The Wearing of the Green

Thought for the day: It's fine to pretend to be Irish on St. Patrick's day; we pretend to be good on Christmas, don't we?

Yep, today's the day even folks with a last name like Swiderski can celebrate the Irish. Why not? I'm all for wearing a bit o' the green and talking a bit o' blarney, no matter what day of the year it is. As for today... just call me O'Swiderski.

What follows is a St. Patrick's Day post from three years ago. Seeing's as today is St. Patrick's Day AND my usual day to post, I thought it's be a foin idea to run it again. Then I'll have more free time to do the jig or something.

Care to join me... and a one and a two and a...(pant, pant, pant)

Never mind. You dance. I'll watch.







***********

Thought for the day:  Never borrow money from a leprechaun. They're always a little short.

[Wikipedia]

Yep, it seems like everybody wants to be Irish on St. Patrick's Day, doesn't it? Doesn't matter a shillelagh what your actual lineage is, either, for 'tis a grand day for dusting off that "Kiss me; I'm Irish" button, and pinning it to your shirt.

Know what's kinda funny about that? (shhhh) St. Patrick... wasn't Irish!

[Wikipedia]

Aye, and that's the truth, it is. St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, wasn't born in Ireland at all... and neither were his ancestors. However, he is credited with introducing Christianity to the Emerald Isle, where he evangelized for thirty years.

[Wikipedia]

He used the shamrock... the three-leaf clover... as a visual prop to teach the concept of the Trinity. We talk about the luck o' the Irish, and associate the shamrock with the Irish, but it's the four-leaf clover that's considered the lucky pick, simply because of its rarity.

[seniorark]

Even though many people use St. Patrick's Day as an excuse to guzzle even more beer than usual these days, from 1903 until 1970, it was a religious holiday in Ireland, and thus...a dry day. No booze. It converted to a national holiday in 1970, and the taps have been flowing freely ever since. (Obviously, the guy in that picture is a purist... his beer isn't green.)

[Wikipedia]

St. Patrick's Day, as celebrated worldwide, is marked with parades, festivals, shamrocks, wearing o' the green, drinking Irish whiskey and green beer, and sometimes... eating corned beef and cabbage. Many buildings of the world use decorative green lighting, and rivers, lakes, and ponds galore are dyed green. Even the fountain in front of the White House glistens emerald.

[Wikipedia]

Heck, what am I saying? The celebration of St. Patrick's Day is even outta this world. Dare ye to doubt me? Check out this picture of astronaut Chris Hadfield in the International Space Station, wearing his spiffy green bow tie while orbiting the planet on St. Patrick's Day, 2013. (Kinda looks like he's doing an Irish dance, too, doesn't it?)


Talking about Irish dances, have you seen this video?

                                                      See? Even chimps wanta be Irish.

[one of my favorite pins]

* Think there's any truth to the theory that the Irish dance was born because there weren't enough urinals in the pub? (Think about it...)

* Know why you should never iron a four-leaf clover? It's never a good idea to press your luck.

*  Know how to tell if an Irishman is having a good time? Easy. He's Dublin over with laughter.


Okay, I'll stop.

Since St. Patrick's Day is already here, it's too late to try this corned beef  recipe this time around, but you might want to give it a whirl next year. It isn't that much work, and I guarantee you, it'll be the best corned beef you ever ate. There are no nitrites in it, so the meat doesn't turn that unnatural red color, but it is gooooooooood.

For the salt and spice mix, you'll need 1 1/3 cups of Kosher (or coarse) salt, 3 T sugar, 1 T cracked peppercorns, 2 t allspice, 2 t thyme, 1 t sage, 1 t paprika, 1 large bay leaf, and 2 large cloves of garlic, minced.

Cut of meat - brisket, chuck, eye round roast, or bottom round, about 4-5 pounds

To Cure- Trim excess fat. Blend salt and spices, and rub the mixture into the meat. Liberally. Place meat into a large plastic bag and toss in the remaining salt/spice mixture. If you'd like, you can add a sliced onion and sliced carrot, too. Squeeze out as much air as you can, and then seal the bag. Put it into a a large bowl, cover it with a plate or pan, and weigh it down. (Put something on top of it that's heavy enough to keep the plate firmly pressed against the meat.) Place in the bottom of your fridge. Turn and knead the bag at least once a day until the curing process is completed. You should cure for at least two weeks, and up to a full month.

After curing: Wash the meat in cold water, and then soak it in a large bowl of cold water for about 24 hours to get rid of excess salt. If you'd like, you can tie it with butcher's twine, but it isn't necessary.

