Automotive Heaven Can Wait

April 8, 2015 / Diane Henders / 39 Comments

Last week I was in automotive heaven… and it turned out to be more of a pain in the butt than I’d anticipated.

Rick and Sandy (of Hand Crafted Images) and I were doing the photographs for Book 2’s updated cover. Car buffs may recall that Aydan drooled over an Audi R8 in THE SPY IS CAST, and wonder of wonders, I got up-close-and-personal with a real R8 this week thanks to the generosity of Doug S. and the staff at Glenmore Audi.

As with most undertakings that involve me, there was inappropriate laughter.

The dealership is a pristine building featuring bright white ceilings and sleek grey floors. Other cars were scattered throughout the showroom, but two Quattros crouched protectively beside the R8, their feral headlight configurations watching us like predatory beasts.

Yes, I was slightly intimidated.

At first we trod reverently around the R8, not approaching it too closely so our heated and unsteady breathing wouldn’t fog its gleaming paint.

We were completely freaked out at the thought of being close enough to damage an automobile that costs more than twice what I paid for my first house. We checked and re-checked the tripods that held the backdrop, cringing at visions of the metal poles toppling onto the car.

At last we had the backdrops in place and the moment of truth arrived: It was time to unlock the car.

Then I would strip down to my ignominious outfit of stiletto heels and gym shorts (because I didn’t want to wear a skirt and accidentally emulate the Basic Instinct leg-crossing scene) and… yes… I would actually sit in the driver’s seat.

That’s where the giggles started. In the first place, a woman wearing makeup, gym shorts, and stiletto heels just looks ridiculous.

Also, this woman wearing stiletto heels looks slightly ridiculous anyway. The R8 tops out at four feet. In heels, I’m 6’-2”. I towered over the car (and everybody else in the dealership).

The next issue was that the stilettos give me a 38” inseam. Try stuffing those long legs into a car while holding your breath in case a lethal heel scratches something that costs more than your entire car. But I managed.

In short order, the next issue surfaced. The R8’s seats are set in quite far from the exterior body panels. If I sat in the driver’s seat, my legs barely made it out of the car. To get the shot we wanted, I’d have to perch on the rocker panel.

For the record, the R8’s rocker panels are not designed to comfortably accommodate a human ass. (Nor a human posterior, for that matter.)

It got worse. On the original cover, the model’s lips are parted. It looks as though she’s pronouncing the letter ‘D’, and it’s supposed to look pouty or sensuous or something.

My pout looked more like ‘Duh’. I stared vacantly into space, slack-lipped and clutching a cardboard cutout of a Glock. I only managed a few minutes of that before dissolving into helpless laughter. Thank you, Sandy and Rick, for your infinite patience!

But at last we packed up the equipment and vacated the premises with relief, leaving the fabulous car unscathed. (Which was more than I could say for my aching ass.)

It was only afterward I realized that my butt was the only part of me that ever touched the car. I never even put my hands on the steering wheel.

I guess I’m just not cut out for automotive heaven.

* * *

P.S. Unedited proofs are always good for a chuckle. Note my alter-ego in the reflection beside me:

My inner werewolf sneaks out when I least expect it…

Meanwhile, Inside My Brain…

January 14, 2015 / Diane Henders / 68 Comments

True to form, Book 9 isn’t even out the door yet and already Book 10 is demanding my attention. Good thing I love writing! Speaking of Book 9, SPY HIGH is on schedule to be released this Friday, January 16/15. As usual, it’ll be out on Amazon and Smashwords first, followed by all other channels within a week or two. I’ll keep you posted!

Cow Farts And Doobies

January 7, 2015January 12, 2015 / Diane Henders / 37 Comments

Hubby and I were discussing cow farts the other day.

We didn’t suddenly turn to each other at the dinner table and exclaim, “Cow farts!” No; our conversation actually began as a semi-serious discussion of global warming. It’s just that whenever I’m present, the conversation tends to go rapidly sideways. I blame this on my brain’s annoying tendency to latch onto useless but amusing bits of trivia.

