Squiffany ♡ Pugsley

Later

"He's amazing," said Al of his new son. "All he does is eat and sleep." Squiffany's birth hadn't been all that easy, and by the time she was born she had inhaled a lot of stuff she shouldn't have, and it took her and her parents a while to get over it. This time, it was simple and happy.

I will call him Pugsley. No one else will, but it is my small tribute to Charles Addams, whose cartoons I loved as a very small child (I have a feeling that this explains something about me) and to Carolyn Jones, the original television Morticia, who was gorgeous and who died young. An odd connection perhaps, but why not.

Squiffany has been so good today. Her parents woke her at 5.30 as they wanted to be able to say goodbye at 6, so that she knew they had left the house and wouldn't look for them all day. Her face lit up with pleasure in a gratifying way when I went in at 6 and she kissed them and waved goodbye cheerily. Her aunt came at 9 so that I could spend the morning in the shop, then I took over for the rest of the day. I finished reading 'Fox in Socks' at 7.10 and was finally able to cook dinner, glass of champagne in one hand, after that. Proud daddy of two came home about an hour later, with photographs. Squiffany did ask for her mother a couple of times - "Mummy, mummy" excitedly at 5 o'clock as the front door opened. "Sorry, only me," said Ro - but she was not upset and, on being shown a mobile phone photo of her brother, repeated "Baby brother" in an interested sort of way before going to cuddle her doll. If only I thought it could be as easy as that all the time........

BABY

Dilly and Al's baby boy was born at 9.30 this morning by Caesarean section. He weighs 8 lbs and he and his mum are well. He was alert and keen to feed and, when I last heard, he was asleep and Dilly was having lunch.

Thanks for your good wishes.

More later.

The waiting game

I spent a few hours serving in the shop today, to get my hand in before spending most of next week there. I do enjoy it. His customers are lovely and even the odder ones are entertaining.

The charming man who pinched my bottom in the village pub a couple of years ago came in to buy some walnuts. He always reminds me of the occasion, which he remembers with considerable pleasure because I laughed instead of slapping him. And the chap who dresses all in Lycra as he is a keen cyclist, and who always buys bananas. Sally from the about-to-reopen after many years Fisher Theatre came in, asking for cob nuts. Fresh cobs are finished - "not even a few at the bottom of a box?" "Well, I've got a few at home, but they are drying out." "That's all right, as long as they've got their leaves on, I only need 3 or 4 for a stage prop." I've put them in the car already as I'm bound to forget in the morning. As it is, I must remember to pick some spinach for an order.

Simple, undemanding busyness is a pleasure sometimes. I often spend whole days at home without seeing anyone except the family, unlike the Sage, who is very sociable, so just chatting, being friendly, is a change for me.

I've also taken the photos for our website. And the catalogues are printed and will be posted in a couple of days. Someone phoned, wanting a valuation done.

Thanks for kind messages. I'll keep you posted.

l

Spinning plates, my spinning head

Think tact, love, kindness. Think it until I completely mean it, and then write appropriate letters to people who feel upset.

I'm almost there now, but it took a day or two. My place in life is to soothe, because I can't bear that people should feel uncared for, unappreciated, unloved. I do get indignant, upset, myself, on occasion, and there my husband is wonderful because he listens to it all, often doesn't say anything except generally sympathetic murmurs, and lets me get over it and regain my balance and good humour. It is tempting to feel that the matters that other people become upset about are more trivial than one's own affairs, but it is not so.

Music tonight - Mozart, Cosi Fan Tutte and Billie Holiday. And I have given up hope of finding my copy of War and Peace and have bought a new one. A brief browse and I was engrossed anew. But I won't read it yet. Not until the weekend is over.

Dilly has one more day to persuade her recalcitrant son to make an appearance, or then she is due at the Norfolk and Norwich hospital first thing on Friday morning (honestly, at larkfart, she is expected to be there by 7 a.m. and we live quite 40 minutes away). So I'll be babysitting from 6 and then in the shop from 9 - 2, then babysitting again.

Grannies are marvellous, aren't they!

Later. I'm still plugging away at the music Ro has provided me with. He doesn't go for stuff that is instantly likeable, on the whole, but it's worth persevering, or else I'm just getting more tolerant. Tonight it's Neutral Milk Hotel's 'In the Aeroplane over the Sea', for the third time of playing and I'm coming to appreciate it, after a startled first listen.

