Lady of the Turtle Totem

Monica was magical, and she was my friend.  Although she died too young, she lived much longer than almost everyone with her congenital heart condition normally does.  She lived on borrowed time, and she knew it, which is why she lived so wisely and so well.  If she ever felt sorry for herself, I never saw it.

I've mentioned a number of my friends on this little web of mine many times, but Monica was the only one about whom I wrote an entire entry, twice.  (See Dec. 15, 2009, and Aug. 20, 2011.)  I didn't realise that fact until after she died.  Slipping into my web so unobtrusively, not just once, but twice, was typical of her quiet, gentle ways. And now she's here a third time.
I learned a great deal from her, just by her example.  She was a true listener, which is my favourite kind of person.  She moved very slowly and carefully, because her heart couldn't withstand undue exertion.  Her cautious, measured manner served her well.  She always thought before she spoke, and she spoke less than most people, which is why others always took special note of what she had to say when she finally said it.  She was a peace-keeper.

But what made Monica extra-special for me was her magic.  I don't know if everyone was aware of just how magical she was, because she didn't talk about herself very much.  Besides, she had her priorities, like staying alive.  Her spirit guide was most surely the tortoise or turtle; creatures who move slowly, carefully and live long lives. The "borrowed time" that was given to her was because she followed their ways.  And her quiet, gentle demeanour gave her access to the unseen world, where magic abides.  She brought me there on several memorable occasions, leaving me with stories I shall cherish forever.
But she wasn't a wuss, that's for sure.  She spoke her mind when it was necessary, and I paid attention.  Everyone did.  She was a social worker and a counsellor, a calling that suited her well.  I found it easy to share my deepest feelings with her; feelings I never spoke about with other friends, even though they may have seemed closer to me.  She understood me, warts and all, and didn't fail to call me on them.  She was a deep listener when it came to hearing me when I hurt.  In fact, we became friends during a time in my life when I was hurting a lot.  
Ironically, Monica died at a time when I'm hurting again.  Her passing distracted me from myself for a few weeks.  So for a while I've been grieving the loss of a friend, rather than dwelling on my own petty concerns.  It's not uncommon for people who suffer from depression to get snapped out of it by a tragedy, disaster, or a death utterly unconnected to their personal woes, if only temporarily.  Monica was a trained and sensitive counsellor who understood that completely, and so she understood me.  And I'm pretty sure she'd understand what I'm feeling now.

The long, brutal winter and a string of lesser heartbreaks have taken their toll on me.  That's why I'm doing my best to muster up memories of my quiet, willful, magical friend to remember what gratitude truly means.  Monica lived with a great deal of gratitude, and was rewarded for it with many special, happy times and many people who loved her, not the least of whom were two good men in her life - Michael, her husband, and her son Oliver.  I want to acknowledge them as I write this, lest I appear too self-absorbed in my struggle to work my way out of my current funk.  And that's the irony of losing my friend.  Just when I thought I would have used my loss as another excuse to muck about in more misery, remembering Monica pulls me out of the ditch, and forces me to focus on what counts.  She lived her life deeply, gratefully, thoughtfully, and well.  Remembering Monica lifts my spirits.
Thanks, Monica, for showing me what really matters.  And thanks for bringing some magic into my life.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Enough Already