In this case, the factoid in question was: Cow farts are a major contributor to global warming gas emissions. Because of the fermentation that takes place as organic matter moves through their four stomachs, large quantities of methane gas are produced. The gas is, erm… expelled. Human beings raise lots of cattle. Lots of cattle equals lots of cow farts. (Update: Sadly, the Blog Fodder has pointed out below that this is only a factoid, not a true and useful fact. But I still like the idea of farting bovine enviro-pirates. It’s good to be a fiction writer.)

Anyway, that got me thinking about cows in general. You know how some things are intrinsically funny? For example, bananas are funnier than oranges. Turnips are funnier than, say, lettuce or radishes. And cows are funnier than horses or just about any other farmyard animal.

I think that’s partly because of another little piece of trivia that may or may not be true, but it sounds logical and I want to believe it: Cows spend pretty much their entire lives intoxicated because alcohol is another by-product of the digestive fermentation process. Maybe that explains why they’re so placid. Whenever I see a cow I giggle at the thought that behind those big brown glassy eyes is an animal that might be completely snockered. (Update: Nope, this one’s not true, either. Bummer.)

And cattle are funny-looking. They could have been designed by a six-year-old kid: a big rectangular block supported by four knobby legs with a head stuck on the front. Oh, and a tail on the back.

The tail always makes me laugh, too. The skinny rope with a tassel on the end is funny in itself, but what truly amuses me is that cows and lions have exactly the same tail. I don’t know whether to congratulate the cow on its badass likeness to the king of the beasts or offer my condolences to the lion for getting tagged with the same hair-handle as the ungulates.

And if you’ve ever seen a cow jump a fence (they are actually capable of jumping, though not very high), that in itself is giggle-worthy. Unless the cattle in question are escaping your pasture, in which case it’s not very funny at all.

Anyway…

Fasten your seatbelts, ‘cause here comes a topic-swerve that’s only loosely linked to cow farts: doobies. (That’s a funny word in itself.) Yes, I’m talking about bombers, joints, reefers; wacky tobaccy in general.

How is this related to cow farts? Well, cow farts are funny. And doobies are funny cigarettes.

Why am I making this extremely tenuous connection?

Because it’s a cheap and sleazy segue into announcing that Book 9, SPY HIGH has cover art and a release date! Woohoo! My beta readers blasted through it during the Christmas holidays – thanks, guys, you ROCK! Now I only have to do some final polishing and it’ll be ready to roll out the door. The tentative release date is January 16, 2015 (to be confirmed next week).

And yes, that is a funny cigarette on the cover…

After four uneventful months spent guarding her boss’s eccentric hippy parents on an isolated raincoast commune, bookkeeper-turned-secret-agent Aydan Kelly is beginning to hope mildewed undies will be the only hazard she’ll face.

But some of the blissed-out flower children are not what they seem. Aydan discovers a plot to kill her lovable charges, and in her fight to protect them she unearths the commune’s deepest secret. Suddenly she’s facing dozens of enemies who threaten the lives of all the innocent commune members as well as her own.

She’ll only survive with a little help from her friends…

Season’s Greetings!

December 24, 2014 / Diane Henders / 29 Comments

I finished the final draft of Book 9, SPY HIGH, on Sunday and the first beta reader is already finished – woohoo! Now I’m looking forward to a week of family, food, and festivities. Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and general merriness to you if you don’t!

Hey, Brain, Stop Eating Beans!

October 1, 2014 / Diane Henders / 21 Comments

I must be consuming a high-fibre intellectual diet, because I’ve been having an awful lot of brain farts lately.

A few weeks ago I was out walking in the park near our place. We’re a friendly bunch here in Calgary, and when we meet fellow walkers we usually offer a ‘hi’ or a ‘good morning’ even if we’re total strangers.

I was striding along, my brain totally wrapped up in a plot point for Book 9, when I noticed this smiling lady approaching me. To normal people, this would be a visual cue that some response would soon be required.

But I think we’ve already established that I’m not normal. She said ‘hi’, and my brain short-circuited.