Another pot of coffee on the go

I didn't get the photos done after all. Tomorrow. The ones for the catalogue have been taken, of which there are only a few, but everything is illustrated on the website and I've another day or two in hand for that. I've typed up, though not properly set out, the catalogue, all but a few more pieces which are arriving tomorrow and which I'll add before it goes off to be printed at the High School. The reprographics department is self-financing and so can do outside work at very reasonable rates, school commitments permitting. There is also a very good printers in Yagnub which I use for other work, and which well undercuts Norwich rates.

We are very fortunate, in that we have a business that we love and in that we are semi-retired (my husband receives a pension) and so have time for other things. Though, having got back from a churchwardens' meeting at half past nine, I discovered emails that had to be dealt with straight away and it is only now, an hour later, that I can get back to the catalogue. I am out tomorrow morning and so have to do it now.

Squiffany is convinced she talks in sentences. Indeed, she does; it is our loss that we don't always understand them. Individual words are clear, but more than two strung together are unintelligible to us and so need tactful questioning, so that she can answer 'yes' or 'no.' Dilly has an appointment at the hospital tomorrow morning, and will probably be booked in then, whether for Thursday, Friday or next Monday. She is really hoping that she goes into labour naturally and so has been for a drive in Al's bumpy trade van tonight. Keep your fingers crossed. You will, I promise, be among the first to know.

The rain, it raineth on the just....but not on the Z

I hope none of the Norfolk people who were flooded out read this, but today's heavy rain might be partly my fault. I said, yesterday, that I intended to spend some time taking photographs - weather permitting. Well, it was lovely yesterday and I didn't switch on the television or the radio, so I don't know if it was forecast. Anyway, shops, houses, schools, all flooded when 2 inches of rain fell in quite a short time.

It didn't rain that much here. Quite hard, on and off, but it had time to run off/soak in in between downpours. And, since I am blessed with timing, it was never raining when I had to go out.

I listened to the weather forecast this evening (as I still need to take the photos) but I didn't hear it. There is nothing so hard to take in as a weather forecast. I cannot concentrate. If I do, I forget what has been said before the weatherperson has finished saying it. They keep trying to make it sound interesting, but all that means is that they waffle too much and I stop listening altogether. At least one can look it up online. According to the BBC website, sunny intervals. I'll just have to take photos during sunny intervals then, won't I.

Lazy Sunday afternoon

This afternoon, I've taken it easy. I slept for an hour (all this waiting for the baby is getting to me, and I'm lucky if I get more than five hours a night's sleep). Since then, I have been reading the paper and listening to music.

Bix Beiderbecke
The Mountain Goats
Jimi Hendrix

I wonder why I picked them. Bix, sure, I always listen to him. The Mountain Goats 'Get Lonely' - I love it, but don't listen to it if you feel the least bit depressed or you may end up crying into your wineglass. Jimi Hendrix - gosh he was good, but I don't often listen to him. I wonder what will appeal to the wandering fingers next.*

Tomorrow, also an easy day. I have to take my car to be serviced in the morning and pick it up at lunchtime. I am having my hair cut at 4 o'clock. I'm babysitting for a friend in the evening (she is chairman of governors at the school where I've just left the governing body. Her children are delightful and it will be a pleasure).

The rest of the time, weather permitting, I will be photographing the china for our next auction. I will enjoy that; I like taking pictures of inanimate objects. I am no artist and can't capture the 'soul' but I can do observation and stuff like that.

I hope you have had a good weekend too.

* Cole Porter

The family story – part 5 – the Forties

Power-boat racing must have been my father’s main activity during the years after he left Oxford. He would have raced as an amateur, but this would have referred to his non-professional status, not his level of ability or commitment. Once he grew too old for the sport he would probably returned to Oxford for an academic career.

The war stopped all that of course, and he entered the army. He was very short-sighted and therefore did not pass the medical tests for combat duty – not to be trusted with a loaded weapon, it seems. He therefore went into the Medical Corps. I don’t think he was posted to Europe at all, but he was, at various times, in Nigeria, India and Burma. He was promoted to Sergeant Major.

I know very little about his army days, he never mentioned them – all I remember is my mother telling me that he discovered at one point that he was being underpaid by a trifling amount, claimed the extra and was turned down. In protest, he grew a moustache (yes, I know!) and declared he would not shave his upper lip until the matter was put right. It was, in the end, and he received his back pay. This odd episode – he didn’t care about the money as such, only the principle - demonstrates something about his character that I can see in Al, who is incredibly easy-going almost all the time, usually laughs off incompetence, but occasionally becomes incredibly stubborn if he is right, but treated dismissively.

