and think, 'If you were a little smarter you could tell me what you were thinking,' and he'd look at me like he was saying, 'If you were a little smarter, I wouldn't have to.'

~ Fred Jungclaus

p.s. ...that's LEO...he isn't mine, but I have been covered with enough doggy-drawl and fallen-prey to enough 'puppy-dog' eyes to forget that l'il fact...

The Tale of Custard The Dragon ~ Ogden Nash

...in an attempt to keep the ol'clogs well-oiled, I have decided to memorize stuff...poems, songs, thoughts, quotes and what-have-you....and first on my list is "The Tale of Custard the Dragon" by Ogden Nash. It appeals to my love for the inane...

The Tale of Custard the Dragon
Belinda lived in a little white house,

With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,

And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,

And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,

And the little gray mouse, she called hum Blink,

And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,

But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,

And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,

Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,

And realio, trulio daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,

And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,

Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,

Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,

They all sat laughing in the little red wagon

At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,

and Blink said Weeck! which is giggling for a mouse,

Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,

When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,

And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.

Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,

For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,

And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,

His beard was black, one leg was wood;

It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried Help! Help!

But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,

Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,

And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard snorting like an engine,

Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,

With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm,

He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,

And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,

He fired two bullets, but they didn't hit,

And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,

No one mourned for his pirate victim.

Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate

Around the dragon that ate the pirate.

But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,

I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered.

And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,

We'd have been three times as brave, we think,

And Custard said, I quite agree

That everybody is braver than me.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,

With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,

And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,

And her realio, trulio little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,

And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,

Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

MARVEL Poster

MARVEL rules! Came across this wicked-cool piece of artwork and have been drooling over it ever-since...

Jamie at Home - Artwork

I love the drawings that pop up during *Jamie at Home*. Pages of a crusty notebook, they are grimy, dirty with food spots…and yet flow with colour and crazy word bubbles. They remind me of the lazy doodles I used to make sitting at the back of an accounts class in college…..ah...Halcyon Days.

Italian for Beginners

If this is your first chick-lit, you’ll enjoy it thoroughly. And if it’s your 55th chick-lit, you may not be blown away by the story but will still come away with a warm fuzzy feeling. I come under the latter category and ‘Italian for Beginners’ was a fun romp.

The plot has been done to death… Sensible yet single heroine on the wrong side of thirty…nosey relatives who love to drop poisonous barbs at every given opportunity (especially at embarrassing public gatherings like weddings)…unresolved issues with a deceased parent....a well-paying though dead-end job…and the cherry on the cake: a non-existent love-life. Say hello to our heroine:Cat Connelly.

Cat meets the seemingly perfect man, but things go awry when she learns that he is married. In a bid to break out of her safe mould, she scoots off to Rome (a place she has always loved), where she hopes to reunite with an old flame. But the book is 340-pages thick and Cat’s problems cannot be solved so soon. She encounters crazy situations and messy emotions that she could have done without. She learns to deal with her past baggage. She rediscovers her self…her self-worth…and people who prop her up with their buoyancy and sheer pig-headedness.

And the whole transformation was brought about in a glorious setting…the dusty, mellow around the edges, steeped in culture Roma. These were the parts I liked best. The author, Kirstin Harmel lets her love for the ancient city pour out through tiny but delicious descriptions, like:

I took a deep breath, soaking in the smells around me; baking bread from a nearby bakery; a hint of lavender perfume hanging in the air from the giggling pair of twenty-something girls who had just passed by; the slightly salty, slighty muddy smell of the Tiber river, drifting in from a block away.

I started off getting irritated with Cat’s seeming lack of backbone to feeling happy as I watched her grow, glow and shed her insecurities. A sweet light read that gives you a few moist-eyed moments; but mostly fills you with a strong yearning to wear a white sundress, a floppy straw-hat, gladiator-sandals and have your own l'il Roman Holiday

Book of Nature ~ RUSKIN BOND

'Nature doesn’t promise you anything - an after life, rewards for good behaviour, protection from enemies, wealth, happiness, progeny, all the things that humans desire and pray for. No, nature does not promise any of these things. Nature is a reward in itself.’

And with that fitting introduction, Ruskin Bond takes you into his personal paradise. He talks about his formative years and the influence that nature has had in shaping his thoughts and work. The book is interesting in bits and parts.

I enjoyed his memories of a childhood spent at his grandfather’s house in Dehra. Building a makeshift platform on the banyan tree…curling up with dog-eared books…and stealthily observing the antics of animal life in the overgrown garden below; all struck a nostalgic chord with me.

The sojourn in the Himalayas was also engrossing. He captures the stark beauty of the unforgiving terrain with all the fondness of a native. Especially poignant is the account of The Leopard. Read it and feel the elemental connection.

I revelled in the chapter on ‘Rains’…more so because I read the book during the monsoon. I have always had a specialty affinity for this particular season and over the years have made quite a few jottings of my own. Some of his notes mirrored mine and all I wanted to do was snuggle up and read on...and on.

On the downside…I didn’t much take to the tedious descriptions of plant-life. It was too reminiscent of a college-lecture to hold my interest.

While the book didn’t match the wit and sheer charm of 'My Family and Other Animals', it does resonate with all who have spent many a hazy summer day in their native places…soaking in nature and never ever realising the treasures surrounding them.

Danny the Champion of the World

When you grow up
and have children of your own
Do please remember
something important

A stodgy parent is no fun at all

What a child wants
and deserves
Is a parent who is
SPARKY

…and with that li’l post-script, Roald Dahl sums up the essence of Danny The Champion of The World.

Danny is a small boy, living with his father in an ancient gypsy caravan. They run a filling-station and lead an idyllic life in the countryside. Danny’s father is a fount of interesting ideas and information. Everyday brings something new and undiscovered to learn and Danny idolizes his dad.

But as it is with idols and their proverbial feet-of-clay, Danny soon discovers that his dad has a vice : Poaching. Poaching pheasants, to be precise. He dreams up of outlandish ploys to catch the birds and his favourite hunting-ground is owned by the wealthy (but nasty) Mr.Victor Hazell. Danny is soon swayed by the romanticism of the whole exercise and eventually his father intends coming up with a master plan.

Mr.Hazell holds an annual pheasant shooting-party. A grand affair attracting the rich and influential, it is Mr.Hazell’s moment of glory. And Danny’s father wants to teach the vile, beery-faced landowner a lesson..... by emptying the woods of every single pheasant. A sizeable task and here’s where Danny’s clever idea comes into play.

The book is a tricky one to judge. You start off a bit disgruntled to read about Danny’s father encouraging the unlawful act of poaching. But gradually like Danny you see the brilliance, daring, devilry and sheer thrill of the chase. Thanks to Dahl’s fiendish story-telling, the tables are turned and you are drawn towards the father-son relationship. It is warm, exciting and thanks to the one big flaw, all the more believable. One of Dahl’s more down-to-earth ventures.