Some this and that

Sometimes, in rare, occasional moments of staving off boredom (which I don't believe in but have a nodding, squinty-eyed acquaintance with - yes, enjoy the oxymoronic dichotomy of that), I'll hit the old stumble! button on my computer and see what comes along. Sometimes it's very very good; interesting, educational, brilliant. Sometimes there will be something to make me laugh. And sometimes, with no category to fill except wasting a few one/billionth of some stray brain cells, I'll get something like this, from here:

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.

So I've been thinking about the fact that we need to have a smudging exorcism on Culebra, regarding our transportation faux pas. It would probably as effective as trying to ensure better maintenance of our ferries and docks, nu? We'd all gather 'round at the ferry dock, bundled ryhoh (ok, YOU give me a spelling! but in looking up the proper spelling of this, which I didn't find, I did find a 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.

We'll imagine a newly finished ferry dock, no longer encircled with fencing and barbed wire, but like it should have been done in the first time, not built on shifting sands but on a proper foundation, leaving the waterfront open to children diving and laughing, as it used to be. We'll lay our bundles, smoke reaching to the gods of transportation and sanity in building practices, in a pile, letting them join together, as we join together. Oh, and we'll also be imagining two gas stations in operation, for the good of Culebra and the locals and visitors by land or sea who would like the option of getting gasoline in a timely manner if at all possible (barring the unforeseeable high seas). Two gas stations serving the people; yes, I can imagine that...with enough smudged smoke in my head.

So close and yet so far

 Well, it's a thought.

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.