Merry Kringle

 

IN SEARCH OF NA NO WRI MO:

We have a few covers designed. We promise you it is not a novel about rival composers who come back to life and offer us sage advice about life and love.

Tomorrow, we're sending the cover designs to people who might like to offer their suggestions about the theme of the novel. 

Inktober #3: UNCHARTED

 

My mother used to say, "Honey, if your drawings were of nice things, more people would like them." She was probably right. 

Inktober #2: EXOTIC

 Another raft of travel-themed hooey. 

Mind the coconuts.

Inktober 2024

Inktober has a "theme" this year, and if we want to, we can squish all the travel and adventure symbols we can conceive into one illustration. Things would never get peculiar, deadlines would be met, bull terriers would still exist. 

This is from the same person who thinks Nuit Blanche is gimmicky, but will still nip to a wine bar and paint her friends as human Kintsugi - and expect to be taken seriously!

prompt: BACKPACK

a date with SCHUBERT

 

WHAT'S YOUR NAME AGAIN?

 

Never too early for HALLOWE'EN MUSINGS

We're getting all moothy for the upcoming NaNoWriMo 2024, which will be written, partly, in Scots language. We'll be writing as we remember it. No' half!

Here we are, floating over either the moor or the brae. There's still time to photoshop some magic into it before writing begins. 

1. Wings, like Wili wings

2. A moor or bonnie brae

3. The beloved sternotomy scar?

4. More hair - a Wili-like spook sister would have a solid fringe

FAKE WIKIPEDIA

... because no-one can be arsed to write us a real Wikipedia. Maybe you don't warrant one, some might say, with a pinched church-lady expression, as though we issued a bad smell or articulated an oppositional political view. Don't warrant, don't deserve. Who are you, anyway, mouthbreather?

RAT UNDER PAPER is the pen name of Canadian illustrator A. G. Duffy, a name used mostly when there are issues involving usernames that have already been taken. How a name like "Amanda" could have ever become popular enough, let alone attached to "Garland" and "Duffy" is a mystery, but there you go. 

A. G. Duffy, aka RAT UNDER PAPER, is best known for a style of illustration described variously as witty, amusing, charmingly edgy, and "a ball of pent-up something - not rage, not bitterness, but something requiring vengeance or medication".

 "It's a tall order for a Gen Jones," says A. G., "But so far, we've kept our work from appearing nasty or over-the-top melancholic. We didn't get every toy we wanted in the 60s and 70s, but we won't build a pop culture museum dedicated to our lost youth, or romanticise neurosis as art."

Her work has been published in numerous publications, including weekly columns in TV Guide and The Wall Street Journal. Other illustrations, including several magazine covers, have appeared in Christianity Today, Out, Forbes, Ms, Good Housekeeping, The Atlantic Monthly, New York Daily News, Saveur, Report on Business, Fast Company, Sales and Marketing Management, Readers Digest, Ryerson Review of Journalism, Quill and Quire, Playboy, Saturday Night, and Entertainment Weekly, among others. 

EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION:

A. G. was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba on September 3, 1959,  the only child of Leslie Ruth (née Walker) and Owen Duffy. The family moved to Kelty, Scotland for a year and a half, before settling in Toronto. 

A. G.'s fanciful and attenuated childhood was spent drawing, designing and writing elaborate comic operas, musicals and plays. The illustrations in Jack and Jill, Oor Wullie, the Broons, and MAD influenced her stylistically. At an early age, she realised she was a lexical-gustatory synaesthete and balletomane. This had no effect on her drawing but inflated a runty ego.

A.G. attended the Ontario College of Art (and Design) from 1978-1982, graduating with honours. 

CAREER:

A.G. aka RAT UNDER PAPER began illustrating for Homemakers, The Globe and Mail, and Toronto Life while still at OCA(D). She got a kick out of the notion of freelance illustration when she noticed her work on the page of a newspaper read by the subway patron sitting next to her.
. 

She has worked mostly for magazines and newspapers over many years. She has an ongoing comic strip, LOSER GRRL, which highlights the foibles of a flawed heroine who has no intention of saving a dirty, messed-up world, but loosely associates with its denizens, occasionally transforming them into inanimate yet articulate objects. The main character bears a likeness to A. G. Duffy (the illustrator). Her sidekick, Down Boy, is a representation of a succession of beloved (real life) bull terriers. 

She paints portraits both large scale (over 5') and small (under 4") and is in the process of restoring a discarded dollhouse into a Gothic art gallery of miniatures with a live viewing audience of vintage Liddle Kiddles. 

Her illustrations often feature hand-lettering, which was turned into the font "Duffy Script" by ShinnType/ShinnDesign. A new font is in the works, which combines a traditional serif typeface with elements of Duffy Script. 

