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List maintenance instructions can be found at the end of this ezine. öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo - Hello there . . . - Inside Story - It's Halloween Soon - eNonyMouse - other wierd things you might - More About Pookie - The Last Farewell? …you with the stars in your eyes, a grasshopper brain and thoughts without boundaries… As promised I'm putting this ezine to bed early - with help from Melvin Durai (who has been taking a course in first aid) and David Leonhardt (I'm sure you've heard of road rage but what about Hippo Rage?) It's Halloween Soon appeared in the October 2000 issue of 'Pearls & Pigs' (forgive me for being boring). Griselda's Inside Story is also a 'repeat' - and what a battle I had to find something worth repeating. I've sent Griselda off on some enforced leave, which seemed the wise thing to do bearing in mind that I'm expecting all these visitors. Far from being helpful at times like this her perpetual carping would have driven me off my head. The first of my guests have arrived and the weather continues to be absolutely awful. There's nothing quite like a beach cottage on a cold, wet and windy day - but no doubt we'll all survive one way or another. In the meantime I hope there's sunshine where you are (if I think kind thoughts perhaps our clouds will clear).... I'll see you next month. öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo NEWBIES, NERDS & NITWITS To view previous issues surf to: VISIT the website - read the most recent issues - öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo WELCOME back to the Idiot Chronicles. I am sure there is no need to tell you I am not the idiot. She's been quiet lately - leaving me in peace to ponder a number of things. Such as do people grow like the animals they live with, or is it the other way around? It must be, as Sheldene was here first, and it is frightening to consider how many animals she has undoubtedly corrupted. The present contingent are fine examples. I cannot believe there are many dogs as wilful, self-centred and domineering as these, and the three cats, although overshadowed by the canines, have also developed 'endearing' little habits. For a start there's the cat that now insists she is fed ON THE ROOF - and you can imagine the fetching, carrying and climbing that involves. I can't even say this cat is too nervous to descend to ground level as she joins the others for sunbathing and other unstrenuous activities. However at dinner time she scampers away and onto the roof. Feeding the dogs also has its highlights. George Hamish Badger, the Border collie, is convinced his half- sister, Hermione, should not eat. Snacks are OK but she is definitely not entitled to a main meal. As soon as the dishes appear he starts snarling and snapping then, having failed to petrify his sibling, he flounces onto the sundeck and under a table - which is where he chooses to eat his food. Sheldene has to sit beside him while he gobbles it all up (that's a laugh when it's raining), and if she goes out he will not taste a morsel until she returns. In fact all the dogs are absolutely impossible, and who does that remind you of? Anyone who comes here on a regular basis must surely agree I should be paid danger money. Visitors perch on rickety stools, rather then sit in an easy chair where the dogs would clamber all over them. And if ignored the brutes use their well developed claws (their mistress also has those) to scar you for life, while pretending to be friendly. Finally, watch out when ready to depart. The two St Bernards love travelling in cars and, given a choice, would certainly be long-distance lorry drivers. One unfortunate woman, who popped in on her way to an important engagement, eventually left on foot when Hillary and Quentin refused to get out of her vehicle. And this was not an isolated incident. Carelessly open a car door and those great, lumbering beasts move like lightning in order to get in first - and spread themselves across the seats. Quentin actually hijacked a stranger's BMW, which was parked nearby. As soon as Sheldene noticed Quentin was missing I was roped in to join the search. Brandishing his lead she erupted into the car park situated behind us - and was stopped by a nervous male voice yelping 'Is this your dog?' The park was full but we quickly honed in on a gleaming car with the would-be occupants, a tall man and his young son, hovering beside the open door. We could also see Quentin, straddling the front and back seats. Muttering some profanity Sheldene marched across (at times even I am forced to admire her aplomb). Airily informing the victim that 'He often does this', she clipped the lead onto Quentin's useless choke chain and hissed, 'Get out - or I'll pull your head off!' The dog's only reaction was to scrabble onto the front seat (upholstered in leather) and wedge himself under the steering wheel. An undignified tug-of-war followed, during which I tried to convince myself I was invisible. Eventually Quentin gave in, allowing Sheldene to reassume her false sense of superiority. 'There you are', she said kindly, and the rightful owners leapt in. I waited for some sort of denunciation but to my horror heard Sheldene being fervently thanked for removing her unruly, trespassing dog. Under the circumstances only she could have accepted these tributes so graciously. I think I've told you before, when it comes to that woman (Of course Griselda has no pets - she's far too selfish - öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo CONFUSED BY EMAIL? öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo
ALTHOUGH pumpkins abound in many parts of Africa, Halloween is not really a part of the southern scene. We have ghouls aplenty but not confined to one particular day of the year and, on the whole, most of the population tends to take their antics rather seriously. I have gleaned, from books mostly, that in America the last eve of the old Celtic calendar is celebrated by dressing up the kids and sending them out to forage for food (trick or treat, I think, you call it) - while the adults stay at home in order to give handouts to other visiting kids. Sounds like a lot of fun. In Britain I believe they do a bit of prancing around in covens, and what we do, on the rare occasions we remember Halloween far enough in advance to do anything constructive about it. At least six weeks beforehand (because there's an awful lot to do) we decide to have a party. And the first decision taken, before inviting anyone, is that the children will all go to bed while we, the deserving adults, dress up - and we certainly won't be giving candy away to anyone. Having done this a couple of times it's easy to give you a quick rundown. Next soak raisins, or any soft fruit, in a lovely mixture of rum or brandy, and honey, in a closed container. Open it a few times to taste - but not too much. On the night, you greet your guests with a spoonful of this magic elixir (ram it between their teeth, if necessary) and give a piece of fruit to the chosen few. After the first sip you won't have any difficulty persuading anyone to have a bit more..quite the opposite in fact. Then you're away. All your guests are ticking nicely, the enormous stew you have made will seem marvellous, ditto for the punch, music, decorations etc etc etc. The decor is actually very simple. Draw a picture of a witch on her broomstick and cut out several silhouettes in black paper. Put these up on the walls, turn out the lights, light a few candles, and your guests will do everything else. You will be amazed at their ability to reveal themselves as witches, wizards and warlocks. Be prepared for a mass of swirling cloaks, pointy hats and teeth, but do not despair because some witches are extremely glamorous. I will have to go into this Halloween thing in depth sometime, because you must be getting bored and I've barely scratched the surface ( and talking of scratching, dot a few cats about if possible). Still feeling shy and nervous? Perhaps the next
article will help you overcome this.... Lavish food and luxurious surroundings are not necessarily In fact food, drink and venue have very little to do with it. Whatever the occasion - maybe a light luncheon, bright and If you expect to be hassled, you will be. If you dread the I don't believe anyone decides to entertain because they wish If you require inspiration take a peek inside a thesaurus. You You will probably be surprised to see the number of words So, get your head together before you do anything. This is The 'party convener' (that's you) sets the tone because, if It is essential that you welcome your guests individually, and However in the early stages it is your job to root out lurkers Keep the snacks and drinks flowing - although they have now Once you have done this a couple of times you will begin to The key is to accept responsibility for your guests, and to You too may be naturally shy and retiring but this is your Having invited these people into your home it is up to you to And it's not as bad as it sounds because your friends and So if the small talk flags, jump in and ad lib and don't worry about sounding ridiculous. In this instance it is very unlikely anyone will actually call you a fool. Keep this up and in time your reputation as one of the original party animals will be entrenched. This will make it ever easier for you to do your own thing because now it will be expected of you. Although you will probably never be as relaxed and vivacious on someone else's turf, your experiences will eventually allow you to rescue more timid entertainers. Save the day with some well-timed remarks when the proceedings falter, and they will be grateful. Which will make you a much sought-after guest in future. Constant honing of your skills is well worth the effort -because you are developing a talent that becomes morerewarding as one grows older. Nobody is going to be sorry for Aunt Kate if she can outdo Auntie Mame, any day, when arranging an extravaganza. . Imagine what fun one can have with all those christenings, weddings and other gala happenings - to say nothing of one's own little bashes. ©2000 Sheldene Chant PLEASE FORWARD Pearls & Pigs to friends, but when doing öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo Please rate this Ezine at the Cumuli Ezine Finder Editor´s note: When you click to rate us please make öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo eNonyMouse ...... more weird things you may not know No word in the English language rhymes with 'MONTH'. Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and ears never stop growing. The electric chair was invented by a dentist. All polar bears are left handed. TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using the letters only on one row of the keyboard. 'Go' is the shortest complete sentence in the English language. If Barbie were life-size, her measurements would be 39-23-33. She would stand seven feet, two inches tall. A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out. The cigarette lighter was invented before the match. Americans on average eat 18 acres of pizza every day. öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo FREE TUTORIALS BY AUTORESPONDER If you are thinking about making your own web page, or öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööOoo *More about Pookie IN order to fully appreciate a new home, it is advisable to rough it for a while in the most basic of farmhouses. Our new house in Borrowdale had tiles in the bathrooms, gleaming wooden floors, a modern, fitted kitchen, dreamy carpets, plus space for Africa. Within a matter of hours we had thankfully readapted to civilisation - and couldn't resist nipping to the shops every five minutes to stock up on chocolate, Cokes and bread. Pookie, the vervet monkey, was installed in his fenced hen-house, and the rest of the wildlife had settled in. Naturally Pookie was more often out of his 'cage' than in, but I continued to bask in a false sense of security because now I had somewhere to 'put' him when all his minders were absent. He was now a fully grown, rampant male, with magnificent incisors - if you are into agony and like that sort of thing. Instead of miles of veld, we were now surrounded by law-abiding people living on one-acre plots. The thought of Pookie deciding to drop in on someone's smart patio party made my blood run cold. Farm life and living in suburbia have little in common. A farm produces a tight-knit community where everyone knows a great deal about everyone else, even if it is only hearsay. Pookie could, and did, annoy the farm-workers, but every man, woman and child was forewarned. They knew who he was and any instinctive fear was tempered by the fact that he had been around for years without doing anyone a serious injury. However, if he dropped in on our neighbours, now, it was likely to cause blind panic - and Pookie's probable reaction didn't bear thinking about. The children were spending more time on school activities, and discovering the joys of having friends 'just down the road'. Pookie was bored and stayed confined in the chicken run only as long as it suited him. I became more apprehensive daily, while Freitwell and Bubu spent a great deal of time checking up on the monkey's whereabouts. Fortuntely he chose to remain in the garden. One day Adrian put a foot wrong (he accidentally stood on Pookie's tail) and was bitten savagely. We knew then this was the beginning of the end. Never before had he turned on his bosom buddy, and if he was prepared to attack Adrian, there was no hope for anyone else. Still a night 'sub' on the national daily I was at work until midnight and expected everyone to get themselves off to school and work in the mornings. My husband left at 4 a.m. to train horses and for days on end our only meaningful communication was by telephone. (Pay attention, now, because I am giving you plenty of helpful tips on how to stay married for years.) Bubu had always stuttered painfully but on the morning he woke me to say Pookie had vanished, I caught the gist of it in a flash. Clad only in disreputable pyjamas and brandishing a tennis raquet, I hustled the now speechless Bubu from the bedroom and charged forth, shouting, 'I'm going to kill that monkey, now!' Both Freitwell and Bubu knew I didn't kill insects (they had been forced to carry hundreds of them out of the house), but they seemed to have no difficulty accepting that something had snapped and I was about to murder a monkey, single handed. Nor, I must add, did they make any attempt to stop me. I ran here and there, yelling and beating the bushes with my raquet. Eventually, I ran out of steam and had to face the horrible truth that Pookie was not on the