I knew some response was required but I couldn’t formulate any appropriate words. Fortunately my mouth kicked into gear a moment later and I managed a ‘hi’ in return. Not exactly complex linguistics, but the amount of effort it took was downright scary.

Then a couple of days later I was deep in writing when I remembered it was bread-baking day. I went down to the kitchen and got out my mixing bowl and spoon, pulled my hair into a ponytail… and started looking for my safety glasses.

That’s not quite as random as it sounds. We’d been trap-shooting a few days previously and it’s reflex to put on my safety glasses when I shoot. But I don’t know why my brain suddenly decided to substitute ‘shooting glasses’ for ‘apron’. I’ve never heard of anybody requiring eye protection for flying flour dust.

And I guess I was thoroughly involved in my plotting, because a few days later I flopped onto the couch and moved the TV remote from the seat cushion to the coffee table. Just as I let go of the remote, a sudden urgent thought popped into my mind: “Oh, shit, I just left fingerprints on the remote!”

That was immediately followed by a facepalm. I’ve lived in this house for sixteen years. My fingerprints are everywhere. Since I don’t watch TV they’re not terribly likely to be on the remote, but I’m sure in the course of the last decade or so I’ve handled it a few times.

And anyway, why would it matter? I can’t think of any crimes one could commit effectively with a TV remote. Bludgeoning someone to death would be unnecessarily laborious, and the batteries’ tiny bit of electricity wouldn’t make them do much more than twitch and squeak…

Ahem.

No, I haven’t spent a lot of time considering this; why do you ask?

I guess there’s always the possibility that Hubby secretly owns a fingerprinting kit and has been trying to catch the malignant ghost that causes his PVR to periodically ditch its programming. But even if I had been the guilty party, I hope the consequences wouldn’t have been too severe.

Then again, messing with a guy’s PVR programming is probably grounds for divorce. (Hubby, if you’re reading this, I didn’t push any buttons. Honest. You can dust them for fingerprints if you like.)

Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out what I can feed my brain that might reduce my cognitive flatulence. Any suggestions?

Canadian, Eh?

July 2, 2014 / Diane Henders / 37 Comments

Yesterday was Canada Day, so just for fun I’m going to ‘speak Canadian’:

Canada Day is one of our favourite times to celebrate! We had a nice hot day yesterday, so we could finally take off our tuques¹ and kick back in the shade with some Freezies², which was a nice change after the long winter.

Contrary to popular belief we don’t actually live in igloos year-round, but if the hydro³ goes off in the winter we’re hooped⁴. All we can do then is huddle in our houses and hope for a chinook⁵. So we love summer!

And Canada Day is a great excuse to break out the hooch⁶ of your choice, whether it’s a mickey⁷ of screech⁸ , a forty-pounder⁹ of ta-kill-ya¹⁰, or a two-four¹¹ of beer. But we don’t want to look like a bunch of hosers¹² lying around in our gitch¹³ collecting pogey¹⁴ and building our Molson muscles¹⁵, so most of us settle for a poverty pack¹⁶ when we’re celebrating. And that saves us a hangover as well as some loonies¹⁷ and toonies¹⁸, so it’s a win-win.

No celebration is complete without food, and the unhealthier it is, the better it tastes! Whether it’s burgers or Eggs Benny, your Canada Day fare can always be improved by adding peameal bacon¹⁹. And if you’re really looking for a way to harden your arteries, nothing fills the bill like poutine²⁰. Donairs²¹ are a good choice if you’d like to spice things up a bit, but dieters could eat fiddleheads²² instead if the season is right.

Let’s not forget dessert! Canada Day is a great time to break out the gooey and delicious Nanaimo bars²³. And speaking of sweet treats, be careful if you get a loaded beavertail²⁴ – it’s hard to eat them tidily, and if the toppings fall off onto your Arborite²⁵, it’s into the garburator²⁶ with them… and that’s just sad.