To Cook: Put meat in a large pot, and cover with water. Add an onion stuck with four cloves, a large carrot, and two celery stalks. Bring to a simmer, and skim off the scum for several minutes. (And I mean "scum" in the nicest way ...) Cover, leaving lid askew to allow for circulation, and simmer for 3- 3 1/2 hours, or until the meat is deliciously fork tender. Enjoy!

****************

 Until next time, take care of yourselves, and each other. 

Bless your little Irish heart, and every other Irish part.

May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head always be strong. And may you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.

Good Thing I'm Not Superstitious

Thought for the day:  My surgeon is really funny; he always has me in stitches.

Sheesh. Leave it to me to schedule surgery for a Friday the 13th, huh? Good thing I'm not superstitious... and hopefully, neither is Dr. Lee.

Not a biggie. After my cataract surgery in 2001, my eyelids were pretty stretched and saggy. C'est la vie. But in the past couple of years, since I've had to do the daily drops for glaucoma, the eyelids have gotten so saggy, they're interfering with my field of vision. (sigh) So the doc said, "Fix 'em!"

My eyelids have fallen, and they can't get up!

So I'm fixing them. Today. For a while, I'll probably look like Smarticus beat me up, but once the swelling goes down, I should be able to see a lot better. But just because I'm gonna be out of it today doesn't mean I shouldn't leave you guys a post, though, right? So here's a Friday the 13th re-run. Seeya next Friday.

                      Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                                                             

****************************

Thought for the day:  Why in the world do people think an amputated rabbit's foot will bring them luck? The way I see it, it sure didn't bring any luck to the rabbit...

[morguefile]

I'm not at all superstitious. Friday the thirteenth is just like any other day, knock on wood. But don't worry. For those of you who are superstitious, I've got my fingers crossed that you encounter nothing but good luck today.

I do NOT believe the act of washing a car will make it rain. Well, actually, maybe it will, but as everyone knows, that's due to science, not superstition... Murphy's law and all that.

I say NO to the notion that breaking a mirror will bring seven years' bad luck. True, I have a peculiar propensity for avoiding mirrors as much as possible, but that has nothing to do with a fear of breaking them. I just don't wanta give that old-gray-mare-who-ain't-what-she-used-to-be who stares back at me the satisfaction. Why let that old broad spoil an otherwise great day?

I do NOT believe garlic will keep away vampires and evil spirits; I just happen to LIKE eating it. I also enjoy eating an apple every day, and it has absolutely nothing to do with that silly old saying about keeping the doctor away. Sure, I pick up pennies when I spot them lying on the ground, but it has nothing to do with that old Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you'll have good luck. Nothing at all. I'm simply cheap frugal.

We do NOT have any lucky horseshoes hanging in our house, but if we did, I'd be sure they were hanging properly. You know, so it looks like the letter U. And that has nothing to do with that blather about not letting the luck run out. They simply... look better... that way.

Oh, I could go on and on, like about how unlucky it's supposed to be to walk under a ladder, to rock an empty rocking chair, to open an umbrella in the house, or for a black cat to cross your path. (Like Groucho Marx said, A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.) But I won't. Instead, we're gonna concentrate on Friday the thirteenth. Ever wonder why that date makes some superstitious people fairly tremble in fear? Well, then, you've come to the right place. I'm gonna tell ya.

The following post originally appeared on May 13, 2011... a Friday the 13th, of course, and it had the original title of Friggatriskaidekaphobia, Anyone? I hope you enjoy it.
********************************

Thought for the day:  Luck is the idol of the idle.

[morguefile]

Friggatriskaidikaphobia is a freaky cool word that means fear of Friday the 13th. Since Friday is considered by some to be an unlucky day, and thirteen is feared by some as an unlucky number, it should come as no surprise that when the two converge, superstitious fears multiply accordingly. We could say that

Unlucky Friday + Unlucky Thirteen = Unluckier Friday

The word superstition means a belief or practice resulting from ignorance and fear of the unknown, a trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation. Although I have no statistics to back me up, I'll hazard a guess that there are far more superstitious males than females. I mean, really, have you ever heard of a woman refusing to change her lucky drawers or socks? No, of course not. Although I will concede that this peculiar attachment to one's dirty socks and undies and by extension, one's aversion to donning clean ones, may in fact be rooted in something entirely different than a belief in their ability to prolong a streak of good luck. For any gentlemen with a proclivity to wear said scuzzy skivvies, be forewarned: No matter how much  luck you believe those skivvies may bring you in games of chance or sport, I double dog guarantee you that wearing them will NOT lead to any semblance of luck with the ladies.

[morguefile]

Most of us are familiar with superstitions dealing with black cats, spilling salt, breaking mirrors, and walking under ladders, but have you ever wondered where those superstitions originated?

And why FRIDAYS, for goodness sake?

And why the number THIRTEEN?

Because...