property. Freitwell set off on a bicycle in order to catch up with Adrian who was on his way to school. Bubu and I continued to search fruitlessly. This went on for hours but at 11 a.m. Freitwell and Adrian captured Pookie at Helensvale, a neighbouring suburb about five miles away. What a relief and, even better, he didn't appear to have damaged anyone. However, while the search was on I hadn't been idle. Bulawayo boasted a famous wild animal sanctuary known as Chipingali - and I had telephoned them, pleading for help. Every night a train leaves Harare, bound for Bulawayo, and the Chipingali people had agreed to meet the train and collect Pookie the following morning. I had arranged to borrow a suitable crate from the SPCA and the long-suffering 'vet' was going to give Pookie a tranquilliser before he started his journey. I suppose we were a bit morbid during that last afternoon with Pookie, but the floods of tears that would normally have been associated with a departing pet were missing. Instead we told ourselves how happy Pookie would be when he met up with all the other monkeys. During my telephone call I had learned that Chipingali was in the process of building up a troupe of displaced monkeys. Once rehabilitated and able to fend for themselves the troupe would be released on an island on Lake Kariba. In the meantime, Pookie was being sent off with a hefty donation - and I had agreed to provide monthly 'pocket money' until he went to Kariba. At that stage I would have agreed to anything. Next day a 'phone call from Bulawayo confirmed Pookie's safe arrival and we began to forget the bad memories, weaving only the good ones into the Pookie legend we would tell our grandchildren. I became increasingly thankful as it dawned on me that, apart from the pocket money I had heard the last of Pookie- and housebound monkeys. I was wrong - of course. *The six previous articles about Pookie can Öö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo IF you happen to have a serious accident when I'm around, don't panic. I just took a first-aid class. I know how to handle life-threatening injuries. Even if you're bleeding profusely, I'll try my best to save your life, as soon as someone revives me. Here's how I expect things to go: You bleed, I faint, someone revives me, I save your life, the president gives me a medal of honor, I offer him valuable advice on the economy, he appoints me as ambassador to the Bahamas. See how easy that would be? If you do your part, I promise to do mine. I may even invite you to the islands. Whatever happens, please don't think I took the first-aid class for selfish reasons. After all, there's no guarantee the president would give me a medal, especially since so many people -- firefighters, paramedics, police officers -- are more deserving. Some of these everyday heroes have saved dozens of lives, administering not just first aid, but also second and third aid. Truth is, I hope I never have to provide first aid. I hope I never have to figure out if a man has suffered a stroke or just finished checking his stocks. But in case I do, I plan to be fully prepared -- ready to swing into action. Yes, from now on, I'm not going anywhere without my first-aid manual. Don't worry. The manual is only a backup for my brain, which, despite its size, has a limited capacity to store anything unrelated to football. (I'm an expert on ankle sprains, knee injuries and hamstring pulls, not to mention swollen heads.) In an emergency, I would immediately provide first aid to the victim, then check the manual to make sure I did the right thing. Hopefully, a heart-attack victim would not mind having his head bandaged. 'Don't worry, sir,' I'd say. 'I'll remove the bandage before the paramedics arrive. You'll soon be able to breathe again.' Before taking the three-hour class, I didn't know the first thing about first aid. Now I at least know a few things, including the difference between an allergic reaction to pollen and an allergic reaction to politicians. The symptoms are often similar -- nausea, confusion, dizziness -- but only the latter produces persistent pain in the butt. I learned that most victims do not need to be fed, though diabetics can be given sugar, while people with strains, contusions and sprains can be treated with RICE (Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate). I learned that there are three types of bleeding -- and one of them isn't 'bleeding heart.' There are also three types of burns, the most famous of which is Edward. I learned that a knocked-out tooth can be saved in a container of milk and taken to a dentist. And whenever possible, it also helps to take along the victim. I learned that Good Samaritan laws protect me from being sued, as long as I meet certain conditions. For example, I must act in good faith (even if the victim has no faith in me). I must accept no compensation (even if the victim is Bill Gates). And once I