PERSONAL LIFE:

A. G. likes houses; the work of Yoshitomo Nara and David Hockney; popcorn; knitting; Chopova Lowena; Bodoni; Neo-Calvinism, old garden roses; tomato soup; the impression of luxury; Modest Mouse; the Smiths; Duran Duran; ballet (still); the Arts and Crafts Movement; old school painting; black turtlenecks; Ruinart; Farrow and Ball colours; Supergas; novels of J. M. Coetzee, D. H. Lawrence, Haruki Murakami and Martin Amis; the Oxford comma; the royal "we"; ayce salmon tataki, and Schubert - all of Schubert, obsessively, but mostly his piano sonatas and impromptus.

She lives in Toronto, and says "Though it was once a great city, it's still good. Naysayers should STFU."

Apr 29 (still no particular order)

 Apr 29

The day begins, ends, with Schubert.

For this, an LBD, slinky, 

not tradwife –  Franz would not be wowed

by ruffles or cowlike florals.

How would you know anything of

composers, says Mister. Nothing 

wrong with a woman who knows how

to dress like a lady. We pour 

glasses of Ruinart – one for 

me, one for Franz - and wait until 

the second movement of the fifth,

our favourite, before we sip.

Apr 22 (remember: no particular order)

 Apr 22

The river runs through the neighbour’s 

backyard, east to west, then dips south,

missing our yard completely. We’ve 

never seen it, but we’ve heard it

alright; it sounds just like Mr’s 

voice, whispering, as though he were 

telling secrets in the garden, 

things we should know but never will. 

That’s Mr for you, always plays 

his cards close to his chest, we’d say, 

if the river came close enough

to give us a hint, its pssshpsssh 

no longer mysterious but

making sense at last, while we get 

on our knees with gratitude for 

the warning we knew was coming.

NaPoWriMo 2024: not all of 'em, and in no particular order

Apr 18

There You Go, part 2

 

Why do you not trust, we say to

ourselves, though the truth is that we

have looked through every closet, 

nook and cranny in search of  - we

admit this – things we lost, lost things, 

things of which we were the steward

and we’ve no idea what went 

wrong. We’ve found the missing Barbie

doll, the glass tabletop that went 

awry, even eclipse glasses. 

It takes a week before it dawns

on us that we threw our missing 

cheap-ass earrings into the leaves 

of a potted ficus at the 

mall. If we go looking for them

out of curiosity, please 

please please do not let us find them. 

ANOTHER EXCERPT FROM "YTA" - crazy blockbuster novel(la) by A.G. Duffy

...............

 Franz Schubert - March Militaire

 

Woody has arrived for a glass of red and a peek at the dollhouse. At first, he doesn’t see it, even though he nearly tripped over it; the thing takes up half the kitchen. 

“Well, would you look at this,” says Woody, giving the roof a dad-shake. “You’ve really got a project going here. The roof is nearly done. What are these, tongue-depressors you cut down to make shingles? What is it with roofs being a theme in your life?”

 

“You remember! We don’t know why, but the fact that you remember makes us so happy, we could cry.”

 

“Jiminy Cricket on a cracker, Kettlecorn! How could I forget? I feel I was there when the TV antenna crashed down on your childhood house and scraped a bunch of shingles off the roof. You could see daylight when you went into the attic, you said. There’s more, but I like it better when you tell the story.”

 

“This part I like to tell people when they’ve had too much to drink. They’re incredulous, as they should be, but by the time they’ve keeled over for the night and have woken the next day, they have a hazy sense of a story that they can’t quite recall. And then we’re off the hook.”

“YTA, Kettlecorn.”

“AITA, or do you want to hear the story again? Drink up.”

“NTA.”

We pour Woody another glass – it’s Lambrusco, cheap by some standards but trendy by others.

“We went up into the attic, which was an adjunct to our bedroom. We both loved and hated that room. It looked charming, really, wallpapered in giant cabbage roses. To the right of the bed, if you were lying in it, was an inset bookcase. And if you pushed the bookcase, it opened into an attic. Auld Owny promised us that he’d turn that attic into a secret playroom. 

 

It never happened, as you know. What happened instead was a thunderstorm, a lightning strike, a high wind, the crash of the antenna, and the loss of several roof shingles. It bothers us that some of the details are missing, but we know how to embellish to our favour. We like to say we were able to see daylight when we went in the attic, and we certainly know that Auld Owny never repaired the roof, even when Ruth begged him. ‘There’s no money for that,’ he’d scowled. When she mentioned it again, he walked out of the room. So – was he planning his retreat already? Some say yes. Bram does, but Bram likes to be the one who figures out nefarious behaviour and the path towards doom. 