WHY FRIDAY  : In ancient Rome, Friday was the designated day for executions, which certainly ended a streak of good luck for anyone whacked by the authorities, whether he was wearing his lucky bowling shirt or not. Witches' covens allegedly gather on Fridays, too, and in the Middle Ages, Friday was actually dubbed "Witches' Sabbath". The Good Friday crucifixion of Christ casts the greatest stigma on the day for Christians, but other Biblical events are also attributed to Friday: the day Eve gave Adam the apple, the day they were expelled from Eden, the day God struck the Tower of Babel, and the day Solomon's Temple was destroyed.

Some of the strange superstitions regarding Friday are:

• Clothing made on a Friday will never fit properly.
• Visiting a doctor on a Friday will lead to no good news.
• Changing bedclothes on a Friday will lead to nightmares.
• Marrying or moving on a Friday will come to a bad end.
• Cutting your nails on a Friday will lead to sorrow.
• Receiving bad news on a Friday will cause more wrinkles than receiving them on any other day of the week.
• Starting a trip on a Friday will lead to misfortune.
• Ships that set sail on a Friday are doomed to suffer bad luck.

About a hundred years ago, to disprove the superstition about ships, the Brits commissioned H.M.S. Friday. The crew was selected on a Friday, the keel was set on a Friday,  the ship was launched on a Friday, and the man chosen to captain the ship was even named Friday. The ship set sail on its maiden voyage on a Friday, too. And was never heard from again.

[morguefile]

WHY THIRTEEN: You're probably more familiar with this word: triskaidekaphobia. That's the fear of the number thirteen, and it's no secret that many buildings don't acknowledge a thirteenth floor, and many cities opt to skip Thirteenth Street. But, WHY? 

For one thing, a witch's coven has thirteen members. There are also thirteen steps leading to the gallows, and thirteen knots in a hangman's noose. The blade of a guillotine falls thirteen feet, and at her trial, Lizzie Borden spoke thirteen words. There were thirteen people at the Last Supper, and the thirteenth card in a deck of tarot cards? Death.

Apollo 13, the thirteenth mission to be launched from pad #39, (13 X 3)  was aborted after an explosion in the fuel cell of the service module, after leaving the launching pad at 13:13 CST. The date? April thirteenth.

One theory about the root of triskaidekaphobia lays it at the feet of ancient man. It claims that when man was first learning to count, he counted on ten fingers and two feet, so anything beyond twelve was considered frightening and mysterious. On the other hand, what I find mysterious is why he didn't count on his ten toes, too. It's highly possible that he refused to take off his lucky socks.

Would you believe the number thirteen was once considered lucky? For one thing, some early religions considered the thirteenth step to be the one souls take to enter the eternal glory of the afterlife. And in the prehistoric goddess-worshiping cultures, the number thirteen represented femininity, and corresponded to the number of lunar (and menstrual) cycles in a year. The Earth Mother of Laussel, an ancient carving found in France, depicts a female holding a crescent-shaped horn with, you guessed it,  thirteen notches in it. Later, when society became male-dominated and the solar calendar replaced the lunar one, twelve became the "perfect" number, replacing the "imperfect" thirteen.

So, there ya have it. Now you know a little bit about the superstitions associated with Friday the thirteenth. Me? I still prefer the TGIF approach.

How about you? Do you have any superstitions or lucky socks? (Or saggy eyelids? HA!)

[Initially, I was going to turn off the comments, but I changed my mind. If you leave a comment, thank you. Honest, I do appreciate it, but please understand if I don't respond or stop by your blog this time. (Sorry!)]

                                  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Stranger Than Fiction

Thought for the day:  Coincidence is a recognized element in real life. All of us have anecdotes about those times when, by the merest coincidence, we avoided some disaster or stumbled onto some wonderful experience. [Jane Lindskold]

[Smarticus and I are still under the weather, but luckily, I wrote this post a couple months ago, and it's ready to go. (If only WE were!) It isn't exactly in tune with the Season, but I hope you enjoy it, anyway.]

Sometimes, events unfold in the most amazing and unbelievable ways, yielding results that make us question reality and shake our heads in wonder. It could be something simple, leading us to smile and say, How about that? Or it could be something so profound, it sends a shiver down our spines and makes us wonder about such an unlikely alignment of fate. Today, we're gonna take a look at some of the more interesting events in history that one could call coincidences. Or maybe they're just... weird. 

The first time my imagination was smacked upside the head by the notion of historical coincidences was in 1964, following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, when a long list of bizarre coincidences was circulated, comparing Kennedy and Abraham Lincoln, who'd been assassinated a century earlier.