begin treatment, I must not abandon the victim (even if I need to get more rice). Most importantly, I learned that a first-aid class is well-worth the trouble. You never know whose life you might save. And saving a life sure beats taking one. (c) Copyright 2002 Melvin Durai. All Rights Reserved. ________________________ öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo HAS anybody here ever been stuck in traffic for a frustratingly long time? Put up your hand if you have. Oooh! Don't you just hate that? And some people don't mind showing us how much they hate it. We call it road rage. Has anybody ever waited in a ticket lineup or a checkout lineup for a frustratingly long time? Let me see those hands. Believe it or not, some people don't like that either. We call it lineup rage. Has anybody ever been stuck waiting in a doctor's office for a frustratingly long time? Let me see those hands. And then you see somebody suddenly jump up and tear his hair out and scream, 'Let me out. I've been here three hours. Three days. Three months!' Well, I really should appologize. I didn't mean to scare your kids. I was just demonstrating waiting room rage. Let me tell you a story about the Lwungwa River Valley - that's in Africa, you know. The dry season there gets very dry. My throat is getting dry just thinking about it. The Lwangwa River stops rushing. It slows to a trickle. Finally, it stops flowing. And all that are left are pools of water, here and there. One by one, the animals head to higher ground. To forest cover. To other water holes. Anywhere they can find food or drink. Just like we will all do late. Did I say all the animals? Not all. Not the hippos. The hippos stay in their river at it slows to a stream. They stay in the stream as it turns into pools. They stay in the pools as they shrink into puddles. As the puddles shrink, the hippos get more crowded. As the hippos get more crowded, they get surly. Cranky. Grumpy. They gnash their teeth. They poke at each other. They pick fights. It's river rage! Has anyone ever come face to face with a raging hippopotamus? Don't be shy. Go ahead, put up your hands. Sure, when we're young - I'm sure you all remember this as I do - we're taught that they're slow, cute, and cuddly. They might even be pink or purple and do those dances in tutus like in Fantasia. But in the real world they have teeth the size of your head. They can run faster than anyone in this room. And they weight upwards of 5,000 pounds. I mean, they are BIG! If you're ever at a cocktail party and a hippopotamus starts, you know, flirting with you, whatever you do, do not let him sit on your lap. Rage is all the rage these days. Road rage. Lineup rage. Waiting-room rage. Even river rage. You may also have heard of parking lot rage, elevator rage and airplane rage. What gives? Is the world getting angrier or just more crowded? Both. It's a fact that as our space and time grow increasingly crowded, our stress levels rise. When it comes to space, we are cramming more people into more crowded cities, elevators, airplanes, stores. Our patience diminishes. Our goodwill diminishes. Our tolerance diminishes. Has anyone noticed they place the chairs at conferences - you noticed! -- so close together that even skinny people get to know each other well. My theory is that the hotels are trying to develop their own niche rage market: conference seating rage. Let's look at our schedules. What are we trying to do? We're trying to see how many items we can squeeze onto our 'to do' list, and how many activities we can cram into a day. And the stress, where does it go? Right up there, exactly. I want to share this one little thought with you. We are in the process of moving, so we actually have two homes. Stress that builds in my stacked concrete box apartment they call a condo, I can't get rid of. It sticks. I can't shake it off. It won't go. It sticks. When I'm at my farm house just a few miles south of here, surrounded by grass and trees, it's amazing how quickly I can just excommunicate the stress. Can I say that? Excommunicate? Why not? OK. What have we learned today? Three lessons, so please take note. Number one, don't let your space get too crowded. Number two, don't let your schedule get too crowded. Number three, don't ever let a hippopotamus sit on your lap. (c) 2002 David Leonhardt öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖoo We are pleased to be members of the Ezine Publishers öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo FREE EZINES öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖoo Copyright 2002 Poignant Pearls & Potbellied Pigs öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖöo LIST MECHANICS TO JOIN: Please send a BLANK email to VIEW PREVIOUS ISSUES AT - CONTACT INFO: Sheldene Chant (Publisher), 6 Strapp öÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖö°*º*°öÖööÖo |
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