 

Here’s the part you enjoy, the addendum. We realised that Auld Owny was never going to repair the roof and was planning to fly the coop with a mistress. The two events are intrinsically linked. We saw pain etched on Ruth’s face. Shock. We were impatient with her, like any decent teen, but our impatience suffered into fury. We took a tire iron and poked holes in the attic ceiling so that the question of seeing the glint of daylight was no longer a question. We poked holes that were so -shall we say - generous, that water streamed down the living-room windows when it rained. At the sound of the first pattering of raindrops, Ruth and I ran to the kitchen to retrieve our collection of ice-cream buckets and line the windowsills. We will never forget the sound, the insistent plunking into the plastic tubs. And when the tubs overflowed, puddles formed and a small lake filled the room. We bought paddles, telling the salesman at Aikenhead’s that we’d be back for a canoe later. 

 

It’s a nice twist, you must admit:  a brazen lass flinging open the attic door – a hidden room behind a bookcase, no less! – then with studied deliberation: poke, poke, poking between the rafters until she could see stars shining back at her. And on rainy days, she had a lake. 

 

No one questions us. They do not dare. That a tire iron could push beyond layers of roofing material and shingles is ludicrous, but it makes for a wonderful example of tenacity. Braveheart revisited. 

 

Who wants to hear of the rolling of eyes and quiet resignation? We prefer the alternate universe to the real one in which Ruth nudges us, sighs, ‘If I could buy him out, honey, I would. Our time here is done. By the time the roof is ready to drop, we’ll have moved to a new home.’ If she was unhappy about the inevitability of moving, she did not show it. She saw the departure as a new and exciting adventure. ‘We might find a nice little place on the Island. I’ve heard of a building where tenants have dinner parties together on the weekends. We’ll have fun, and believe me, we could use a little fun.’

ST. SEBASTIAN

He looks like he's somewhat enjoying his unending and protracted immolation. In every painting, every illustration, there's the sly wince: this is a mere flesh wound, a scratch. I could get to like this.

We can't say if he really does like his - shall we say - position or not, but he makes the perfect valentine anti-hero. 

The chocolate cake (his battleground, or playground, depending) was baked from a Leite's Culinaria recipe. Highly recommended. The frosting we made was caramel; it seemed to suit Sebastian.

We also made an anti-valentine cake topped with dead roses on top one year. Never to be forgotten. 

NEW EXCERPT! YTA!

In the following snippet, Keturah/Kettlecorn discusses her lifelong obsession with houses! 

Johnson (YTA with bells on) initiates her deep dive into musings over a dollhouse which, we promise you, does not have meaning beyond the obvious. Bram is as disinterested as ever. But the ever-loyal Stig encourages the best of recollections...

“You know, Keturah, I’ve watched you. I’ve liked you. I’ve considered you as a partner. Yet all roads seem to lead to your nursing your mediocrity forever. You’re not really planning to make it big as an artist, are you? As far as I can see, you’re stuck: a hausfrau, content to wash socks and cacky arses. If you plan to spend your life running around that broken-down hovel you call a house, you can count me out. I’m not sticking around.” Johnson sat back in his chair, satisfied. Ball’s in your court. 

We were horrified, as you can imagine, Stig, but not for the reason you might think. Consider our lifelong obsession. All we heard was that broken-down hovel you call a house, and we were incensed. 

“A minute ago, the broken-down hovel you call a house was something in which you saw yourself revelling.”

Stig pricks up his ears. The rest of this story is familiar.

“Go ahead. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of your need to grind things into the ground.”

 

…..

 

We found the dollhouse abandoned by the side of the road. It’s almost a cliché. Many decades ago, we’d whined for a dollhouse, and one appeared for our third birthday. We know it’s not our imagination because there exists a photograph of us standing in front of it, clutching a rag doll. It was one of those typical Sixties toys, made of thin painted metal. We loved it.

 “But what happened to it,” we asked Bram one day, while we sifted through an old photo album. We noticed several photos were missing; only the pasted corners remained. 

“You’ve never mentioned a dollhouse,” said Bram. “Whatever it is you remember probably didn’t belong to you.”

He looked away quickly from the album with the empty spots. Not necessarily suspicious. What if he’d taken photos to make copies? Whatever we asked, though, there’d be a pat answer and a scowl. 

“My sister had one of those houses, Keturah. They were dangerous. She cut her fingers on its sharp metal corners, and my parents tossed the thing out to protect her from seriously injuring herself. Maybe your folks did the same thing. Maybe they just wanted to protect you. Can you see that?”

 

There’s truth in that, we tell Stig.

 

But here’s proof that God exists. On an October night thick with darkness, we saw the dollhouse glowing by the side of the road. 

“That’s dramatic,” says Stig. “Anything on an October night gets me.”

“I said it was glowing.”

“That’s icing on the cake, Keturah - Kettlecorn, that is. Prithee, continue.”

We can see that it’s roughly hewn, homemade, perhaps with earnestness but certainly without skill or refinement. We decide it’s worth it to wheel it home – it’s on casters, of all things – and give it a coat of black spray paint to Goth it up. You can see, now, why we mentioned that it was an October night, thick with darkness. We were brimming with cleverness, the sort that only a Gothic haunted dollhouse replete with cobwebs and Dollarama skeletons can realise.