Here are some of the peculiarities from that list:

• Both were elected to the House of Representatives in '46.
• Both were losing candidates for their party's VP nomination in '56.
• Both were elected president in '60, following a series of debates with their opponents. 
• Both of their VPs were Southern Democrats named Johnson... who were born in '08.
• Both presidents fathered four children, and had a son die during his presidency.
• Lincoln was shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theater; Kennedy was shot by Lee Harvey Oswald in a Lincoln automobile... which was made by Ford.
• After shooting Lincoln, Booth ran from a theater to a warehouse; after shooting Kennedy, Oswald ran from a warehouse to a theater.

There were plenty of other things on that list, some of which stretched things a bit too far, but you get the idea. You've probably seen most of them before, but if not, it shouldn't be too difficult to find them online if you're interested. 

What follows are some other historical coincidences, which you probably haven't heard of before. Ready? 

[wikipedia]

Remember the old movie about the unsinkable Molly Brown? Well, this is about another real life gal named Violet Jessop, who was an ocean liner stewardess and nurse. In 1911, she was aboard the Olympic, the largest luxury liner of its time, when it collided with HMS Hawke. She was also working on the Titanic when it stuck the iceberg and sank. During WWI, she worked on HMS Britannic, which had been converted to a hospital ship. The ship exploded on November 21, 1916. Whether its demise was caused by a torpedo or a land mine isn't definitely known, but it did go down. And the original Miss Unsinkable lived to tell about it... and to travel on many other ships. 

[freepik.com]

On September 29, 1888, Catherine Eddowes was arrested on drunken disorderly conduct charges. Initially, she gave her name as Nobody, but after she'd sobered up and was released late that night, she gave a different name. She said her name was Mary Kelly. After Catherine left the police station, she was attacked and killed by Jack the Ripper. Here's the reeeeeally creepy part: the name of his next, and assumed final victim, was... Mary Kelly.

[morguefile]

The next two tales are about brothers... very close brothers. 

* In 2002, a 70-year-old man was struck and killed by a truck while riding his bicycle 600 km north of Helsinki. Two hours later, and about 1.5 km away, another 70-year-old man was struck and killed by a truck while riding his bicycle. They were twin brothers. 

* On a balmy July evening in Bermuda in 1974, 17-year-old Neville Ebbin was killed when the moped he was riding collided with a taxicab driven by Willard Manders. On a balmy July evening in that same small town in Bermuda in July of the following year, his 17-year-old brother Erskine was killed when he was riding that same moped... and collided with that same taxicab driven by that same driver.. who was transporting the same passenger as he was the year before. 

[Beatrice Daily Sun]

Choir practice was held punctually at 7:20 PM sharp every Wednesday night at West Side Baptist Church in Beatrice, Nebraska. On March 1, 1950, a gas leak caused the church to explode at 7:27. Miraculously, no one was injured. Why? For one reason or another, all fifteen choir members and the choir director were running late that evening. 

[wikipedia]

The Hoover Dam project was an amazing feat of engineering, but it came at a high cost. One hundred and twelve men lost their lives during its construction. The first one to die was J.G. Tierney, who died on December 20, 1922. The last one to lose his life died on December 20, 1935. His name was Patrick Tierney... J.G.'s son.

[wikipedia]

The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand initiated the beginning of World War I. This is the vehicle in which he was riding at the time of his death. In case you can't read it, his license tag reads A111 118. Not all that unusual until you think about it. A for Armistice, maybe? Which of course, ended the war on 11-11-18. 

[wikipedia]

This last story was too interesting to leave out, but I wasn't able to verify its accuracy, so you might wanta take it with a healthy dose of salt. 

Allegedly, King Umberto I of Italy went to a small restaurant in Monza on July 28, 1900. When the owner, whose name also was Umberto, took his order, they noticed how very much alike they looked. Turned out, they were both born on March 14, 1844, and both got married to a woman named Margherita... and on the same date. What's more, the restauranteur opened his restaurant the same day that the king was crowned.  

The next day, the king was informed that the restauranteur had been shot earlier in the day. While expressing his regrets, an anarchist in the crowd assassinated him. 

Yep, it's definitely a small world, and for sure, truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous. [Albert Einstein]

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. 

Whistling in the Dark

Thought for the day:  Why in the world do people think an amputated rabbit's foot will bring them luck? The way I see it, it sure didn't bring any luck to the rabbit...

[morguefile]

I'm not at all superstitious. Friday the thirteenth is just like any other day, knock on wood. But don't worry. For those of you who are superstitious, I've got my fingers crossed that you encounter nothing but good luck today.

I do NOT believe the act of washing a car will make it rain. Well, actually, maybe it will, but as everyone knows, that's due to science, not superstition... Murphy's law and all that. (However, if anyone has a suggestion as to how to make it stop raining, I'd be much obliged.)