Slowly but surely, sadness is seeping into me.  And by sadness, I mean SADness, as in Seasonal Affective Disorder.  My previous blurb was about how much I'm not enjoying winter, and how it's affecting my moods.  They're fluctuating less now, because I'm more consistently miserable and cranky.  A regular practise of yoga would help that a lot, but I've also already complained  that the harsh, cold weather has prevented me from walking to classes.  (Getting to classes via public transport is unreliable and indirect, and includes a long wait in the cold.)  Alas and alack, I thought I was made of sterner stuff.
When I first began this little web of mine, lo these not-so-many years ago, my mandate was that it would be a complaint-free zone.  That unofficial rule was scuppered long ago, and this winter is testing me more than usual.  I've been noticeably more cranky, but at least I warn people in advance.  Simple greetings like "how are you," which are meant to be answered with an equally simple and non-committal "fine, thanks," or the grammatically incorrect "I'm good," are answered with the unpleasant truth, which no one wants to hear.  But I do that to let people know I don't really feel like talking, because my conversation is mostly about the weather and how miserable it's making me.
Although it sounds as if I must be complaining a great deal these days, it's not nearly enough for my mental health.  I'm keeping a lot more in than is good for me, which is why you gentle readers are stuck with this ornery entry.  But my frustrations have to go somewhere, so I'm dumping them into my little web, for which I apologise to whomever happens to be scanning these words right now.
Whenever I spend some time thinking "aloud" on this web of mine, and ultimately sharing my thoughts, it's with the hope that putting my feelings into words benefits me - and my audience - in some way.  Expressing myself in writing almost always serves me well, and I want it to do the same for anyone who pays my little web a visit.  Otherwise it would be simply self-serving and indulgent, which isn't exactly what I'm going for here.  So with that in mind, I'll enumerate some reasons for my seasonal funk, which can pretty much apply to just about anybody who suffers from SAD.
1.)  Extreme weather keeps people cooped up inside.  Sure, cocooning can be a good thing, but after a while, too much time stuck inside can result in mild cabin fever, even for urban dwellers.  Being bored and restless combined with a lack of exercise and fresh air leads to inertia and indolence, which is the flip side of anxiety and hyper-tension.  Both sides suck.
2.)  Cold makes you shiver.  The body's reaction to cold is to contract and tighten the muscles.  It reacts the same way to anxiety and fear.  So it doesn't matter whether the cause for shivering is physiological or psychological, the body's reaction to cold is the same.  Even if you're not literally anxious about anything, when you're cold for extended periods of time your body is behaving as if you are, and your mind follows.
3.)  Not enough vitamin D.  Although some bitterly cold days are very sunny, people still aren't being exposed to enough sunlight and vitamin D, even if they are avid outdoorsy types.  Sunlight deprivation is one of the major causes of SAD.  Sunlight warms the body and "lightens" the soul.  (For a scientific explanation, there are dozens of websites you can google.)  Suffice it to say, lack of sunlight dulls the psyche.

4.)  We're literally spending too much time looking down and in instead of up and out.  When people are outside battling the elements, check out they way they walk and carry themselves.  To protect themselves against the cold, even if they're dressed adequately, they're hunched and tense.  (See reason #2.)  Ever notice how much taller and more open people are in warm weather?  That's an excellent example of the body/mind connection, and it's why I've been stretching my arms over my head and exposing my armpits a lot these days - indoors, of course.  One of my yoga teachers incorporates that position a lot into her classes lately.  She says that if we show off are armpits more we'll be able to ward off depression.  Stand as if you're joyful, and you might eventually feel that way.  Same with smiling.  It's what actors do for a living. 

Now that I've spent some time explaining why I've got the winter blues and blahs, I feel a lot better, because I've been doing something I like to do - writing.  But my shoulders are tense and sore from hunching over the keyboard, the way I'd be against a cold wind.  See how that works?  So I'm going to stand at my study window overlooking the backyard, and stare out at the bright, brittle, bitterly cold day, arms raised and armpits exposed.
Sol Invictus!
- G.P.

Thoughts on my least favourite season...

Winter sucks.  I guess you can tell I don't skate, ski, snowboard, snowshoe or any of the other sports and pastimes that make some people I know actually look forward to this time of year.  Mind you, I have done some of these things in the long past, but not anymore.  Maybe if I did, I wouldn't be so grumpy in the winter.