“Not really the thing for which you were pining and hoping, though.”

“That, dear Stig, is the point. We don’t get the dream house, the beautiful heirloom, the grandpa-crafted Victorian. We don’t get exactly what we want. Our blessings are always a little bit different. We get the dollhouse, and we get it in the fullness of time, at sixty-four, not four. But the dollhouse is ours. It is not a beauty. It is filthy. It was kicked to the curb, covered with mice droppings. But the blessing is that if we want to make the effort to rescue what God intends for us to have, we can call it a gift. 

We suppose it would have been easier to leave the blessed thing by the side of the road. It wasn’t the kind of thing that would have been snatched up, but we would have regretted bypassing potential. For us, it’s always potential. A beautiful thrift shop dress, three sizes too big, will appear before us. Or a rummage sale purse in a screaming orange. The potential is irresistible when it’s that or nothing. 

We’re not intent on making the dollhouse a symbol of real life, so please get that furrow out of your brow. We’re not spray-painting it and throwing it back to the streets, either. We’re  going to give it what it needs, we’re going to realise its God-given potential that it always deserved. We’re going to elevate the thing and make it into something far better than what we would have done with a more elegant gift. And here, Stig, lies the true blessing. It is what you understand but few – certainly not Bram  - do. We can do anything. We get few instances of instant gratification, but even though we come by the thorn road, so to speak, we get the reward.”

.....excerpted from YTA, that NaNoWriMo sensation you didn't know you needed to read until just about now. All rights reserved, copyright, 2023, A. G. Duffy/Rat Under Paper

VALENTINE EXTRAVAGANZA (DAY 3)

Nothing says "love will tear us apart" like Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart". 

We haven't even hit February yet, but we're thinking of heart-shaped wreaths and festive illustration. 

A MONTH-LONG VALENTINE'S DAY EXTRAVAGANZA

Oh my my... we forgot all about Ketchup Boy from Loser Girl. This panel is from the so-called lost episodes, which means they were drawn, snickered over, but never posted. If Leonardo had not reminded us: Hey, remember the bloke in a ketchup bottle who was riding around, asleep, on your back? we would have lost him entirely (Ketchup Boy, not Leonardo). 

Note that Loser Girl was decidedly homelier in those days. Is it any wonder? We will have to find a way to stick the lost episodes into the middle, or write our not-quite favourite opportunist back into the plot. 

How does this fit into the MONTH-LONG VALENTINE'S DAY EXTRAVAGANZA? No idea - but we are featuring a month of smoochapolooza tunes on DreamWidth, and day two is Genius, by the Dandy Warhols. Our pal Ketchup Boy was based on that song. Nice!

NEW YTA EXCERPT (this one's about heaven again)

 ...and it has an illustration, unlike most adult novels. (By "adult", we mean "novels largely read by grown-ups", not "nudge-nudge, wink-wink or things to do with sexytime". 

Here is a discussion of Heaven (we've finally decided to capitalise it) between Keturah (Kettlecorn) and Stig. In a later excerpt we'll explain why we think Bram's idea of Heaven on earth (Earth?) is the consumption of 22 peanut-butter cups. How dare we.

Is there vengeance in heaven? Will we finally get a good kick-at-the-can if we pass through the Pearly Gates, honest and, heaven forbid we use a tired buzzword, transparent at last? Do the do-gooders (and why does that sound like a pejorative) get to call up some nefarious sorts from Hades for the afternoon and give them a once-over? 

How long is an afternoon in heaven? And, once and for all, is it Heaven or heaven? It’s kind of a complicated thing. If we capitalise Hades, and not heaven or, with more poetic gravitas, ‘the heavens’ – then one may feel a bit at loose ends with proper nouns and whatnot. 

Ruth was a semi-lapsed Catholic, as was Auld Owny. When either of them felt like returning to the fold, they’d pray for themselves and weep, then find a new and accommodating church. Ruth beamed when she found hers. The priest annulled her marriage, which felt nice, and the weekly church bulletin contained a coupon for a free Egg McMuffin after Sunday service. “I like to split mine in half. The savoury part with the egg is eaten first, and the rest of it, the sweet part, is spread with butter and jam. You should come to mass with me.”

But when it came down to the countdown to heaven, Ruth was staunchly opposed. “Honey, there’s nothing after you die. There are no angels floating around on clouds, bowling when there’s a thunderstorm. There’s nothing. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. You die, your body is buried, and that’s it.”

However, in moments of piety, she argued her own point. “Honey, there’s no such thing as an afterlife, with people meeting up with their already-gone family and all that. Once you die, your body turns to dust – remind me to tell you why I think cremation is much more sanitary and less morbid – and God releases your soul to float freely around the universe. Me, I want my soul in the body of an eagle, soaring majestically over mountaintops.”