There are always lots of Canada Day celebrations to attend, but our favourite is the fireworks. We don’t go very often because we don’t like fighting the crowds, but we felt like keeners²⁷ this year so we decided to go. We thought we might be able to deke²⁸ into a parkade²⁹ and walk to where we could see them, but that didn’t work out. When we discovered we’d have to go to a golf course and fight the crowds after all, we bailed at the last minute and went to bed instead.

Guess we’re just getting old, eh³⁰?

Tuque – a knitted cap (called a watch cap in other places).
Freezie – a brightly coloured frozen treat in a clear plastic sleeve.
Hydro – everybody else calls this ‘electricity’ or ‘power’.
Hooped – screwed.
Chinook – a warm dry wind.
Hooch (also hootch) – booze.
Mickey – a 375 ml bottle of liquor, often conveniently curved to fit in a pocket.
Screech – Traditionally, cheap, high-alcohol booze from Newfoundland, often moonshine. Now also a brand name for rum.
Forty-pounder – a 40 ounce bottle of liquor
Ta-kill-ya – tequila
Two-four – a 24-pack of beer.
Hoser – a drunken oaf, but the term isn’t too derogatory – it’s kind of like calling somebody a goofball.
Gitch (also gotch or gonch) – underwear of any kind, men’s or women’s. (Where I grew up, gitch was women’s underwear and gotch or gonch was men’s).
Pogey – unemployment benefits.
Molson muscle – beer belly.
Poverty pack – a six-pack of beer.
Loonie – a one-dollar coin.
Toonie – a two-dollar coin.
Peameal bacon (Also back bacon or Canadian bacon) – cured boneless pork loin, originally rolled in ground yellow peas, but now rolled in cornmeal, though the name ‘peameal’ has stuck.
Poutine – french fries sprinkled with curds of new cheese and covered with hot gravy-like sauce.
Donair – spiced meat wrapped in a pita with lettuce, tomato, onion, and sauce (I like sweet sauce best, yum!).
Fiddleheads – baby ferns.
Nanaimo bar – a chocolatey dessert square with vanilla filling (traditional), but there are lots of other flavoured variations.
Beavertails – a deep-fried pastry topped with various forms of yumminess.
Arborite – a brand name for plastic laminate. The name is often used instead of the words ‘plastic laminate’, like ‘Formica’.
Garburator – a garbage-disposal unit that fits in the sink drain and grinds food finely enough to be washed down the drain.
Keener – someone who is overly eager. Can also be a derogatory term meaning ‘suck-up’, depending on the usage.
Deke – dodge or make a sharp turn. Also ‘deke out’ – to fake or feint successfully: “I deked him out”.
Parkade – parking garage.
Eh – the quintessential Canadian interjection. Turns a statement into a rhetorical question that assumes the other person agrees.

How many of these Canadianisms did you recognize? What oddball words do you use in your neck of the woods?

* * *

Woohoo! I’ve finished the final edits for Book 8: Spy Now, Pay Later, and it’s off to final proofreading! I’ll let you know as soon as there’s a release date on the horizon, but for now I’ll just say “Coming VERY SOON”. 😀

Progress…

June 4, 2014June 3, 2014 / Diane Henders / 34 Comments

A couple of days ago when I was lying helpless in a small dark room with a couple of dozen needles stuck in various parts of my body, I began to reflect on the state of modern medical science.

If you’re thinking that the combination of claustrophobia and needles might not to be conducive to philosophical reflection, you’re right. The truth is I was trying to distract myself; not only from the pain and psychological discomfort, but also from the galling knowledge that I was paying for the privilege of enduring both.

I’ve been getting acupuncture on my arm in a futile attempt to speed its healing from my latest kickboxing injury. (I should note that it’s my fault the acupuncture isn’t working as well as it should. I’ve discovered it tends to be considerably less effective if I spend four or five hours digging dirt and moving heavy rocks immediately afterward.)

No; the acupuncture works well when I behave myself… but it’s ironic that with all of today’s cutting-edge medical science, the most effective treatment for tendonitis is 2,000 years old. With fancy diagnostic machines and a lot of fiddling around, today’s doctors can tell me exactly which tendons are inflamed… but they still can’t fix them without sticking needles into me.