In this part of the world we've been having a brutal, temperamental winter, and my mood has been fluctuating right along with the weather.  This morning, not for the first time in the last month, I got bundled up to walk to yoga class, which takes almost 25 minutes on a good day.  I was outside for three minutes and realised there was no way I could tolerate the entire walk there.  So I turned around and came home.  I've missed a lot of yoga classes in the last six weeks, and that makes me even grumpier.  And it's all been because of cold and snow and ice and all that other stuff that makes walking unpleasant, if not downright dangerous.  I've come close to falling a number of times on icy sidewalks.
The irony of all this is that I've been worried for a number of years now that climate change has robbed these here parts of a proper winter.  Unduly mild winters set me to fretting about rising Arctic waters and drowning polar bears.  Then we finally get a good old-fashioned winter, the kind I remember as a kid, and it denies me the pleasures of walking and yoga that I enjoy in my not-that-old-yet age.  So here I am, missing out on yet another yoga class and complaining about it on my little web.
Okay.  I'm still feeling out of sorts, but not as much.  Sometimes talking things out with my legion of loyal followers accompanied by a hot blast of caffeine soothes my shattered nerves.  So I'm going to pour myself another cup of coffee and make an appointment with the vet for my little Lulu, who has licked off all the fur on her belly, legs and flanks.  Maybe that's her way of complaining about the weather, too.  Anyway, she looks the way I feel, and it ain't pretty.

Aye me! Now I'm cranking myself up again.  So I guess I better go.  Although I haven't finished complaining, it must be deadly for you fab folk out there to have to read about it.
Oh! Wait!  I just thought of something positive to say about winter in the true north strong and freezing.  It reminds me that Nature rules, and so I respect her moods and obey her commands, even if I don't like them.  (Simple stuff like wear a hat, shovel the snow, don't walk on thin ice.)  If I didn't I'd be even more miserable.
Mother Nature has the power.  And as far as I'm concerned, that's cool.  Or maybe I should say c-c-cold.
- G.P.

Golden Olden Days

There's an old, familiar face working as seasonal help at the store where I'm employed.  The face belongs to Pat, a fellow Crone and dinosaur, who quit working there a few years ago and has returned for a short while to make some extra coin.  She's a poet who devours books, and has brains to spare.  But what matters most to me is that she is a quiet reminder of earlier days at the bookstore when we were working together.  It was a time, not really that long ago, when I realised I was a no-longer-young person in the last "straight" job I'm likely to have, a.k.a. jobs between gigs that hardly ever happen.

Anyway, it's nice to see a recognizable face dressing up a place that's becoming stranger to me all the time.  (That's not necessarily a bad thing.  Change keeps me on my toes.) I was really happy to hear that Pat would be coming back for the Christmas season, although I knew we'd have very little time to actually do anything that resembled socializing or catch-up conversation, because it's just too busy to stand around and gab.  But I enjoy  seeing her at the store, even though it's just in passing.  It feels familiar and even a bit nostalgic (a sure sign I'm not young anymore), especially at this time of year.  So thanks, Pat, for being there.  In fact, thanks for just being.
Anyway, that's all I had to say.  I haven't any profound revelations or new discoveries to share - just the warm and fuzzy feelings that seem to magically surface this time of year.  So here's to a Happy Solstice, Merry Christmas and a healthy, prosperous New Year to all my family and friends who delicately tint the present moments with the warm, sepia glow of the past. 
Blessed be.
- G. P.

Earthbound

The last time I wept was as I was leaving the Galapagos Islands.  I was there a month ago for a yoga retreat, and the tears flowed freely as I sat in the back seat of the bus headed for the island airport to go home.  I had spent only a week on those enchanted isles, so the depth of my emotions surprised me. Over the last two and a half years I've had extraordinary experiences in some spectacular places, but this was the first time I cried when I left.