We don’t remember if she told us what a soul actually did with its time. We pictured a ghost hovering over Stonehenge in a mist, waiting for further instruction. 

“Well, I like that idea,” says Stig. “I dig the idea of a soul wandering around until it gets the word from Mission Control to get its ethereal arse in gear and return to Planet Earth, but better-evolved for a’ that. Earth had better be in its tip-top form, as well. I can live with that.

Food is part of it. Am I a dog? Am I aware that I am a dog? If I did not live my best life as a dog, may I return to live that life again and again, each time better than the last – thinking of Bram and his peanut-butter cups here - but not in a sense of gluttony or consumerism? Are we all dogs in heaven? Is there differentiation between dog and human? I’ve never been the kind of dog to overeat with such abandon that I make myself sick and begin again. I am food-motivated, but the way a good dog is motivated by his dinner and has gratitude for it. I’m aware of the hand that feeds me and I do not bite it, at least not beyond puppyhood. We do not talk about coprophagia. Certainly, we will have worked that quirk out of our systems by the time we get to heaven.” 

We issue a laugh. 

“Why do you laugh,” asks Bram, without expression, as he walks into the room. “I haven’t given you anything to laugh about.”

“We were talking about heaven with someone.”

“That again,” says Bram. 

 

Excerpt: YTA

 (Here, our Keturah muses upon triumph, her first dog, and the fallacy of love. Stig is the third in a succession of grand dogs, or the fourth if you include the nameless childhood dog, a fool for whom he has no glad suffering. We promise that our next excerpt will include the notorious concept of burritos-for-Christmas and steer very clear of the kooky tanukis in Norwich, Ontario.)

Franz Schubert - Ständchen

We can see why Robert thought he was embarking on an improvement of his life. He may have had visions of certain sugarplums. The missus was dour and negative. On the other hand, we squealed when we walked into a Piggly-Wiggly and found ice-cream named after Billy Graham. 

“There was likely a time when the dour missus was as winsome, Keturah, but you know this. You’re right about the sugarplums and your part in conjuring them. You like triumph. Who doesn’t like triumph? The trick is to avoid cheap triumph. It’s not particularly grand to leap to triumph at the expense of someone else’s downfall, or to revel in schadenfreude. I’m guilty of this, even as I chastise you for going low instead of high in the Robert era. My own guilty triumph will live with me forever. I’ve enjoyed stories of your childhood dog, the nameless cur who hadn’t a loyal bone in his flea-bitten body. May God bless him over these many years, but cripes, what an easy triumph I’ve had over him!”

 

“We have never slanted this story with intent to slander the beast, Stig. The memory of the dog is pure and unvarnished. The first day, the last day – that’s all that matters. The rest is filler. We have no sense of who he was, or if he had anything remarkable about him. We liked the idea of a dog; that’s the reason why he came to live with us in the first place. We fed him, played with him, bored him silly. Ruth and Owny had their ideas concerning the dog’s passivity for everything except leaving. “Well, he wasn’t fixed,” Ruth explained. “We wanted him to be happy. He liked his gallivanting.” Sounds like a fail on all counts, there. And over time, we’ve met many a fine unfixed canine with charm, personality and, most importantly, loyalty. And – gallivanting? Why do people have to put a whimsical spin on every crass act that comes their way?”

 

“I cringe every time the topic of this beast’s refusal to exhibit the loyalty for which dogs are renowned. Tell me again so that I shudder anew.”

 

“He was neither quick nor slow to learn the basics of being a good canine citizen. To his credit, he didn’t seem to like Auld Owny, though he didn’t display overt hatred, either. To me, to Ruth – I suppose he tolerated us; he made it clear he’d rather be anywhere else except at GainesBurger time. And after a while, even that couldn’t pique his interest. He roamed for days, picking rot and fester from garbage cans, occasionally being arrested by the neighbourhood dog-catcher and held until we bailed him. As soon as he was home, he wailed to leave again. Ruth never resisted his whining. She opened the door and he sped away at top speed, again and again until Owny got the idea to tether him outside – either to teach him a lesson about whining indoors, or to satisfy him, we don’t know. When we returned from school and entered the back yard, the stake holding the chain was pulled up and both dog and chain were nowhere to be seen. The gate was still locked. He must have jumped over it, we thought. That takes a lot of determination, to f***ing leap over a picket-fence gate, chain, stake and all.”

 

“Was that the last time, the time he left for good? Remember, I know this story, but I get fuzzy on the details.”

 

“That’s because you are fuzzy. He never returned on his own, but he was returned to us a few more times after that. When school let out for the summer, we spent as much time with him as we could, thinking that he was simply lonely for our attention. 