When I considered it, I realized most physiotherapy is actually a little on the barbaric side:

Ice and heat applied alternately to create the maximum possible discomfort.
TENS, which is basically electrocuting the sore spot.
Massage and active release techniques, which both boil down to ‘find the place that hurts the most and press really hard on it’.
And ultrasound, which is like hitting the sore spot with a zillion teensy-weensy invisible hammers. With blue slime as an added bonus.

The truth is we really haven’t even come very far from our Neolithic ancestors 6,000 years ago. ‘Way back then, they used a technique called ‘trephining’ to drill holes in people’s skulls and let the bad out. Sometimes the patients even survived.

Today we do pretty much the same thing for intracranial pressure, only with less screaming thanks to anaesthetics, and a slightly better survival rate thanks to antibiotics. But we’re still drilling holes in people’s skulls, and we’re still trying to make their sore spots feel better by sticking needles in them. The more things change, the more they stay the same…

And speaking of relieving intracranial pressure, here’s one thing off my mind: The cover art is done for Book 8, and it even has a title! And it’s halfway through the beta-reading process with only one minor revision so far. Woohoo!

Here it is:

Railroaded into acting as a secret agent, Aydan Kelly only wants to return to her peaceful former existence. But when trusted co-workers go missing along with a deadly weapon prototype, she’s forced to take over the investigation to protect them from an agent with a personal vendetta.

And when a violent criminal organization abducts her lover, Aydan discovers exactly how far she’s willing to push the limits of her new role. The bad guys are about to learn an important lesson: Don’t piss off a middle-aged bookkeeper.

So what’s on your mind this week? Go ahead, let off some pressure! And… has anybody got a miracle cure for tendonitis besides “Stop doing stupid things and let it heal”?

* * *

I’m on the road today so I won’t be able to respond to comments until tomorrow. I’ll look forward to “talking” to you then!

And That Was My Week

May 28, 2014 / Diane Henders / 32 Comments

The week after I finish a book is always interesting. During the final stages, I’m so immersed in writing that everything else just… goes away. Including my brain. And it hasn’t come back yet.

I tried to come up with a coherent blog post and instead spent an hour staring into space and mumbling non sequiturs. So I’m just gonna go with that.

Here’s what my week was like, in no particular order:

Ironic: This week I kickboxed, lifted weights, planted a few thousand square feet of garden, shifted a ton of garden soil, mowed the lawn, did some minor home renovations, and generally abused every muscle in my body. I was fine. Then I hurt my back… bellydancing.

Efficient: I finally discovered the secret to efficiency: a to-do list. In the morning I wrote a list of all the things I wanted to get done during the day. Then at the end of the day, I wrote “Tomorrow” after the “To-Do” title. Voila! Efficiency. Now I don’t have to make another to-do list.

Fashionable: In my closet, I have a skirt… hey, don’t laugh! I really do own a skirt. It’s a broomstick skirt, which, for the uninitiated, is a skirt that looks as though you’ve rolled it up in a ball and slept on it for a couple of months before wearing it. It suits my attitude toward dress-up clothing just fine. I unearthed it a while ago, shook it out, and then hung it tenderly back in my closet. You never know when I might need an easy-to-care-for skirt.

Oblivious: I showed the above skirt to a friend about a month ago, and she said, “Oh, what a great skirt! I remember when those were in style!” Then the conversation moved to other topics. Just yesterday it filtered through my thick skull that my beloved skirt had been insulted…

Illogical: About six weeks ago I hurt my arm kickboxing. So I ignored it, because everything gets better sooner or later, right? But it kept hurting, and a couple of weeks ago I threw a punch and ouch! So I went in at the beginning of the week and got a diagnosis. Apparently I have tennis elbow. From kickboxing. Makes perfect sense. (Fortunately muay thai allows strikes from fists, feet, elbows, and knees, so I can still train. Otherwise this heading would be “Illogical and Cranky”.)