I've wanted to visit the Galapagos ever since I first learned about Charles Darwin's five year
voyage of discovery on the  HMS Beagle, which set sail from England in 1831.  It was on these volcanic islands, with their distinct and unusual fauna, that Darwin began to formulate his theory of evolution.  The pristine and wild nature of those islands has always fascinated me, so I booked myself a yoga retreat on the island of Santa Cruz.
My travels to other lands in the last few years have been to discover the civilisation and culture as much as the strange and magnificent geography.  This was not the case on the Galapagos.  My desire to visit those islands was all about Nature; raw, pure, and unadorned by humanity.  I had two wishes for myself for this journey, and one of them was to connect with Mother Nature and some of her most extraordinary creatures on a profound level; to touch and be touched by the place I call my true home, Mother Earth.  I had imagined it would be easier to do in a land where I could watch animals just being themselves, unconcerned by the strange bipedal hominids who gawked at them in wonder.  I wanted to go to a place that has remained (mostly) free of human influence, where animals behaved just as they do when humans aren't around hunting, herding, eating, petting, or exploiting them in any way.  The Galapagos gave me exactly what I wanted - big time.  And that's why I cried.  I was leaving a place where I'd felt the purest connection to the natural world that I'd ever had.  But it took me a while to realise it.
As my legion of followers know by now, I'm always looking out for signs and messages from the Universe, especially when I'm visiting new lands and seeing new things.  I did the same in the Galapagos, as well as Ecuador, where I spent a few days before and after my stay on the islands.  The signs came fast and furious, as they always do.  The most furious of all signs appeared the day before I left the mainland for the islands.  An annual storm which lasts only a few hours but blasts the capital city of Quito every year in mid October caused a mud slide that created a traffic pile-up for miles.  I was caught in that traffic jam with my very patient driver and guide, Edu, a native Quitoker.  While we sat in the car and watched the streets fill up with mud and water, Edu informed me that the storm is known as the Belt of Saint Francis, after the patron saint of the city.  Saint Francis, who's also the patron saint of animals and the environment, had whipped up a storm on the day before I left for the Galapagos, telling me I was about to get just exactly what I wished for - a big, wet, wild, whopping dose of Nature.
Every day on the Galapagos was filled with wonder and happenstance.  My first big sign came from a mighty messenger during a snorkelling expedition on the rocky shoreline of South Plazas Island.  Shortly after my fellow yogis and I began swimming, our guide spotted a white-tipped shark.  Suddenly everyone was very excited.  Oh wow! A shark!  How thrilling!  Since everyone else seemed enthusiastic about having a shark nearby, I was too.  And since no one else seemed to think that their health or safety was threatened, neither did I.  I couldn't see much anyway.  I'm very myopic and without my glasses I don't just miss detail, I usually miss the big picture as well.  So I just let the shark cruise by or underneath or wherever she was going while I minded my own business up on the surface. (And yes - I've decided she was a she.)