I say NO to the notion that breaking a mirror will bring seven years' bad luck. True, I have a peculiar propensity for avoiding mirrors as much as possible, but that has nothing to do with a fear of breaking them. I just don't wanta give that old-gray-mare-who-ain't-what-she-used-to-be who stares back at me the satisfaction. Why let that old broad spoil an otherwise great day?

I do NOT believe garlic will keep away vampires and evil spirits; I just happen to LIKE eating it. I also enjoy eating an apple every day, and it has absolutely nothing to do with that silly old saying about keeping the doctor away. Sure, I pick up pennies when I spot them lying on the ground, but it has nothing to do with that old Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you'll have good luck. Nothing at all. I'm simply cheap frugal.

We do NOT have any lucky horseshoes hanging in our house, but if we did, I'd be sure they were hanging properly. You know, so it looks like the letter U. And that has nothing to do with that blather about not letting the luck run out. They simply... look better... that way.

Oh, I could go on and on, like about how unlucky it's supposed to be to walk under a ladder, to rock an empty rocking chair, to open an umbrella in the house, or for a black cat to cross your path. (Like Groucho Marx said, A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.) But I won't. Instead, we're gonna concentrate on Friday the thirteenth. Ever wonder why that date makes some superstitious people fairly tremble in fear? Well, then, you've come to the right place. I'm gonna tell ya.

The following post originally appeared on May 13, 2011... a Friday the 13th, of course, and it had the original title of Friggatriskaidekaphobia, Anyone? In the early years of this blog, I posted much more frequently than I do now, and every Friday, I included what I called weirdest news stories of the week. Tell ya what, even though those stories are more than four years old now, they're still kinda funny, so I'm going to leave them in the post, too.

********************************

Thought for the day:  Luck is the idol of the idle.

[morguefile]

Friggatriskaidikaphobia is a freaky cool word that means fear of Friday the 13th. Since Friday is considered by some to be an unlucky day, and thirteen is feared by some as an unlucky number, it should come as no surprise that when the two converge, superstitious fears multiply accordingly. We could say that

Unlucky Friday + Unlucky Thirteen = Unluckier Friday

The word superstition means a belief or practice resulting from ignorance and fear of the unknown, a trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation. Although I have no statistics to back me up, I'll hazard a guess that there are far more superstitious males than females. I mean, really, have you ever heard of a woman refusing to change her lucky drawers or socks? No, of course not. Although I will concede that this peculiar attachment to one's dirty socks and undies and by extension, one's aversion to donning clean ones, may in fact be rooted in something entirely different than a belief in their ability to prolong a streak of good luck. For any gentlemen with a proclivity to wear said scuzzy skivvies, be forewarned: No matter how much  luck you believe those skivvies may bring you in games of chance or sport, I double dog guarantee you that wearing them will NOT lead to any semblance of luck with the ladies.

[morguefile]

Most of us are familiar with superstitions dealing with black cats, spilling salt, breaking mirrors, and walking under ladders, but have you ever wondered where those superstitions originated?

And why FRIDAYS, for goodness sake?

And why the number THIRTEEN?

Since this is the only Friday the 13th we'll be encountering this calendar year, I thought today would be the perfect time to investigate.

WHY FRIDAY  : In ancient Rome, Friday was the designated day for executions, which certainly ended a streak of good luck for anyone whacked by the authorities, whether he was wearing his lucky bowling shirt or not. Witches' covens allegedly gather on Fridays, too, and in the Middle Ages, Friday was actually dubbed "Witches' Sabbath". The Good Friday crucifixion of Christ casts the greatest stigma on the day for Christians, but other Biblical events are also attributed to Friday: the day Eve gave Adam the apple, the day they were expelled from Eden, the day God struck the Tower of Babel, and the day Solomon's Temple was destroyed.

Some of the strange superstitions regarding Friday are:

• Clothing made on a Friday will never fit properly.
• Visiting a doctor on a Friday will lead to no good news.
• Changing bedclothes on a Friday will lead to nightmares.
• Marrying or moving on a Friday will come to a bad end.
• Cutting your nails on a Friday will lead to sorrow.
• Receiving bad news on a Friday will cause more wrinkles than receiving them on any other day of the week.
• Starting a trip on a Friday will lead to misfortune.
• Ships that set sail on a Friday are doomed to suffer bad luck.

About a hundred years ago, to disprove the superstition about ships, the Brits commissioned H.M.S. Friday. The crew was selected on a Friday, the keel was set on a Friday,  the ship was launched on a Friday, and the man chosen to captain the ship was even named Friday. The ship set sail on its maiden voyage on a Friday, too. And was never heard from again.