Absent-Minded: I went for a walk, and half a mile down the sidewalk my brain suddenly shrieked: “Wait! Did I forget my pants?!?” The relief was indescribable when I looked down to discover that I was actually dressed. The subsequent question, “Are they done up?” was anti-climactic by comparison. Unfortunately, accidentally going sans pants isn’t an inconceivable scenario for me. I’m not in the habit of wandering around half-naked, but when I’m this distracted there’s always a possibility that I might begin to change clothes and just forget to finish the job.

Gluttonous: Because the universe has a cruel sense of humour, it was my week to be Designated Driver. So I haven’t even had a beer to celebrate finishing Book 8, but I compensated by eating a candy apple and a triple-chocolate ice cream cone that was as big as my head. And I have plans for beer this weekend, so all is well in my world.

And that was my week. How was yours?

Snake And Mayonnaise

January 29, 2014 / Diane Henders / 34 Comments

Yes, that title does actually read ‘Snake And Mayonnaise’. That’s what I thought I saw on a poster not long ago.

You guessed it – I’ve been misreading words as usual.

It turned out the poster was actually advertising the movie ‘Snake and Mongoo$e’, but snake & mayo sounded more appetizing. (I was hungry at the time.) I’ve had rattlesnake fondue and it was tasty, so I was willing to give snake & mayo a try. I thought maybe it would be like a lobster roll. Yum.

Or not.

Speaking of eating, I did a double-take a few weeks ago when Hubby and I were shopping for new cutlery. I didn’t realize Lagostina made flatware called ‘Enema’. It sounded… uncomfortable. Fortunately, the flowing script on the box actually spelled out ‘Enigma’, but we bought a different brand just in case.

And my mind must have been in that… er… area, because a few days later, I saw a Facebook status that read ‘I just pooped in Safeway’. (Safeway is a supermarket chain here in Canada.) I was recoiling in disgust when I realized it really said ‘popped into Safeway’. Whew.

Also on Facebook, I came to a screeching halt when I read the status of one of my guy friends: ‘I can’t believe I’m following a live blog about an erection’.

I couldn’t believe it either. In the first place, who live-blogs about their erection? Wait, no! Don’t answer that! I don’t even want to know…

Anyway, it turned out the word in question was ‘election’, so that was a relief.

In advertising news, I discovered the headline ‘Volkswagen takes big swing with Golf Rodent’. I realize car manufacturers must be struggling to find names for their new models, but ‘Rodent’ was one I never thought I’d see.

And I still haven’t. The headline was ‘Volkswagen takes big swing with Golf R debut’. But you know? I’d totally buy a Volkswagen Rodent. Perfect for scurrying through traffic and squeezing into tight spaces…

Speaking of advertising, I got all excited when I discovered an ad for ‘Vicious Women Magazine International’. Now that sounds like my kinda mag!

But… no, not so much. Turned out it was ‘Virtuous Women Magazine’, a religious publication written “…to encourage young ladies to embrace their calling of becoming virtuous women and daughters polished after the similitude of a palace”. It scared the shit out of me, but I’m sure lots of young ladies (or more likely their parents) find value in it. Different strokes…

Then I thought I’d found an ideal reader for Vicious Women Magazine, if there was such a publication. The young woman in question was wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed, “Kiss me, I’m a monster”. I was chuckling and wondering where I could buy one when I took a second look and realized the T-shirt said ‘modster’, not ‘monster’.

I didn’t know what a modster was, so I googled it. And even then, I wasn’t sure. There’s a Modster site that offers fashion advice; but the Urban Dictionary says a modster is “An asshole hipster. Usually someone who ruins the vibe at a good bar.”

I have no discernible fashion sense and I like to think I’m congenial company at the bar, so I guess I won’t buy that T-shirt after all.

But I’m still willing to try snake & mayo. And if they ever release a car named the Rodent, I’ll be first in line!

* * *

Belly-dancing update: We learned some new moves this week. Or rather, the instructor introduced some new moves, which is not exactly the same thing. One of them was the ¾ shimmy: shaking our hips in ¾ time while walking. Ever heard of St. Vitus’s Dance? Yeah, that’s how I looked. I nearly dislocated my butt.