Sharks have a history of really bad PR, thanks to Hollywood and urban myth, so I simply went with the flow established by my fellow yogis, which was relaxed and inquisitive.  At the end of our little swimming expedition we found ourselves in a small, shallow cove.  People stopped swimming and stood in water that came up to mid-thigh.  Someone spotted the shark again, hunkered up against a rocky overhang in the shallows.  I heard cries of "Oh look!  It's the shark!  There it is! There it is!"  Everyone expressed their enthusiasm without creating a ruckus; no point in upsetting a large fish with sharp teeth.  At that point I was the closest person to the shark, mostly because I had been blundering about trying to see her. Being blind renders me stupid as well.  Meanwhile, everyone kept pointing to the shark and saying  "Over there!  Over there! Can't you see the fin?"  Well, no, I couldn't see the fin.  So I put my mask back on and dunked under the water to get a better look, because a thick layer of water has some kind of magnifying or vision-improving effect.  (Forgive me for not having done the research and offering a brief explanation for it.)  I looked again for the shark, this time underwater, but I was facing the wrong direction.  I was barely underwater a few seconds when I felt the firm but gentle push of hands on my upper back.  Julie, one of my fellow yogis and a seasoned snorkeller, had turned me in the right direction, which propelled me a few feet closer to the shark as well.  That's when I finally saw her; sleek, long and lean.
She must have been about twenty feet or so away, and I had a good side-long view of her.  I remember thinking "Yup.  It sure looks like a shark."  At that moment the shark turned to face me and began swimming right to me (or so I thought), giving me a full, head-on view, at which point I observed "Sure looks like a shark from this angle, too."  Fortunately, thoughts flash by in nano-seconds, and I quickly realised that the shark probably wasn't too happy about my proximity, and was telling me to back off.  So I did, right away and very carefully.
I didn't thrash about or lose my cool.  I simply swam backwards, still looking at the shark, whose eyes sure looked as if they were fixed on me.  As soon as I moved away, so did the shark.  When she finally disappeared from view, I stood up out of the water.  Julie was apologetic; I was wonder-struck and just a tad puzzled.  How was it that I felt absolutely no fear?  I've seen and read enough scary stuff about sharks (much of it scare-tactics and misinformation) that I thought I would have had some sort of adverse reaction to seeing a shark swimming directly at me.  Instead, I felt only curiosity and awe.  But boy oh boy, did I pay attention.
I connected with that magnificent creature on a primal level.  I felt as if we understood each other.  Well, at least I understood her, that's for sure.  But whatever mysterious communication happened between us has left me with a fascination for sharks and shark medicine - and I don't mean the kind of medicine that requires killing an animal.  I'm referring to the lessons one learns when encountering a fellow creature of Mother Earth.  They're the spirit guides, or totems, of the native peoples of the Americas, and that big, beautiful totem taught me about protecting the sacred, i.e. protecting Life.  The shark as spirit guide also teaches us to meet life head-on and master our emotions.  Encountering that elegant animal has made me less fearful of an uncertain future, and encourages me to keep moving forward, despite my fears.  (Sharks must remain in continual movement, or they die.  Google it if you want to know why.)
I certainly didn't have to worry about drowning in my emotions during my stay on the Galapagos.  (That particular lesson was meant to be applied when I went back to work in a large, noisy store at the busiest time of year upon my return home.)  But for the entire retreat I felt only wonder, joy, and lots and lots of gratitude.  It was oh so easy to do, because I was in the company of gifted, generous, soulful people.  Whenever I'm "emotional," it's usually because there are too many of the wrong kind people around sucking  the life out of me.  This was so not the case on the retreat.  Despite the fact that we were all such different people, we found common ground on the Galapagos, and we felt communally blessed to be a part of it.

I was as grateful for my companions as I was for the time and place we shared together.  In fact, I have never expressed my gratitude as much as I did on this vacation.  I silently said grace to myself before every single meal, three times a day.
A couple of years ago I had made a New Year's resolution to do just that; I even wrote about it on this little web of mine.  I'm still doing my best to say grace every day, but I don't remember to do it all the time.  But for my entire time away, both on the mainland and the islands, it came as naturally as breathing itself.  I didn't have to make an effort to remember, because I was living completely in the moment, thanks to the exotic beauty that surrounded me.
Living in the present is much harder to do as we go through our day-to-day lives, where most things are habitual and familiar.  Going to a strange land  provides the opportunity to see through the eyes of a child again, fresh and new - which brings me to the other wish I had for my vacation - I wanted to present the best possible version of myself  to whomever I met, which was a lot easier to do with strangers who had no preconceptions of me.  So that's what I did, and I guess it must have worked, because I was validated and appreciated over and over again every day I was there. I received an embarrassment of emotional riches.  The giving and thoughtful folk I met and grew to love shared kind words and deeds with me daily.
At the first yoga class, Jenniferlyn, the lovely lady who was our yoga instructor, spoke about one of yoga's many benefits.  "Yoga," she said, "helps us to be the best possible version of ourselves."  I can't remember what pose I had assumed when she said those words in almost exactly the same way I'd been chanting to myself, but it was all I could do to not jump up and shout It's a Sign!  Aside from the fact I would have disrupted the class had I followed my impulse, I figured not broadcasting the inner workings of my mind all the time and all over the place would be good thing.  Mystery can be attractive, so I pretty much kept the signage business to myself all week.  I still marvel at my restraint.
There were signs aplenty for the whole time I was away, and it's been difficult deciding which ones I should mention here, lest this blurb become an unwieldy, not-so-magnum opus. Nevertheless, I'll describe just one more...
It's about my feet, and what I wore on them.  I'm very fond of my feet, because I use them to walk, and as my long-time followers know, walking is one of my all-time favourite pastimes, right up there with breathing, eating and sleeping.  (It makes me wonder why I've ever been depressed, because I've been doing all my favourite things almost every day of my life.  But I digress...)

