As I lay in bed this morning, thinking about this blog post, a commercial came to mind. West Jet Airline is known for their emotional ads and this one is fantastic.
A little girl and her family are checking in for a flight. She is holding a plastic, transparent container filled with live greenery and her tiny pet turtle. Yes, a pet turtle. A real live turtle. It’s not exactly a service animal that can board and remain with the owner.
The marketing team behind West Jet used facial expressions with internal thoughts to relay their message.
The father; what will they do?
The mother; they can’t hurt it / flush it
And two employees; oh, dear. How are we going to handle this unique situation without breaking that little girl’s heart?
The little girl doesn't have a voice, but she does have facial expressions. Her eyes speak to the camera. See my turtle. Don’t make me leave him behind.
The camera zooms in on the turtle. The little guy looked directly at the viewers, pleading with the airline personnel in it’s own special way, using it’s human voice, speaks.
The entire commercial is brilliant.
Near the end, one employee finds her real voice and speaks. Problem solved.
I give the marketing team at West Jet full marks and high praise.
Authors use emotions when writing. We write words that evoke fear, laughter, make a person think, or simply warm a person’s heart. Through the gift of words, we develop our characters, making them three dimensional.
We describe the scenes, so the reader can visualize the picture in the author’s mind.
Technology has given us audio books. These allow the visually impaired to listen to a story without inconveniencing anyone else. Someday, I’m hoping I can afford to have my books released in audio.
I’m not visually impaired, but I love inserting my ear plugs, closing my eyes and listening to a story unfold while my husband listens to his music. Good quality time with my guy. Don’t you agree.
I’d like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, from my family to yours.
Personally, I wish for world peace, patience and love. It’s a crazy world out there.
Take a moment, breath deeply, and relax. Your body and mind will thank you. Fingers are crossed for the New Year.
Tuesday, 6 December 2016
Friday, 28 October 2016
I love the summer with all the fresh vegetables, straight out of our garden. I normally have luck growing tomatoes and zucchini. I plant zucchini seeds and watch like a kid for the sprout to shoot up out of the ground. I buy tomato plants and put them into the garden.
By mid summer, I'm in the garden, picking and eating my harvest, With more tomatoes than my tummy can handle at once, I picked the ripened vegetables and put them into a storage container for future use.
Hungry and ready for lunch, I placed the container on the counter, planning to have toast tomato sandwiches. Even the small but sweet and flavourful cherry tomatoes work well in a sandwich.
Hubby stepped up to the counter to give me a hand with the meal.
I happened to notice him grab a tomato with this thumb, forefinger and middle finger, look at it. It obviously did not pass his eagle eye scrutiny. I don't have issues with that. Our garden is organic. Some things look rather 'used' and need tossed into the 'green bin' Our bin to dispose of food wast to avoid using the actual garbage.
He tossed that tomato back into the container. Before I realized what he was doing,
he took the new tomato in his hand and raised it toward the good container, attempting to toss a second small tomato back. I found my voice.
"Don't you dare put those back in there. Pitch them out," I lectured.
He chuckled. One of those, 'busted' chuckles.
"You bugger," I cursed. "You were going to to put that back in."
"I want to pick out good ones."
I turned my head slightly and glared at him. I didn't say a word, but my glare spoke volumes. He unsuccessfully fought his grin.
"Once you put it back with the rest of the tomatoes, you'll have to hunt to find it again. How many times to do want to handle the rotten ones?"
"You're right," he admitted, giving in rather easily.
Not at all pleased, I was relentless. "You're not at the grocery store. You can't leave it there for someone else to find it. For someone else to get rid of it."
I watch him tilt his head sideway, and then wiggle it back and forth as he scrunched his nose. The signal for 'Blah blah blah.'
"Agh," I groaned. Men. Then I giggled. "Where did I find you? Why did I marry you? What was I thinking?"
"The grocery store," he reminded me.
Yes. Although we knew each other as social acquaintances, the first time he asked me out was in a grocery store. It was April and I was shopping for tomatoes of all things.
Friday, 30 September 2016
I spent a Sunday volunteering at a local fundraiser. To say 'the day' is a bit of a stretch. But, I set my alarm for 6am on a Sunday so I'm rolling with it. My friend knew where we were going so I followed her like a lost puppy. Once in the storage room, it was actually more like huge garage, I saw two tables to my right with pink disposable table cloths. I entered the room. Adjusting to the lights, the back of the room was filled with canoes, kayaks and stand up paddle boards, all organized on wooden shelves. To the right, just as we entered were paddles, and life jackets of all shapes and sizes. Sign me up. Let me into the water. But, I had an assigned job. Kind of. I was to help my friend set up the silent auction table. Turning my attention to the left, the one table was half filled with items. We were handed a pile of sheets with pictures and descriptions of a number of items, waiting for bids. At a quick glance at the pics and the items there was a problem.
"I'm a bit confused. These don't match," I said, holding the papers out and pointing at the table.
"Some of these things are gifts." The coordinator began pushing items to the side. 'Gift prize... gift prize."
"Okay, so what about the rest of the stuff?"
"The auction items are coming," the organizer assured us.
She was super cool without a care in the world. For a woman running the entire event, not delegating anything to anyone, that amazed me.