 

Our presence irked him more than ever. His restlessness and whining hit fever pitch. He picked at his food. “A moody teenager,” said Ruth, causing twice the resentment. 

 

We saw her point, though, and hit our limit of tolerance. The whining, Stig! Long, drawn-out plaintive whimpers. We went with him outside in the late afternoon, and he stood at the edge of the front yard for a moment, before trotting away from us, to the east and down the long road that led to a valley and beyond that, an apartment complex. 

We watched him stop and turn around to look at us for a moment. We think we would have liked him and preserved a better memory if the conclusion had been different. But after that moment – it wasn’t even an extended moment of consideration, of eye-contact, or even of ambivalence – he turned back again and broke into a run. This time, he did not look back. We watched until his form grew smaller, and we could no longer see puffs of dust kick up from under his feet.

 

We walked back into the house and told Ruth we’d never see him again. 

“Sure, we will,” Ruth said, almost gaily. “If he takes too long in his cavorting, the dog catcher will nab him and we’ll be off to Canine Control to bring that rascal back.”

 

“He looked straight at me,” we said, “Before he took off for good. It was as though he was considering his options and thought, Nah, I’m blowing this popsicle stand. No hard feelings.”

 

That last part is a lie. We knew that Ruth was kidding herself to bring us both some comfort and hope. We’d be treading in YTA territory if we spoke out like that.

 

“It’s the truth, though,” says Stig, “Though I’m biased. I know dogs. I know curs, too, and unfortunately you got yourself stuck with a selfish form of the latter at a formative part of your life. That’s the reason why you have not been able to shake the profundity of his disloyalty to this day. I’ve rarely seen such a devolved beast, but they do exist.”

 

“Ruth refused to accept the cur’s abandonment. At first, she held out hope of his return. Well, so did we; each time we heard a sound outside  – the snap of a twig, a rustle of leaves, a car door’s slam – we jumped and held our breath. We half-expected our hunch of “gone for good” to be wrong, and that we would see his snout pressed against the screen door. 

 

But days turned to weeks, and then to months. Ruth grew bitter; she concocted wild stories to support the loyalty of a dog unloyal. “Someone took him,” she claimed. “That’s surely what happened. He was a handsome dog, a beautiful dog, and someone couldn’t resist taking him. I could see that the chain had been cut; some thief knew what he was doing.”

“But…” By this time, we were less indulgent of Ruth’s fantasy. AITA?  “You’re thinking of one of his earlier escapes. Even then, the chain wasn’t cut. The dog pulled up the stake and dragged it and the chain itself away in his haste to get free.”

 

Ruth would have none of this. 

 

“She never accepted that this dog had flown the coop for good, freely and of his own free will,”  sighed Stig. “She must have loved that thing.”

 

We never stopped to consider the concept of love. We have never believed in love, never will. As long as a situation, a relationship is working, is alive and well, then the notion of love is brought up as its foundation. Love is here to stay!  But, it’s not love, now, is it? It is a suspension of rational thinking, a willing departure into the sublime. And then, when the inevitable head of reality pokes through, we mourn something that was nothing but a great illusion.  We’re aware of the illusory nature of the thing we call love, but why weep for the loss of something that never existed? Is it the humiliation of being tricked that is painful?

And, does anyone need to hear this? Is it better to walk willingly into the path of the freight train that people believe is true love? Who are we to burst a bubble that will be burst soon enough, without our intervention? 

from YTA, the outrageous NaNoWriMo novel sensation of 2023

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

 

350 NEW THINGS DONE OR EXPERIENCED BEFORE JANUARY 1, 2024

Alas, we made it only to 236 and even then we were pushing it.

350 THINGS DONE OR EXPERIENCED BEFORE JANUARY 1, 2024

 

1. Sugar free Dutch dropje (done) 

2. Tteokbokki (done)

3. Mr. Sun’s hot Earl Grey bubble tea (done) 

4. Begin calling the sous chef “the chef” (done) 

5. Guyanese black cake (done) 

6. Fig balsamic vinegar (done) 

7. Tunnock’s caramel wafers (done)

8. Xocolat truffles from our dear Spatz (done)

9. Laderach truffles from the Chef (done) 

10. Hong Kong Gardens (done)

 

11. Ritter Sport: Joghurt (done)

12. Roma caffeine drink (done)

13. British Twix (done) 

14. Ritter Sport: Marzipan (done) 

15. Ritter Sport: Knuskekkers (done) 

16. Sugarfina “Santa’s cookies” (done) 

17. MMC January 2023 concert (done) 

18. Take a bull terrier for a cardiac ultrasound (done) 

19. Invent “the year of tasting chocolate-ly” (begun) 

20. Rosé tteokbokki (done)

 