He had visited Germany regularly to race in the 30s and saw at first hand the political climate there. However, it was a relief to him that he was not allowed to fight and was in the business of saving lives and not taking them. He believed that the dropping of the atomic bombs saved his life – he had been about to go to the Far East and was sure that would mean his death at the hands of the Japanese.

He returned to England weighing eight-and-a-half stone – he was not tall; about five foot eight; but that was still incredibly thin. I’m not sure in what way he had been ill – he certainly was the only person in his platoon who was never ill in India, which he said was because he drank tea black and didn’t risk the milk. I suppose that others drank their tea in the English manner, with cold milk added, rather than boiled with the tea as chai. My sophisticated Madras friends add the milk to the tea at the table, but the milk has been boiled. I drink tea black myself usually, but I love roadside chai.

In the meantime, the Major, in Lowestoft, was still Mayor – he served thirteen years in total, including all the war years. Lowestoft was bombed heavily and, it was said, ‘he never missed a bomb’ – that is, he visited every location to help both practically and with sympathy and support. He was a burly man with dark hair and an auburn beard and moustache and his figure and booming voice were well known in the district.

And so, in 1946, Malcolm came home. “Glad to see you, my boy” said his father. “You’ll be wanting a job. I’ve got a hotel in Weymouth. Manager just upped and gone and left me in the lurch. You’d better go down and take over as managing director.”

Just to destroy your mental image of me......

A year ago, I decided to go away, all by myself, for a few days. Of course, if the Sage did holidays, I'd have taken him too, but there's no place like home to a wise man and he elected to stay behind.

A family asked me to take a picture of them - with their camera of course. And then insisted on returning the favour. Of course, I'm not really this toothy, nor is my nose so enormous - it was the angle and the smirk -, but my hair was really that untidy because no one was going to see me.

A necessary question, to which the answer is always 'Yes'

The food is almost done. I've just got to make the fruit salad and cook the bread and butter pudding and risotto, both of which are prepared.

The menu is....

Spiced lamb casserole
Chicken with tomato and pesto sauce
Green pea risotto
Ratatouille
Baked potatoes
Green salad (which someone else is bringing)

Lemon syllabub
Chocolate mousse
Raspberry bread and butter pudding
Fruit salad; pineapple, strawberries and passion fruit

I looked at it. I asked myself 'Is there enough food?' I answered 'Yes, you fool, there is at least twice as much as we need.'

A consoling thought struck me. It is entirely appropriate, for a Harvest Festival supper at the church rooms, that there should be way too much food. Jesus overcatered, after all - when he fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes, they gathered up the leftovers in basketfuls.

talking on the telephone

"Hello, darling. It's now twenty-five to ........umm....... something, I'm back at Notcutts in Norwich and I'll see you at ......um ......errr....8 o'clock. 'bye darling."

I rang home. The line was engaged. I did this several times in the next quarter of an hour. Finally, I left a message (see above).

Ten minutes later (the line was still busy) I rang Ro's mobile and asked him to pass on the word of my homecoming to his father. I was hoping that dinner would await.

It did. Happy Z.

The Sage listened to the message. Chuckling, he pressed replay. And again.

If he wants a fluffy -sounding wife, all he really needs to do is engage me in conversation, anytime.

I had a good day out, interesting sights, excellent company and splendid guides.

Back to the kitchen now, harvest supper to prepare.

Tribute to my patient and long-suffering credit card

As I said the other day, I don't have the eBay gene. But I am developing a bad Amazon habit. If there was a book/music/DVD shop locally, I'd go there, but browsing online is a happy substitute. Not so much for books, for handling them is a large part of the pleasure, but there's not much interest in a plastic case covered with cellophane. And then there is the 'ooh, a parcel, for ME and it's not even my birthday' factor.

Surely I've got enough Bix Beiderbecke discs already? The lad died at only 28 and, prolific as he had been during the 1920s, there aren't that many recordings from him. But a few tracks I haven't got, or different recordings of those I have, so into the collection it has to go.

I had a bank statement this morning. More there than I expected, which is a relief considering the bills to come in this month......

Z is awake

I did know better, but I was tired. And I was in bed, asleep, by eleven o'clock.

Half past one and I was awake again. An hour later I came downstairs, made tea and started reading.

A friend, in a letter, enthusiastically suggested that I should take up singing. I am puzzled. He hasn't heard me, or he would not have proposed it. I can hold a tune, mostly, especially if I sing in a key of my own choosing, but that no more makes me a singer than the ability to rule a line makes me able to draw. Isn't it funny, the impression one gives of oneself.

