It would appear that the pirate viking (he has an eye-patch) is an artist – notice the paint brush he is holding. I bought him because I liked his orangery red hair.
We got one duck free with our homecoming bag. I think that was the blond on the left with the axe. The white haired viking, on the right, with braids and a spoon may be female. Who can tell with rubber duckies! The other ducks cost me a dollar each. Cheap fun at that price!
My eldest sister is not a fan of our viking mascot. Mostly because every image of a viking that the town uses is male. I agree we need a female viking representing our female athletes.
Someone like Lagertha perhaps.
Aren’t Rubber Duckies fun!
Today, September 19th, is Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Para Abnormal Comic by Dave Lowe
Pirates were my first love then came cowboys. I yearned for wide, open spaces free from the conflict of the reality of school where I was tolerated or ignored. I wanted someone to rescue me and pirates seemed most up to the task. I wouldn’t have to make a decision. I could be kidnapped by a handsome, devilish rogue instead. It didn’t matter that I lived on the prairies about as far from the sea as one could get. It didn’t matter that pirates weren’t real (at least as far as I knew – we only got local news back before the internet told us everything we didn’t want to know)!
Pirates were handsome. Pirates were rogues. Pirates were devilish. They may be unkempt but were never smelly. They may be thieves but they had honor. A pirate code was a code of conduct for governing pirates. The pirates would draw up their own code which provided rules for discipline, division of stolen goods, and compensation for injured pirates. They took care of their own and once kidnapped, I would belong somewhere. I would be with people who wanted to be with me. (Lets just ignore rule six for now shall we)!
I’ve always been a sucker for devilish rogues with questionable morals. Rhett Butler is the man with the plan in Gone With the Wind. He knows what he wants and goes for it. Never mind the fact that I would run from a real man who acted like he did. I’d make him walk the plank and send him far away from me right quickly.
Though if he spoke to me like this, I think I would possibly swoon. Le sigh…
Dear Scarlett! You aren’t helpless. Anyone as determined and selfish as you are is never helpless. God help the Yankees if they should get you. — Rhett Butler to Scarlett O’Hara
I want a man who sees me as strong and capable well also loving me passionately!
Oh, Christian, why do you always play such bad, bad boys?
Who wouldn’t love a man whose best friends are monkeys and parrots?
And such monikers they had – Blackbeard, Bluebeard, Calico Jack!
“This heres me man, Calico Jack!”
They winter on tropical islands. They have adventures that require scavenger hunts and treasure maps. They have plenty of money to shower you with gowns and jewels. Their treasure chests contain numerous pieces of eight!
X marks what spot?
Okay, do I want to ensnare a pirate’s heart or do I want to be a pirate
like Anne Bonny and Mary Read?
Remember talk like a pirate today and
follow me, follow me away to the sea!
Here are some seasonal additions to Ailsa’s new travel theme; which this week is Grey/Gray. I’m Canadian – we consider either spelling correct. It makes spelling bees easier!
I was in the city yesterday. My sister and I have an annual tradition of going to the Fringe and the Ex’s Saturday night free grandstand concert. Before the fun started, we went to a craft store where the pre-Halloween decorations were out. You need time to create the perfect scary display! But, then again, the Halloween candy is also out (who buys it this early? I would have it all eaten before Halloween if I bought it now).
Seeing all the orange, black and grey has me anticipating Halloween and Fall. I want a shorter summer and a longer autumn!
The greyish skeletons remind my sister of death and she fears them. I see fun and mystery in them. I see dancing skeletons and ghosts yearning to tell their stories to all willing to listen. She sees reality. I see story.
I like the raven pillow here. It makes me want to going around murmuring “Nevermore” under my breath. The tombstones dream of becoming sinister props in a fake graveyard. They yearn for pithy says.
The day started out gray. By the time we hit the festivals the sun was out and bright. There was a nice breeze flowing through the grandstand in the evening (it kept the mosquitoes away. Hooray!).
We traveled home in the dark and encountered greyish northern lights.
That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.
― Ray Bradbury
I ask nothing. I promise nothing.
I come from nowhere. A land-locked nowhere. I am surrounded by fields of flax and wheat that undulates in the wind. There is nothing here. The people are not dreamers, they are practical. Is it any wonder that I ran away.
I ran away to the sea because it was the furthest I could go. Once you reach the sea there is nothing else there. I thought it would be less work. I thought it would be more pleasure than pain.
But, like the family farm, the sea is also a harsh task-master.
The winds blow harsh and fierce in both places whipping up the tempest of dust or water – it does not much matter which.
I cannot hide. There is always work to be done. I beware of strong winds. I watch my step. I mind my head. The captain, like my father, is harsh and unforgiving.
Both sea and farm are harsh mistresses.
The sea has too much water. The farm has too little.
The farm has too much dust. The sea has none.
I long for warm beaches and petty pleasure.
I ask nothing. I promise nothing.
I want. Nothing.
The above is a poem written for September 19th which is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Click here for a modern pirate tale.
We interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to bring ya’ talk like a pirate day.
Have ya’ ever had the urge to chuck it all and ran off to the sea.
Ayyy, not to be a sailor but to be more than all that.
To pillage & plunder.
To drink Grog, play the Hornpipe and hunt for buried treasure.
I need me some sparkly pirate booty; doubloons, pearls, rubies, emeralds – I want all the pretty sparkly things!
I fell in love with a pirate a very long time ago.
Long before Johnny Depp personified Captain Jack Sparrow.
My 1st pirate movies starred the swashbuckling Errol Flynn.
Picture a Sunday afternoon in September, two rambunctious children, and a sleeping baby.
The oldest (a boy) had way too much energy.
And a 13 year old babysitter in for the long haul (all Sunday afternoon).
Thankfully, in those days we had Sunday afternoon TV movies (old movie classics usually).
Which is when I met Errol Flynn – pirate, raconteur, hero of rambunctious little boys everywhere!
The movie had it all – sword fights, canyons, the high seas, and only a teeny bit of romance.
What did we watch?
It didn’t matter. The baby slept, the boy was quiet, the little girl was enchanted by the costumes and the big girl was enchanted by the sea.
She wanted to run away to see the sea!
She was enchanted by pirates the way she would later be enchanted by cowboys and aliens (separately and together).
Thus, at 13 I became enamored with the sea, freedom, and untameable men.
Ah, what is about wild things?
“Never love a wild thing. You can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree, then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up if you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.” ― Holly Golightly