I tried a memory technique to remember the names of the new moves, and it worked really well. “Umi” refers to a circling movement of the hips that includes a suggestive pelvic tilt. That move became “do-me” in my mind, and I’ll never forget it now. But I don’t think I’ll share that particular mnemonic with the rest of the class…

The ABC of Me

December 25, 2013October 2, 2018 / Diane Henders / 22 Comments

Many thanks to Shree over The Heartsongs Blog for nominating me for the Awesome Blog Content award a few weeks ago! If you haven’t visited Shree yet, you should – when she’s not writing thought-provoking posts, she’s doing beautiful artwork and mandalas like the one she drew for the ABC award above.

Due to time constraints and my innate laziness, when I receive a blog award I generally link back to a couple of my earlier posts here and here. After all, I figure there’s only so much anybody really wants to know about me, and I think we’re all grateful if I don’t veer off into “too much information”.

But this is a format I haven’t done before and I thought it was fun. And I couldn’t resist Shree’s beautiful hand-drawn award!

So here goes:

A – Animals. Love ‘em all! Yes, even snakes. And especially cats, frogs, and salamanders.

B – Books. I’m an addict. I start to get the shakes if I don’t have at least three books waiting to be read.

C – Cars. I like driving them and working on them. Someday I’ll finish restoring my ’53 Chevy…

D – Dresses. All forms of dressing up are to be avoided whenever possible.

E – Eh. Yep, I’m Canadian.

F – Food. At any hour of the day or night!

G – Gardening. I’m incapable of leaving a patch of soil undisturbed.

H – Home. My favourite place.

I – Infantile. My sense of humour.

J – Jokes. I love any kind of wordplay, even puns. Okay, I’ll admit it. Especially puns.

K – Keystone. I grew up in Canada’s “Keystone Province”: Manitoba.

L – Laugh. I do that a lot. Frequently when I shouldn’t.

M – Milk. My favourite beverage. Yes, I like it even better than beer. Shocking, I know.

N – Nudity. Just checking to see if you’re still reading…

O – Onomatopoeia. A mostly-useless word that refuses to leave my brain, taking up valuable memory space along with my grandparents’ phone number from 1970 and my very first credit card number. You’d think there would be a way to purge that stuff and fill the space with something more useful. Like maybe some current phone numbers.

P – Popular. What I wasn’t in school.

Q – Queen… and Quantum. I love a huge variety of music, and Bohemian Rhapsody is one of my favourites. Plus I’m a science geek, so I’m giving you a twofer! Click here for “Bohemian Gravity”

R – Restaurant. I love eating in restaurants, particularly ones that serve food I can’t (or won’t) make myself.

S – Silence. Ahhhh…

T – Tools. I love tools. Automotive tools, carpentry tools, cooking tools, you name it. Tools, books, and food are the three types of purchase that never need justification in our house.

U – Urban. The opposite of where I like to live.

V – Vivere. My favourite Andrea Bocelli album. Here’s my favourite track from the album, coincidentally also a “V” – Vivo Per Lei:

W – Wild. My imagination.

X – Xenophobic, I ain’t.

Y – Yellow. My favourite colour.

Z – Zoo. What it’s like inside my brain…

And now for the obligations of the award:

The rules for receiving the ABC award are:

1) Thank and link back to who nominated you: Done!

2) Say something about yourself with a word or a phrase beginning with each letter of the alphabet. Done!

3) And of course nominate some other bloggers for the award.

It seems as though a lot of the bloggers I’ve enjoyed in the past have vanished. I always find new ones to enjoy, but today I thought it would be nice to recognize and compliment my favourite long-time bloggers. Here they are:

Within The Sphere (The Blogger Formerly Known As AquaTom)

I know a lot of these bloggers don’t generally accept/participate in blog awards, and that’s perfectly fine – I mean this as a compliment, not an obligation.

If you celebrate Christmas, I wish you a very merry one!