Singing seems as if it should come naturally. You know you have to learn to play an instrument, but you use your voice all the time, and all children like to sing. Self-consciousness creeps in sooner or later, and in my case has never left. I couldn't play the piano in front of anyone but my music teacher either and piano exams were torture. I flew through the theory exams with full marks and scraped past the practicals with a point or two to spare.

Another friend's daughter plays the flute, and has just started the saxophone. In just a few months, her teacher assesses her at approaching Grade 5 level. He (the friend) wanted her to take flute exams but she is unwilling. I applauded her for sticking to her guns; I think the imposition of music exams, and the months of dull preparation for them, destroys for many children the enjoyment of making music. One can always catch up on the grades later if one wishes. He said that he wants her to do it so that he can frame the certificate and point it out to people, to make him proud. I do understand; he did not receive much praise in his childhood and in compensation lavishes it onto his children. But that doesn't mean I agree.

Oh, by the way, the Sage went to the auction yesterday. He was outbid, but we weren't surprised. The estimate was £700-£1,000, we were willing to go to £2,800 but it fetched £4,800, plus 20% commission plus VAT on the commission. A nice pair of spoons, but that was too much for us. It shows that the major auction houses haven't much clue about estimating what some items are worth. When you see in the paper that something fetched far more than the estimate, it might mean keen bidding or it might just mean that it was undervalued and the dealers and collectors know more than the auctioneer.

"I nearly came home with a set of silver plates," he said. "Ten of them were going for a couple of thousand pounds and I didn't think that was dear. But I didn't quite know what we'd do with them." "Oh, okay," I replied non-commitally. I knew what he meant though, I'm sure they would look lovely, but what would you do with them? You couldn't use them or they'd get scratched. And putting them under china plates on the table would look pretentious. A pair or two on the dresser would be handsome, but ten is a bit OTT. Anyway, it didn't happen.

Quarter past four. Still too early to stay up. I might as well have another couple of hours in bed and hope to sleep a bit more - of course, I'll probably roll out of bed sluggishly at nine o'clock.

Good morning.

Z is moody

I looked in the fridge, for something for lunch. It has not been a fun morning - in fact the whole week seems at this jaundiced moment to be a bit shitty, though no doubt my opinion will be transformed when Dilly has the baby. She is still labourless right now, two days late, thank you for asking.

I found my hand curling round the bottle of rosé that was started last night. I hesitated. I remembered the funeral I am playing the organ for this afternoon. "Just the one glass then," I said aloud.

Nothing I fancied to eat. I went to the freezer. No pizza. Plenty of raw (and frozen) ingredients, but nothing I wanted.

I am eating pretzels and drinking wine. I feel better. This is a little worrying. The only consolation here is that I ate three figs while I was thinking about it.

My usual comfort food is risotto. I love making risotto. The slow and patient cooking of it soothes me, even as I wait to taste its creamy texture. I like it a bit loose and sloppy, but just al dente - I rarely order it in a restaurant as I am ready to be critical of someone else's taste; too much or too little cooked and I am disappointed.

However, today I am cooking other dishes (for Saturday, I've no other opportunity) and have not time to relax. Tasty, chewy and yet indulgent. Nothing fits the bill. Salami would do it, but I haven't got any. Olives, ditto. I sigh. I want another glass of wine. I'd better start cooking again.

A bookish meme

I was tagged by Gordon. And it was very hard.

1. ONE BOOK THAT CHANGED YOUR LIFE:
This probably is not what the question means, but it is a Ladybird early reader called The Farm, which was the very first book I could read on my own. I remember, still, the wonder of knowing what those black marks meant. I read it over and over. There was one sentence on each page, along the lines of ‘The farm. This is the farm. A cow. This is a cow.” But it was incredibly exciting and truly did change my life.

If that won’t do, then Milton’s Paradise Lost. Because of his wonderful use of language, which triggered a new appreciation of Latin as well as English when I was sixteen years old.

2. ONE BOOK THAT YOU'VE READ MORE THAN ONCE:
I’ve read so many books more than once. I do not reread nearly so many now. Time was, I thought there was all the time in the world. Now there are just all the books in the world and I’m never going to read them all, even the good ones.

A book that I still reread (and have this year) is The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler. I adore it. “She was small and delicately put together, but she looked durable.” This is from memory, I hope it’s right. It’s a wonderful line.
Also, Philip Marlowe is Humphrey Bogart in my mind and he is my all-time film heartthrob. I think it was the sight of him falling in love with Lauren Bacall during To Have and Have Not.