[morguefile]

WHY THIRTEEN: You're probably more familiar with this word: triskaidekaphobia. That's the fear of the number thirteen, and it's no secret that many buildings don't acknowledge a thirteenth floor, and many cities opt to skip Thirteenth Street. But, WHY? 

For one thing, a witch's coven has thirteen members. There are also thirteen steps leading to the gallows, and thirteen knots in a hangman's noose. The blade of a guillotine falls thirteen feet, and at her trial, Lizzie Borden spoke thirteen words. There were thirteen people at the Last Supper, and the thirteenth card in a deck of tarot cards? Death.

Apollo 13, the thirteenth mission to be launched from pad #39, (13 X 3)  was aborted after an explosion in the fuel cell of the service module, after leaving the launching pad at 13:13 CST. The date? April thirteenth.

One theory about the root of triskaidekaphobia lays it at the feet of ancient man. It claims that when man was first learning to count, he counted on ten fingers and two feet, so anything beyond twelve was considered frightening and mysterious. On the other hand, what I find mysterious is why he didn't count on his ten toes, too. It's highly possible that he refused to take off his lucky socks.

Would you believe the number thirteen was once considered lucky? For one thing, some early religions considered the thirteenth step to be the one souls take to enter the eternal glory of the afterlife. And in the prehistoric goddess-worshiping cultures, the number thirteen represented femininity, and corresponded to the number of lunar (and menstrual) cycles in a year. The Earth Mother of Laussel, an ancient carving found in France, depicts a female holding a crescent-shaped horn with, you guessed it,  thirteen notches in it. Later, when society became male-dominated and the solar calendar replaced the lunar one, twelve became the "perfect" number, replacing the "imperfect" thirteen.

So, there ya have it. Now you know a little bit about the superstitions associated with Friday the thirteenth. Me? I still prefer the TGIF approach.

How about you? Do you have any superstitions or lucky socks?

OK, time for (a drum roll, if you will ...) the

WEIRDEST NEWS STORIES OF THE WEEK

**  In New York, a 21-year-old happened to be riding in a car that was pulled over by the police. As soon as the car stopped, the young man immediately took off running, and jumped into the Hudson River. He was able to latch onto a branch 250 feet downstream, where he waited for the police to rescue him from the fifty degree water. Know why he ran? It seems that the shivering young man thought there was a warrant out for his arrest. There wasn't. Sounds to me like there should have been.

** When two female investigators in Vienna, Austria began questioning his client, a lawyer (ahem) showed his briefs. The attorney dropped his trousers and then perched on a desk in his tightie whities with his back to the women. The client is suspected of a sex crime, but now the lawyer is being investigated, as well. (Maybe they were his lucky shorts?)

** After three late-night escape attempts, a German shepherd named Jack finally escaped from an Oregon veterinarian's office by pulling his kennel open, tripping the dead bolt on the clinic's back door and pulling down the handle to get outside. In the process, Jack tripped three motion detectors and tore open four bags of dog food. The vet said he was "impressed" with Jack's impressive recovery from the flu. Me? I wonder if that dog's last name was Bauer.

Bauer... Jack Bauer.  [morguefile]

                                       Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

My Lucky Day

Thought for the day:  I've done the calculations, and your chances of winning the lottery are identical whether you play or not.  [Fran Lebowitz]

Are you superstitious? Do you stay in bed every Friday the thirteenth and walk a mile out of your way just to avoid a black cat?

Nah, me neither.

How about signs and omens? Believe in them?

Ordinarily, I don't pay them much mind, but sometimes they're so blatant, it's impossible to ignore them. Like last Wednesday.

The notion that it was my lucky day kept smacking me in the head... again and again. Lady Luck kept yelling in my ear, and I'm pretty sure she was telling me to buy a lottery ticket. Or a bookmark, as we call it in our house.

Let me tell you about it.

You know what Wednesday is, don't ya? It's senior discount day, and if you wanta know what I think about that, you can read about it right here. So anyhow, I got all dressed up in a clean tee shirt and cut-offs to go to the bank and grocery store. And whattaya know? There sat a four-leaf clover right there on my dressy flip-flops.

A propitious start to a lucky day, wouldn't you say?

I have no idea how that horseshoe landed in our front yard. But, woo HOO... another good sign! Especially since I didn't break my toes when I smashed into it with my flip-flop-clad foot.

When I limped into the bank, get this! There was no line. None. Nada, zip, zilch, zero. Not another customer in sight. Just me, and a bunch of smiling tellers.

That has NEVER happened to me before. Never.

Spooky, huh?

Then, holy moley, outta the blue, the palm of my hand started itching. Just like that, for no reason. You know what that means, dontcha?

It means money. An itchy palm means you're gonna get some money.

Okay, so technically, I was in the bank to cash a check, so I got some money because of that... but still, it could've been a sign that I should buy a lottery ticket, right?