21. Keto bimbap (done) 

22. Torta di Siena (done)

23. British Twix (done) 

24. Jacqueline du Pre: Elgar’s Cello Concerto (done) 

24. Green Spot Irish Whiskey (done) 

25. Chopova Lowena stainless steel and cherry necklace (done) 

26. White peppermint Lindor (done) 

27. Illustrate and design a splash page (done) 

28. President’s Choice “Loads of Birthday Cake” white chocolate (done) 

29. Lavashak (done)

30. Join group “Department of Petty Rage” (done)

 

31. Das Juice “Pet Nat rosé” (done)

32. Cake and Wine Night (done)

33. Boxcar Social Riverside (done)

34. Weller’s Special Reserve whisky (done – confirming we are not a whisky person)

35. Visit Don’t Yell At Me (done)

36. Rose bubble tea (done)

37. PHO OK (done)

38. Make up a beverage and order it: DOES LOVE EXIST? from Soma (done)

39. Mr. Fish (done)

40. Portuguese rose-flavoured lip balm (done)

 

41. Custard tarts from Portugal (done)

42. Book of Paula Rego’s artwork (done) 

43. Rococo rose chocolate bar (done)

44. Rococo violet chocolate bar (done) 

45. Portuguese 95% cacao dark chocolate (done) 

46. Sansotei restaurant (done) 

47. Pear sake (done) 

48. Find out what “Bible believing” means to Christian fundamentalists (done) 

49. Precipité step in ballet (done) 

50. Snail and Niacinamide serum (done) 

 

51. See a canine ultrasound (done) 

52. Rococo honeycomb crunch milk chocolate (done) 

53. Plant buttercrunch lettuce seeds (done) 

54. Be present for the end of a canine family member (done)

55. Mungo (ongoing) 

56. NaPoWriMo 2023 (done) 

57. Australian Chamber Orchestra in concert (done)

58. Blueberry Grunt liqueur (done)

59. Lamb souvlaki (done)

60. Tahiti Treat hard soda (done)

 

61. White Claw seltzer (done)

62. Caricature of an old pal (done) 

63. Gordon Bennett! (done) 

64. North of Brooklyn pizza (done)

65. Haskap mead (done) 

66. James Galway (done) 

67. The Generous Gardener (done) 

68. Amarena cherry stuffed amaretti (done)

69. Vegan piri piri mayonnaise (done) 

70. Free Sushi cooler (done)

 

 

 

71. Grow cucumbers (done)

72. Afghan food (done)

73. Watch a friend perform at a ballet recital (done) 

74. Plant a Don Juan rose (done)

75. Plant a Blanc Double de Coubert rose (done)

76. Pear cider (done)

77. Linh Ahn restaurant (done)

78. Gong Cha (done) 

79. MeNaMi (done) 

80. Lemon and passion fruit meringue cupcakes (done)

 

81. Plant a spotted bellflower (done) 

82. Plant soapwort (done) 

83. Plant Gentle Hermione (done)

84. Soursop gelato (done) 

85. Salted caramel KitKat (done)

86. Class with dancer Larkin Miller (done) 

87. Cocktails at Stock TC (done) 

88. Make chive blossom and smoked Maldon salt butter (done) 

89. Have a triumph party (done)

90. Make Tahiti Treat cupcakes (done)

 

91. Make lemon-passionfruit meringue cupcakes (done)

92. Knit Pride socks (done)

93. Summerlicious 2023 (done)

94. Fried artichokes (done) 

95. Strawberry tiramisu (done) 

96. Browned butter frosting (done) 

97. Cream Puff liqueur (done)

98. Talk to a friend in Seattle (done) 

99. Listen to “The Heats” (done)

100. Taste a Dirty Shirley (done) 

 

101. Knit a frog (done)

102. Butterscotch KitKat (done)

103. Pho Duong (done)

104. Make thumbprint cookies three ways (done)

105. Orange creamsicle popcorn (done)

106. Knit a froggy sweater (done) 

107. See “Barbie” (done)

108. Meet a tangential honorary family member (done) 

109. Thai tea gelato (done) 

110. Buffalo wing popcorn (done)

 

111. Butterscotch KitKat from New Delhi (done) 

112. Say goodbye to Alice (done)

113. Pho’ Duong (done)

114. Pineapple-lime leaf sorbet (done)

115. Frame a piece of the tree that inspired ‘The Maple Leaf Forever’ (done)

116. Dragon Legend (done)

117. Lord Baltimore cake (done)

118. Jalapeno popper (done)

119. Design NaNoWriMo 2023 (done) 

120. Rescue a chaise longue (done)

 

121. Dill pickle cotton candy (done)

122. Deep-fried pizza (done)

123. Deep fried cheesecake (done)

124. Nitrogen freeze-dried candy (done)

125. Bomou (done)

126. Sparkling Earl Grey grapefruit tea (done)

127. Cheeseburger ice-cream (done) 

128. CNE 2023 (done) 

129. Cousins’ Day 2023 (done)

130. Zonin Prosecco (done)

 

