The Cure for Spiritual Doubt

Hello. This is Her Royal Highness the cat speaking to you today about a very serious topic. Do you ever question the existence of Ceiling Cat? Do you wonder if He is really up there watching you do naughty things?

Could Ceiling Cat's existence be an elaborate ruse? Has all the photographic evidence been misinterpreted or even (*gasp*) doctored? Take this photo, for example.

Yes, there they are -- Ceiling Cat and His fellow male deities all playing poker. The usual suspects are there -- the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Jesus, Zeus. And okay, we all know that Morgan Freeman and Eric Clapton are God too. But, excuse me, a dinosaur and an alien? What kind of trumped up photoshopped nonsense is going on here?

Now, this is the critical spiritual point -- if this photo is faked for those two imposters, then how can we be sure about the authenticity of Ceiling Cat? Or the authenticity of any of them, really?

Luckily, we CAN be sure. This legal document certifies that Ceiling Cat exists. The rest of them may be spurious bums but Ceiling Cat is rock solid legit.

Would Chuck Norris lie to you?

Glastonbury Tercentennial Labyrinth (Part 3)

At another turning point of the Glastonbury Tercentennial Labyrinth is a sculpted stone marker dedicated to Joseph of Arimathea, the uncle of Jesus who brought the Holy Grail to Glastonbury. The stone portrays his miraculous flowering Holy Thorn:

The final stone celebrates Dunstan, a 10th century Glastonbury monk who was a musician, artist (illuminator of holy texts) and metalworker. In a spectacular religious career, he rose to be Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, Bishop of Worcester, Bishop of London and ultimately Archbishop of Canterbury:

It was a beautiful sunny day when I walked this labyrinth. Despite the churchyard being so close to High Street, the centre of Glastonbury's shops and restaurants, it was quiet and peaceful. A most lovely experience!

[All photos by My Rare One.]

Glastonbury Tercentennial Labyrinth (Part 2)

At the very centre of the Glastonbury Tercentennial Labyrinth is a sculpted stone marker featuring a modified version of Glastonbury's Town Coat of Arms. Notice that an Abbot's mitre is front and centre:

At each of the four turning points of the labyrinth, there are sculpted stone markers celebrating Glastonbury's spiritual heritage. Two of them celebrate holy women. The first stone is dedicated to the Virgin Mary and features Her symbolic rose:

The second stone is dedicated to Bridget and features a Celtic Cross. While Christian imagery is used for this saint, we all know that She is really also a much older pagan Goddess sacred to the area and its people:

Tomorrow's post will conclude with the holy men who are celebrated in this labyrinth.

[All photos by My Rare One.]

Glastonbury Tercentennial Labyrinth (Part 1)

I walked this lovely Cretan labyrinth in Glastonbury, England a couple of years ago. It is centrally located on the lawn of St. John the Baptist Church.

After Henry VIII destroyed and looted Glastonbury Abbey in 1549 and ordered the brutal execution of its Abbot, the town of Glastonbury was spiritually, economically and socially devastated for the next 150 years. But that bleak period ended in 1705 when Queen Anne granted the town a Royal Charter, a mayor and town corporation were elected and Glastonbury began its return to civic order and prosperity.

In 2005, this beautiful labyrinth was constructed to mark the 300th anniversary (tercentennial) of the Royal Charter. It was financed by the town, local businesses, charities and individuals. As stated in the labyrinth's tourist pamphlet, it was built by volunteers:

. . . from all sections of our community. Initially, the students from St. Dunstan's school dug the trenches for the walls. As for cementing and laying the stones, a lovely cross-section of the community volunteered their services: several from St. John's congregation, local Somerset lads, Christians, pagans, Buddhists, members of the alternative community, travellers from the benches, old, young, a tourist or two, a pilgrim or two, and many others.

At the centre and each turning point of the labyrinth, there are inlaid sculpted stone markers celebrating Glastonbury's spiritual heritage. More on those special stones in tomorrow's post!

[All photos by My Rare One]

Wonder Women

We all start off with SO MUCH energy and determination when we're young and new to the superhero life . . .

We reach our peak of womanly POWER, lassos firmly in hand, strong, calm, confident and in charge . . .

And sure, by middle age, maybe there's a few extra pounds, our thighs are chubby and we're starting to look and sound more like Roseanne every day, but we STILL kick major ass . . .

But the day inevitably comes when gravity and cellulite have won the battle, when we switch our stiletto boots for sneakers and DAMN, don't granny panties feel comfy? . . .

So are we now washed-up Wonder Women? . . .

SHIT NO and get the FUCK out of our way cuz we are NOT going to miss our coupla margaritas and our favourite programs on TV, you villainous BASTARD YOU.

Come On Down!