Preparations for my trip included buying a sturdy pair of waterproof shoes.  I left that particular task to the last minute and ended up with a pair of bright orange sandals.  Orange has never been a favourite colour of mine, but they were the only shoes that fit perfectly, and even made me feel like dancing - so orange shoes it was.  I wore them home from the store, and by the time I reached my front door, I was, indeed, dancing for joy, although I wasn't entirely sure why.  But I had great hopes for my orange shoes, and they didn't let me down.
Orange is the colour of the second chakra, which is located at the navel.  The navel lies at the root of the umbilical cord, which provides nourishment to the unborn child in the mother's womb.  The second chakra, therefore, represents our connection to Mother Earth and all her plants and creatures.  I had hoped there was a deeper, more magical reason for ending up with orange shoes than the fact that they were the only ones that fit, and the Universe didn't let me down.  I'd been making direct contact with Galapagonian earth in my orange shoes. However, like much of the magic I experience, I didn't unravel the meaning of that bit of synchronicity until later, when I was leaving those enchanted isles.  No wonder I wept.
But the foot business doesn't end there.  On our last excursion, which was on Bartolomé Island, we were joined by a couple of lovely ladies from the Czech Republic.  One of them, Vladimira by name, wore a fabulous pair of socks adorned with spiders.  The spider happens to be my primary totem, and not coincidentally is known to be the writer's totem.  As we climbed up the steps to a lookout on one of the volcanic hills of the island, I commented on her awesome socks.  Without skipping a beat, Vladimira said she'd give them to me.  I demurred at first, because it certainly wasn't my intention to ask for them.  But she insisted, assuring me she wouldn't miss them.  A while later, back on the boat, Vladimira presented me with the socks, informing me that they were durable and well-travelled, having trekked all over the world with her.  Need I mention how moved I was?  Or that this was yet another signpost on my journey through life?
Receiving those socks, which look fabulously dorky when worn with my orange sandals, was a sign telling me that I was on the right path.  They'd already travelled far, and now I was taking up the torch.  Chances are I'll wear those socks to far away lands myself, but they also tell me that it's my journey as a writer, actor and yogi that's far from over, and that matters to me even more.  Self-expression is deeply important to me.  You wouldn't be reading this now if it weren't.
My journey to full and satisfying self-expression is far from over - well, at least I hope so - and I have the symbolic footwear to prove it.  Spiders and the colour orange represent creation and creativity, which is why I made a point of wearing my spider socks and orange sandals on my journey home.  I was still wearing them when I finally set foot on my home and native land.  It bodes well.
My time away was replete with wonder and joy, and all the signs that punctuate those feelings.  I learned more about the world and even more about myself.  My inner journey was greater than the marvellous trip I had the good fortune to take, and for that I'm deeply grateful. 
My Galapagonian adventure has made me more sensitive to goodness, joy, nature and beauty; that's the good news.  The bad news is I'm equally sensitive to rudeness, impatience and antagonism.  My job at the store can be stressful when I'm dealing with impatient, demanding, materialistic people, and the closer we get to Christmas, the busier and more stressful the job becomes.  Enter the She-Shark.  Her appearance taught me to protect myself and master my emotions.  That doesn't mean I should be devoid of emotion; far from it.  But if I need to express myself - and I frequently do for sanity's sake - I'll walk the magical path mapped out by my orange sandals and spider socks.  I'm following my bliss, and I won't stop spinning and weaving the big and little stories of my life whenever and wherever I can, including on this little web of mine.  The signs have always been there, showing me the way.  All I have to do is pay attention, and above all, be grateful to belong to the living miracle that is our glorious planet Earth. 
Viva Pachamama.
- G. P.

and the winner is...