My teller thought so.

Now this is just scary. In the grocery store, I didn't get run over by a single blue-haired lady. Nobody blocked the aisles, and I (gasp) found everything I was looking for. But here's the clincher: when I paid for the groceries, guess how much change I got? Eight dollars and eighty-eight cents! Three eights! Three lucky eights. (Ask anyone from China...) And my last car tag? It had three eights on it, too.

What? Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not Chinese. Hush. Whose story is this, anyway?

So, natch, when I was driving home, I was considering the string of good omens that had been pummeling me ever since I left the house. Should I buy a lottery ticket?

Then I heard a train whistle.

Dare I say it? Yet another good sign! As I sat beside the train track with my frozen vegetables melting in the trunk, I considered how lucky I was that it was such a fast-moving train. And only one hundred and six cars long.

Kismet kicked me in the keister again. Buy a ticket! it screeched.

Wait, no. It didn't screech. That was the train. When it stopped. But it didn't sit there all that long. Only about fifteen minutes or so. Lucky, right?

I was almost home when I saw it. Not just a rainbow... a double rainbow.

And it wasn't even raining.


So what do you think? Did I buy a ticket and win a kazillion dollars?

After all...
Fortune cannot aid those who do nothing. [Sophocles]

Nah. I went home and had a nice cuppa tea. Hey... that's something. Like somebody smart said, (No, I don't remember who said it... I'm not that smart) The only sure way to double your money is to fold it and stick it back in your pocket.

Euripides said, Fortune truly helps those who are of good judgement. And my judgement was to take Brian Koslow's advice. He said, Forget the lottery. Bet on yourself instead. 

Yep, works for me! Besides, we already have more than enough bookmarks around here.

Know what? A positive attitude can determine what kind of day you have. The way I see it, any day my hubby and I wake up and we're both still here... that's a doggone lucky day in my book. Life is good.

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[Thanks to the fine folks at Wikipedia, morguefile, seniorark, and icanhascheezburger for the use of their images.]

Lucky Ducks and Princesses

Thought for the day:  Success is simply a matter of luck. Ask any failure.  [Earl Wilson]

Man, I'm really a lucky duck. Nope, not talking about my manuscript finally being in the hands of a publishing company. (Heck, I realize that could just as well lead to a suck-y outcome as a lucky one.) Haven't successfully drawn to any inside straights lately, either. Or won the lottery.

But WOW! The blogosphere sure has been good to me. You know, those little "contests" bloggers hold from time to time? I've lucked out on a bunch of 'em.

Started out on the lovely Delores' blog. All it took was writing a silly limerick to win several bags of candy. (Really GOOD candy.) I'd show it to you, but I, um, ate it.

On the talented Marcy's blog, I won a hand-made bookmark, and a free critique of one of my book chapters. Cool, huh? Didn't even have to DO anything for them, other than to show up and leave a comment. Ditto a win on super author Jennifer Shirk's blog, where I won a copy of Carolyn Brown's newest release, One Hot Cowboy Wedding. Won another book, too, but shame on me, I can't even remember which blog that one came from. It's a YA novel, entitled Wicked Lovely, by Melissa Marr.

See that spiffy towel hanging on the side of our fridge? Won that on the artsy-craftsy, oh-so-sweet Mare's blog by identifying a bunch of pictures. (Well, actually, another luck of the draw. Really easy pics to ID.) 

Isn't it pretty? She even made it to match our kitchen.




Linda Grimes is one of my favorite bloggers. She signed up as a follower right after I showed up on the scene. Didn't know me from Adam, (or Eve) but she immediately welcomed me to blogging, and has been a regular visitor and commenter ever since. She's also an awesome writer with a kick-butt sense of humor. Her first book will be released in a couple months. (YAY!) I'm really looking forward to getting her ARC in the mail so I can get a sneak preview. (YAY, again!) Every Friday, Linda also does a post for The Debutante Ball and since I'm such a fan of Linda's, I always follow her over there. Well, just because I filed a comment on that blog, I earned lucky duck status once again by winning a copy of another deb's book, which was just released last month.

And THAT'S what I want to tell you about. THAT book. That AMAZING book...

Molly Backes sent me a (hardback!) (signed!) copy of her book, which kinda impressed me from the get-go. But to tell the truth, I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to relate to her characters or to her story. I mean, high school students? C'mon, it's been a looooooong time since I was in high school. Besides, I sure wasn't a princess in high school. Far from it. I was a nerd. A goody-two-shoes. No smoking or drinking. No wild parties. No sex or drugs. Heck, I didn't even cuss. How could I possibly relate to a tale about a group of students who do all those things?

Boy, was I wrong.