The auction wouldn't close until 3pm, so, I suppose there was time. I've been involved volunteering for more charity events than I care to admit. I could handle this. Kathy and I could handle this. "Okay. We will do what we can."
We were left to work.
Slowly, every so slowly, more items slowly drifted in and we shifted things around.
My work was more or less concluded within a few hours. We weren't about to stay in the garage while the bulk of the activity took place near the water.
One of the best part of the day were the costumes. We saw a lot of TuTus. On women, men and even the dogs. Yes, I did say dogs. Most of the critters wore life jackets. They all wore TuTus.
I can't imagine trying to get my dog to wear that. I think she'd swear at me as I attempted to put it on her. She certainly doesn't think much of her winter coat. These dogs were troupers.
The games were the most comical part of the day. Paddle board races. The ladies were 'nice and sportsmanlike' on the water as they paddled around a buoy and returned. The men on the other hand were more fun to watch. They were more competitive and more willing to tumble into the water. They attempted to jump onto each others boards. Have you ever tried to steady yourself, on long inflatable material, let along jump from one to another? They tip, and tip easily. It isn't a sport for those without balance, That was apparent as I watched them. The better the boarders were, the more willing they were to go in. And they tumbled and went in with a splash.
There were a lot of fit people that were huffing and puffing after the races.
Overall it was a great day. Kathy left with a new paddle, a silent auction item that we kept an eye on. Her hubby would be one happy man. The dark clouds blew over without releasing a drop of water on our area. We never heard a single crack of thunder. The dogs appreciated that. The charity raised 22K, so mission successful.
See you next year.
One of the stand up paddle board instructors. His dog also works with The St. Johns Ambulance as a therapy dog. Dogs with jobs.
The Natasha Saga
The Natasha Saga
Thursday, 15 September 2016
Tuesday, 6 September 2016
I love my critters. We keep 5 feeders on the go. Yes, that isn't a typo. Five. We have a feeder with a corn mix, sunflower seeds, nyjer, and suet. Then we have a larger feeder at the front of our property with more mixed corn and sunflower. During the summer we also put grape jelly out for the oriel and sweet water for the hummingbirds. The wild critters do not go hungry. The birds make a mess and the bunnies come around and dusk for cleanup duties. Life is good...
But there are days. Squirrels are pigs. Pigs, in that that eat, a lot.
I was in the kitchen working on my computer as my husband sat in the next room playing on his.
"The squirrel is back," he informed me.
He'd got up a couple times to tap on the window and 'encourage' the squirrel leave.
Glancing up, I can see the feeders from my chair.
The lovely, chunky critter was on the sunflower feeder, filling his cheeks his bulging cheeks to capacity. I'm certain he has enough body fat the survive our winter, when it comes. Now, I admit, it takes a bit of work for the little darling to get to the feeders. He has to climb inside a Christmas tree hedge, get to the half way point and then jump to the feeder to avoid the cone shaped apparatus that we have designed to stop the four legged critters. Obviously our engineering wasn't overly successful.
I rose from my chair, walk down the three steps to the sunken living room and head for the window. Using my fingers, I tap on the window. The little brat just stopped and looked at me. I could almost hear his little mind at work.
"Agh, you're harmless."
He continued stuffing his wee face.
"Ugh," I groaned.
I opened the window and clapped my hand.
The little fellow changed his position, able to keep a better eye on me, but he had no intention of getting down.
"Ba-ad squirrel," I lectured. "Ba-ad squirrel."
The dog looked up from her sleeping position on her doggy bed in the kitchen. Hubby chuckled at my pathetic attempt.
"Ba-a-d squirrel," I continued, putting anger into my tone. "You are a ba-ad squirrel."
The little fellow looked at the scowl on my face, turned and jumped down."It worked," I informed my husband with pride. I showed a very pleased with myself smile. "The dog doesn't think much of being called bad either."
Monday, 4 July 2016
Do You Dream in Black and White or in
No question, I dream in colour. Very colourful and very realistic. Over the years I have woken questioning how much of my dream was factual and how much was my imagination. It’s a trait I gave my character Keeghan in The Natasha Saga. We both wake in the morning and have discussions with our husbands.
I remember one day being thrilled we had the pileated woodpecker at the suet that hangs with the other bird feeder. It was the male bird given the fact that flaming red crest went down to his beak. This is the guy that the cartoon was based on. Crow sized, at 40-49 cm, 16-19 ½ inches for my American friends, he warrants the respect of other birds and the salutation Mr. According to ‘Birds of North America’, there are 17 varieties of woodpeckers. No question, Mr Pil is the bird in charge. The others stand at attention and move over when that giant shows up.
That thrill turned into a thriller in my dream. I can still picture that scene in my mind. That beautiful, historic looking bird was huge. A 6+ foot creature with midnight black, evil eyes with creepy yellow pupils. Razor sharp claws appeared from under his massive muscular wings that could rip me apart milliseconds. The beast stood at our patio door, banging his rounded beak against the glass. The entire house rattled like we were in the middle of an earthquake. That bugger was determined to get into our home. He wasn’t looking for more suet. Nope. That beast wanted to devour me. In one big gulp. Trapped within my own home, with nowhere to run…