Kevin was the first to read my contest blurb.  He's a winner in my books, and my blog.  (Sheesh.  I've got to stop calling this little web of mine a blog, but it scanned nicely just now.)  Kevin's prize was a bottle of chardonnay, and I was happy to give it to him.  I always figured he was smart - after all, he's a geek - but now I know him to be courteous and thoughtful of his colleagues. 
On my first day back at work after I posted the previous blog I trotted right on up to the tech section of the store and pulled up my little web on one of the demo ipads.  Kevin happened to be there, so I told him what I was doing.  I didn't say anything more than I'd ever said to anyone else about having a blog.  No one else had expressed too much interest before - which is why I set up the contest - but Kevin, goddess bless him, walked on over and asked me "What's it about?"  I left quickly without further word, wondering if he'd bother to read it to find out the answer to his question.  Sure enough, he did.  Thanks, Kevin.
And since I'm discussing retail detail here, on the same day Kevin made my day I saw something in the "creative department store" where I work that amused me, so I thought I'd share it with my legion of followers.  Anyone who's read my little web a few times knows that I fancy myself a minimalist, even though it doesn't always show.  That's why it's  rather ironic that part of my job requires me to help other people acquire more stuff.
So there I was, listening to one of the managers giving us a pep talk about all the fabulous new renovations in the store and how it will help increase sales.  The meeting was in the "home" department of the store, and the manager stood right next to a pillow for sale that had the words Collect moments, not things written on it.  Well, I chuckled aloud and shared that particular moment with my manager.  To his credit, he was amused as well.  Now I'm sharing the moment with you, dear reader.
It just goes to show the Universe has a sense of irony, too.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Apples for Sale

This blurb is a contest.  I'm writing this little bit of silliness to see if any of my colleagues at the store where I work are interested enough in my little web to read it in their spare moments between customers.  We have a new section in our "creative department store," (formerly known as a "cultural department store," and preceded once upon a time by the moniker "bookstore") which sells geeky Apple products, including fabulous, not-so-little but oh-so-sleek ipads.

Every so often I'll trot on over to the geek section of the store and pull up the front page of this little web of mine on a demo and leave it on display for any customers and workers to view.  I'm not doing it because I think I'm suddenly going to become an Internet sensation, but because I love looking at my pretty little web displayed on a sleek, sophisticated techno-tool that plays no part in my prehistoric world.  (I freely admit that I'm a dinosaur - quite old and possessing a puny little brain, digitally speaking.)
Anyway, the test part of this shallow, self-centred blurb you're reading now is specifically addressed to my colleagues at the store.  It will necessitate my visiting the tech section of the store and putting my little web on display a few times a day, but since I do that anyway, it's no big deal.
As for my legion of followers, I beg your indulgence.  Thank you.
The contest is easy:  be the first of my colleagues who read this current blurb (my faithful followers will have noted that I haven't posted anything new for over a month now) and I will buy you a bottle of wine or a six-pack of beer, whichever you prefer.  All you have to do is approach me at work, or write a comment in the space provided to tell me you've read this nonsense, and the modest prize I offer is yours.  That's a promise.  And since I've made this such a public declaration, I won't be breaking my word because that's super-bad karma.  Anyone who knows me even slightly knows that I'm all about karma.  Besides, head office and management are always offering contests to customers and employees, so this is my contribution to promoting good collegial relations.
But why, you may well ask, am I putting on this absurd little contest?  Well, mostly because I'm curious to know how often and how many people at my place of employment bother to read my piffle.  I've shown my shining little web on the demo ipads to a number of my co-workers a number of times, and observed that they don't bother to read it.  And if anyone has, they haven't said anything about it, which is probably worse.  So what I say.  It's all about me, and I don't mind admitting it, because let's face it, a blog is basically about the person who writes it.  (There!  I've said it.  I've called my little web a blog.  Yech.)
So there you have it.  I'm putting this inflated bit of wordpuffery out there just to see what happens.
I'll keep you posted.
- G. P.