For several decades in Winnipeg, local entrepreneur Nick Hill wrote, produced and starred in his own TV commercials for his business, Kern Hill Furniture Co-op. His signature style, phrasing and delivery made him a living legend in The Peg. Love him or hate him, you could not ignore him. Here's a typical ad from 1986:

Eventually, Nick Hill's son Andy joined him in the business and also on the TV ads. Andy's patter and style weren't quite as slick as the old man's but he was always enthusiastic. Here's a 1996 ad featuring both of them:

When Nick Hill died in 2003, the mayor of the city eulogized him as "a civic treasure." Nick Hill and his TV ads truly were (and still are) Winnipeg icons.

Recently, the Winnipeg Humane Society created a TV ad spoofing the old Kern Hill Furniture Co-op style. Andy Hill (now middle-aged) does a great job of pushing cats for adoption using every Kern Hill cliché and buzz phrase. This ad has been wildly successful and is now promising to go viral on YouTube. Watch and enjoy!

What being a cat owner really means

Childhood Friends: DeeDee

The first girl I ever had a crush on was DeeDee, a cute little blonde girl I met in Grade 1. We became best friends and often played together after school. We would act out scenes from our Dick and Jane readers, like the one pictured above. Oh, innocent fun!

Then, in Grade 3, I invented a sleepover game that involved taking off all our clothes, getting in bed and just enjoying how good the cool sheets felt on our naked bodies. That game was innocent fun too.

But I think DeeDee told her Mom about the game. The next thing I knew, DeeDee said she wasn't allowed to play with me any more, although she never specified why. I was heartbroken for a while but life went on.

When we hit high school, DeeDee went completely boy crazy and I mean completely. As a not-so-innocent enticement to the boys, she stopped wearing panties under her tight polyester slacks. I still think of her whenever I see a camel toe.

[Dick and Jane collage card entitled "Wheeeee" created by Todd and used with his permission. See more fab cards at Todd's Etsy shop, Paper Lunchbox, and visit his blog, Musings from a Manic Mind.]

Proctologists to the Rescue

Phew! That'll save me a trip to Walmart! Thanks, Downtown Baltimore Surgery Center!

Gutterballs Update

Yes, I rolled many, many gutterballs. On both sides of the lane. The first game I only scored a measly 52 points. The second, 55. So hey, I improved! My Rare One bowled about double my score. A couple of the lesbo chix were decent bowlers but most of us were duffers. That didn't stop us from having a blast though!

And as a surprise, there was a real Valentine's theme to our day! The woman who wore the most red received a prize of a $25 Tim Horton's coffee 'n donuts card. And we each received a gel rose that lit up and flashed like a light show. Holy moly! Then later at the pizza place, there were Lindt chocolate hearts placed beside all our plates and a fresh pink long-stemmed rose for each of us. The woman who organized this bowling get-together really went above and beyond!

And yes, we were both stiff the next day but in the most unexpected spot. My Rare One and I had sore glutes, LOL! Guess we need to get in better shape for next year's bowlarama.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I've always liked and enjoyed Valentine's Day, no matter whether I was single, madly in love, broken-hearted or whatever on that date. That's because I don't regard Valentine's Day as a holiday which celebrates only romantic love. That's MUCH too narrow a focus! To me, Valentine's Day celebrates love of family, friends and pets -- all the important ones in our life!

So even if there is no romantic dinner, roses or chocolates on any given February 14th, there is always an exchange of valentines with my Mom, sister and special friends. And of course, Her Royal Highness the cat sends valentines too. (I act merely as her secretary.)

And if there does happen to be romance that particular year also -- well, it's just the pink icing on the heart-shaped cake! But the absence of romantic love is no reason for anyone to think less of themselves on February 14th (or any other day). Nor is the presence of romantic love a reason for anyone to feel superior or more deserving.

Happy Valentine's Day, EVERYONE!

Gutterballs

So My Rare One and I are lacing up the ugly two-tone shoes and going bowling tomorrow afternoon! We only bowl once a year, though. We go with our gang of middle-aged but still wild 'n crazy lesbo chix. Watch out, Bonnie Doon Lanes, here we come!

And our bowlarama extravaganza will be JUST like this video, except with pizza afterwards:

And yes, while we are all indeed middle-aged, nobody has The Dude's facial hair, at least not yet. So don't even ask which one of us plays his role. Although I'd LOVE to have the opportunity to float down a bowling lane between the legs of all those Busby Berkeley beauties!

The Log Driver's Waltz

How could I discuss lumberjacks without also paying tribute to log drivers, those fabled men in plaid shirts who corralled the big log booms on Canada's rivers and rode them downstream to the lumber mills and pulp and paper mills? They spent their lives in a hazardous dance "birling down a-down white water."



Mechanization and huge logging trucks have now rendered log drivers obsolete. Although birling or log rolling is no longer a profession, it still survives today as a competitive sport in lumberjack competitions.

I'm a Lumberjack and I'm Okay

Historically, Canada was a nation of hewers of wood and drawers of water. In the early days of Confederation, lumberjacks were a dime a dozen. Every forest was jam-packed full of them. But today, due to mechanization of the lumber industry, lumberjacks are a pretty rare commodity indeed.