You can close your eyes to the things you don't want to see, but you can't close your heart to the things you don't want to feel.  [author unknown]

And this book definitely makes you FEEL.


Molly does a phenomenal job of drawing readers into the angst-filled, insecure world of teenagers. Every word, every cringe-worthy worry and bout of silliness explode with a purity of truth. Out-of-control parental pressures... the terrible consequences of underage drinking (and driving)... racism... homophobic prejudices and injustices... and the age-old story of teenagers trying to find themselves and their true paths. Molly covers all of this and more, and in a masterful, sensitive way. It's no surprise that this lovely lady teaches teens. She obviously understands them, and is tuned into the troubling issues that unite them, and the different cliques that separate them.

Not since The Catcher in the Rye have I read a book that does such an outstanding job of baring the souls of teenagers. This is NOT just a book for teenagers. I'll certainly recommend it to my grandchildren, but this book, my friends, is for ALL ages.

I definitely rate this book FIVE STARS.

(Or... maybe FOUR LUCKY LEGS up?)

                                                                   Ducks are lucky,

                                                                   Don't you think?

                                                                   When they want to

                                                                   Take a drink,

                                                                   All they do is 

                                                                   Duck their bill.

                                                                  (Doesn't matter

                                                                   If they spill.)

                                                                   When they want to

                                                                   Take a swim,

                                                                  All they do is

                                                                   Dive right in;

                                                                  And they never

                                                                  Seem to sink.

                                                                  Ducks are lucky,

                                                                  Don't you think?

    

                                                             [ Mary Ann Huberman]

Behold the duck

It does not cluck.

A cluck it lacks.

It quacks.

It is specially fond

of a puddle or pond. 

When it dines or sups,

It bottoms up.[Ogden Nash]



Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. Bottoms up! Hmmm, maybe this lucky duck oughta  go buy a lottery ticket...

Wishing for Fishes

Thought for the day:  Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out? [Oliver James]

Have you ever felt like you didn't quite belong? Like you were on the outside looking in?

Meet Cowboy. Many mornings when I open our front door, there he is, just lying on our welcome mat. He immediately sits up and peers in at me. Looks pitiful, and dare I say ... hopeful?

Matter of fact, he spends a good bit of time lying or sitting on our front porch. Looking in. Looking pitiful. Or in our back yard, following us around or gazing into the house from out there. He could be running around the neighborhood, doing whatever it is outside cats are supposed do all day, but instead, he bides his time ... wastes his time ... looking in our windows. Wishing he were inside. Hoping his luck will change.


If wishes were horses, all beggars would ride; it wishes were fishes, we'd all have some fried.

He isn't our cat. Cowboy belongs to a neighbor, but I guess you could say he's our collateral pet, just like the other critters who come to our place for a handout. We don't mind him hanging around, but there's something heart-breaking about the sight of him looking in our window so often.

Somehow, his expression looks ...  familiar ...


I'm pretty sure I know how he feels. I've been excluded a time or two.

And I've seen people with that same wistful expression, people who bide their time ... waste their time ... pining to be someone or somewhere they aren't. Essentially, they're wasting their lives on wishes for fishes instead of eating what they have right in front of them, or reaching for the doggone fishing rod.

Does Cowboy tug at your heartstrings, too?

Sometimes Cowboy and Dot look at each other through the window.

Sometimes he and Dash watch each other.

Cowboy wants to come inside so badly. We can see it in his face when he stares in the front door. We can see it in his face when he stares in our back sliding glass doors. We can see it when he tries to slip inside when we open the door, and when he rolls on the ground in front of us, doing his tricks and trying to please.

He wants to be part of the in crowd.

I suspect wanting to belong is a fairly universal feeling. There are at least two songs entitled On the Outside Looking In, and that's also the title of Michael Reagan's book. Then there's the book and movie The Outsiders. And let's not forget the 1962 song by the Sensations called Let Me In. Don't remember that one? Here, take a listen:

                                                                      And so it seems,

                                                  when we're on the OUTSIDE, we want IN.

                                       

                                             And when we're on the INSIDE, we want OUT.

Is happiness always just on the other side of that closed door? Is there someone guarding that door,  keeping you on the outside, like in Fats Domino's 1961 song, I Hear You Knocking (But You Can't Come In)?

When we're different from everybody else, we wanta be the same, and when we're too much like everybody else, we yearn to be different. Ya know what? Inside yourself or outside, you never have to change what you see, only the way you see it.  [Thaddeus Golas]  We yam what we yam. And we yam pretty damned good.

Okay, so maybe you never felt like part of the in crowd. 

So what? Be a standout.

Outside may very well be the new in place. There's lots of us out  here.

 I was always looking outside myself for strength and confidence, but it comes from within. It is there all the time.  [Anna Freud]

                                  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.