131. Belle de Brillet pear liqueur (done) 

132. Find a vintage Coach purse (done)

133. Murano glass flowers (done) 

134. Class with Tanya Howard (done) 

135. Pink grapefruit chocolate (done)

136. Find a vintage Longchamp bag (done) 

137. Design an e-book (done)

138. Tamarind cookies (done)

139. Ube boba pie (done) 

140. Rainbow Unicorn energy soda (done)

 

141. NaNoWriMo 2023 (done)

142. Restore a rescued dollhouse (ongoing)

143. NYT Spelling Bee (ongoing)

144. Chanel Sublimage eye crème (done)

145. Drunk Elephant Framboos glycolic acid serum (done)

146. Clinique moisture surge (done) 

147. YSL pencil eyeliner (done) 

148. Covid-flu double shot (done) 

149. The sous chef’s bread pudding (done)

150. Make a brisket (done) 

 

151. Sour Heads candy energy drink (done)

152. See Emma Bovary (done)

153. See Passion (done) 

154. Draw Sam the Snowman (done)

155. Design a website (done)

156. Avène oil cleanser (done)

157. Rocket Ice Lolly drink (done) 

158. Visit Prequel (done)

159. Wear an authentic Irish walking cape (done)

160. Make a Mungo Christmas card (done)

161. Summerhill Market crack pie (done)

162. Begin reading Madame Bovary (done)

163. Learn to fold tee shirts into pouches (done)

164. Bun Bo Hue o Nom (done) 

165. Use hand rakes (done)

166. Vietnamese yogourt (done)

167.  Join group “Extremely Dull Men” (done) 

168. Attend a housewarming party (done)

169. Kiehl’s glycolic acid serum (done) 

170.  Fun sized Mounds and Almond Joy (done)

 

171. Killer Bee pizza (done)

172. Short rib pizza (done) 

173. Make Christmas planters with birch logs (done) 

174. Dry limes for a Christmas wreath (done) 

175. Make a tartan bow (done)

176. Osmanthus hand cream (done) 

177. Watch an Evil Ballerina in the Nutcracker 

178. Website 2023 (done) 

179.  Black schoolkrijte (done)

180. Soma’s apricot supernova (done)

 

181. Ritter Sport rum raisin and almond chocolate (done)

182. Camino coconut chocolate (done) 

183. Bailey’s Espresso Irish Cream (done) 

184. Byredo Blanche hair mist (done) 

185. Make a miniature art gallery (done) 

186. Make homemade almond paste (done) 

187. Christmas card 2023 (done)                                                                    

188. Read: Friends and Enemies by Barbara Amiel  (done)

189. Process 13 bags of leaves (done) 

190.  “Froggy” pose (done)

 

191. Coffee Crisp “Double Double” (done)

192. KitKat “Cookie Dough” (done)

193.  Go clothes shopping with the sous chef (done) 

194. Walk from Queens Quay and Yo Yo Ma Lane to Osgoode Station (done)

195. Subscribe to Inigo (done)

196.  Buy a trapper’s hat for a denizen (done)

197. Make a cranberry garland (done) 

198.  A real Mason-Pearson bristle hairbrush (done)

199.  Noble Epine shower gel (done)

200.  A Foreign Affair brut rosé sparkling (done)

 

201. Truffle and parmesan frites (done)

202. Champagne and absinthe cocktail (done)

203. 13 Desserts 2023 (done)

204. Dry and decorate with orange slices (done) 

205. Make Manhattan jellies (done)

206. Make a no-bake vanilla and candy-cane cheesecake (done) 

207. RitterSport white and smarties bar (done) 

208.  A patchwork tartan dress (done)

209.  Taste Advocaat (done)

210.  OPI cuticle oil (done)

 

211. Buy and wear a Polo tartan dress (done)

212.  Have a tartan-themed Christmas (done)

213.  King Charles’s Christmas 2023 speech (done) 

214.  Fauchon balsamic vinegar (done)

215.  Mozart Kugeln  - thank you, dear Spatz (done) 

216.  Panettone x 2 (done)

217. Visit an Indian buffet (done) 

218.  Starbucks latte with gingerbread and pumpkin spice (done) 

219. Violet Crumble (done) 

220.  Charbonnel et Walker sea salt and caramel bar (done) 

 

221. raita (done)

222. Indian lime pickle (done) 

223. chaat (done)

224. naan (done)

225. jalebi (done)

226. barfi (done) 

227. dal (done)

228. spinach paneer  (done)

229. gulab jamun (done)

230. kheer (done)

 

231. gajar ka halwa (done)

232. rose coconut laddu (done)

233. Armani Christmas ornament (done) 

234.  Draw a New Year’s greeting (done) 

235. Visit the new Rol San (done) 

236. Guerlain ‘Abeille Royale’ watery oil for the skin (done)