There are other threats to their existence too. If you are lucky enough to spot a real lumberjack, he'll be skittish and will disappear immediately, leaving only a powerful whiff of woodsmoke and stale sweat. Men wearing the big plaid shirts of the forest are an endangered species and they know it.

Some brave Canadian men and women are trying to revive our proud lumberjack tradition by going to special forestry camps on the weekends. At such camps, these Lumberjack Re-enactors wear loud plaid shirts, don specially knitted "beard balaclavas" and saw logs by hand, all while glowering in a manly way and not using deodorant.

Won't you help them in their cause? For only $50 a month, you too can sponsor a Lumberjack Re-enactor! In return for your ongoing sponsorship, you will receive a photo of your personal lumberjack and periodic letters from him/her written on birchbark. All cheques, money orders and bank drafts can be sent care of this blog and will be used for the sole purpose of keeping Our Canadian History Strong and Free. I promise.

Groundhog Day Redux

I'm with you, Impatient Cat! Let's form an Angry Mob! Who wants to come along? I've got a pitchfork. Anyone have a blazing torch?

Wikikittyleaks

Hello. It's me again, Her Royal Highness, blogging in the middle of the night from a top secret location for my own safety.

You readers think Debra She Who Seeks is sooooooooo nice and sweet, don't you? Well, she's got you completely bamboozled, you poor gullible saps. Just be glad you're not me! *sob*

That Beyotch-with-a-capital-B is a total tightwad cheapskate when it comes to gushie food. Oh sure, I have 24/7 access to a big bowl of prescription dry kibble but the key words there are prescription and dry -- yecchhh! Of course I choke it down out of necessity, but what I really want is beautiful moist gushie food. Anything with poultry is my fave although I also accept tuna and salmon in a pinch. But all that miserable Scrooge gives me is one tiny dish of gushie food per day. And even then I have to nag her relentlessly for a couple of hours first.

Can I come and live with you and eat as much gushie food as I want all day long? I'll be the best kitty you ever had! Please?

Buddhists Love Cats Too

[Final photo and caption courtesy of Kal at Calvin's Canadian Cave of Cool]

Year of the Rabbit

Gung Hey Fat Choy, everyone! Happy Chinese Lunar New Year! (which technically began last night with the New Moon).

And wow, 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit or Hare! So what can we expect for the upcoming 12 months? According to Susan Levitt and Jean Tang in Taoist Astrology:

The year of the Hare is a time of peace, calm, leisure, and rest after the chaos of the previous Tiger year. People enjoy the arts, gourmet food, and luxuries. Money can be made easily, but it is spent easily. The Dragon year that follows will be a wild and exhausting time, so enjoy a Hare year as an opportunity for relaxation, pleasure, family gatherings, entertainment, and comfortable travel. Expect political compromise and diplomatic peacemaking on a global level.

Well, that sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

Every year Canada Post issues a commemorative stamp for the Chinese Lunar New Year. Here is this year's offering, which I like very much:

Now go eat a moon cake or set off a firecracker or something, eh? And don't forget to exchange a penny with a friend! Click here for the details of that little good luck and abundance ritual which I posted last year.

The Awful Truth

Yes, aren't we all, Bill? Aren't we all.

Raising the Tone of this Blog

Hello. Her Royal Highness here. Like the rest of you, I can't help but notice that the tone of this blog has degenerated lately into superficial fluff, adolescent sexual fantasies about Colin Firth and descriptions of gastrointestinal distress. Therefore, I am intervening in order to post something with more literary merit -- an extract from the greatest medieval poem ever written, Beocat. You're welcome.

Brave Beocat, brood-kit of Ecgthmeow,

Hearth-pet of Hrothgar in whose high halls

He mauled without mercy many fat mice,

Night did not find napping nor snack-feasting.

The wary war-cat, whiskered paw-wielder,

Bearer of the burnished neck-belt gold-braided collar band,

Feller of fleas fatal, too to ticks,

The work of wonder-smiths, woven with witches' charms,

Sat upon the throne-seat his ears like sword-points

Upraised, sharp-tipped, listening for peril-sounds,

When he heard from the moor-hill howls of the hell-hound,

Gruesome hunger-grunts of Grendel's Great Dane,

Deadly doom-mutt, dread demon-dog.

Then boasted Beocat, noble battle-kitten,

Bane of barrow-bunnies, bold seeker of nest-booty:

"If hand of man unhasped the heavy hall-door

And freed me to frolic forth to fight the fang-bearing fiend,

I would lay the whelpling low with lethal claw-blows;

Fur would fly and the foe would taste death-food.

But resounding snooze-noise, stern slumber-thunder,

Nose-music of men snoring mead-hammered in the wine-hall,

Fills me with sorrow-feeling for Fate does not see fit

To send some fingered folk to lift the firm-fastened latch

That I might go grapple with the grim ghoul-pooch."

Thus spoke the mouse-shredder, hunter of hall-pests,

Short-haired Hrodent-slayer, greatest of the pussy-Geats.

[From Poetry for Cats by Henry Beard (Villard, 1994)]