|entitled: How to Drink Beer|
Due to the “naughty” dancing of the can-can girls, and
the scantily clad models on 1800s French postcards,
the British equated anything risqué with France.
In fact, that’s how the phrase “pardon my French” entered the vernacular.
There now. I bet very few of you knew this. Or maybe I'm the only one, but I've always wondered about that phrase...not enough to pursue its origins, but enough to be glad it was randomly dumped into my brain. This postcard was one of the least naughty ones (I found it linked back to here)...and I love the title!
Um, where was I going with this? Randomness, yes.
very cool article about many, many of the names of acacia varieties, the closest to our being called the karroo bush, though it's a tree) in hand; I find it more appropriate than sage, in our case. The kids can play the steel pans, mocko jumbies will do walkabouts, someone will light a taper and we will light each other's bundle around the circle, while imagining gleaming, running ferries, smoothly plying through the waters, Fajardo to Culebra, Culebra to Farjado, on time, filled with happy crews, visitors and locals.
|So close and yet so far|
And now the sun is sort of, momentarily, out, the wind seems to have laid down a bit and the cart is calling, calling, calling me.
Have a telling Tuesday! Do something tolerantly.