3. ONE BOOK THAT YOU'D WANT ON A DESERT ISLAND:
That probably depends whether I get the Bible and Shakespeare too, because if I did, I’d certainly want some light relief.

I think I’ll go for the short stories of Saki (H.H.Munro) because I have enjoyed them for 40 years and they haven’t palled yet.

4. ONE BOOK THAT MADE YOU LAUGH:
I have been known to snort helplessly with laughter, usually in an inappropriate place, with quite a few books. Bill Bryson comes to mind as a culprit.

However, I’ll nominate Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, because I only laughed once, but it was in sheer pleasure. It was near the end, when Pi was nearing the American coast and I was wondering how on earth a plausible conclusion could be reached – and then, in one bound, it did. It made sense, in a nonsensical way, of the whole book and was clever and enjoyable.

You either get this book or you don’t, I suspect.

5. ONE BOOK THAT MADE YOU CRY:
I don’t really appreciate manipulatively weepy books or films and a tearjerker, even if it works, can be quite annoying. But, like Gordon, I will say The Time-Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I don’t even know if it was really that moving (except in a fourth dimensionally sort of way) or well written, because it gripped me so much that I lost my critical senses, but I cried an awful lot.

6. ONE BOOK THAT YOU WISH YOU HAD WRITTEN:
Anything by Jane Austen. I have to choose? Persuasion.

7. ONE BOOK YOU WISH HAD NEVER BEEN WRITTEN:
Oh goodness, if I read a book that was as unpleasant as that, I would have tried to forget it as quickly as possible.

I will say the Reader’s Digest Book of Look Up Your Symptoms And Diagnose Your Own Illness (whatever it was actually called), because it worried my mother a great deal, but she couldn’t resist reading it. I really wanted to burn that book.

8. ONE BOOK THAT YOU ARE READING AT THE MOMENT:
Will and Me – how Shakespeare took over my life, by Dominic Dromgoole. Ro gave it to me for my birthday. I saved it for a week to enhance the pleasure of starting it (and, too, I was reading another birthday book, slowly and with great pleasure), so I’ve only just begun.

9. ONE BOOK THAT YOU'VE BEEN MEANING TO READ:
I haven’t read War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, for years and it’s a book I love and I am intending to reread soon. I have lost my copy though and have to buy a new one.

This probably, however, means a book I haven’t read yet. And not one of those classic 'should have read but will I ever?' So, in that case, John Peel's autobiography, Margrave of the Marshes. Wonderful John Peel; I and all my children, all three decades of us, were devastated when he died. "Well" said Ro gloomily, "I don't suppose I'll ever have a reason to listen to Radio 1 again." I would have read the book already, but two of the kids own it and I was thinking they might lend......no, no, you're right, I should buy my own copy.

10. FIVE OTHERS THAT YOU'D LIKE TO DO THIS:
Oh, this is the hardest, I think. I hate to ask, it seems an imposition. But there we go, treat it as an invitation and you are welcome to say no.

I’ll say:
How do we know – because she tagged me and we feel a friendly closeness, although we haven’t met.
Life of a Banana – because I guessed hairdresser, when some people were prepared to be shocked – or said they were.
Geena – because she is a darling, although she might not have time for this and so mustn’t think I’ll mind if she says no.
Diamond Weeza – because I’m the only person who comments on her blog and I can’t think why, unless it’s that she doesn’t update often enough.

And Al B., a pal who lurks daily and hasn’t a blog as far as I know. I offered him, a long time ago, a guest slot – this is it, honey. Email me and I’ll post the answers.

Z is tired, but still blogging.

Doesn't miss a day? Always in the mood? If not in the mood, gets in the mood, by doing it and, ooh, that's rather good, isn't it?

It's working already.

"HEYYO" shouted Squiffany, running towards me and planting several air kisses "MWAH, MWAH, MWAH!" "We're going down to the playground," said her mother. "Exercise might have some effect."

The baby was due today. He will be late. Dilly feels that she has already waited quite long enough.

I am glad, in almost all ways, that I will never be pregnant again, that I will never go through the waiting, the childbirth, the exhaustion and the sleepless nights. But even as I write that, I find that it's not true. We decided, when Ro was a month old, that he would be our last child (it sounds really insulting to him to say that, until he was born, we had meant to have a fourth, but he wasn't an easy baby and we were not so young then as when the first two were born) and we never changed our minds, but a bit of me has wanted another baby for the last 30 years (and had my wish once, 22 years ago). If you are a man or haven't borne a child, I'm sorry, and if you don't intend to be a parent, this is not aimed at you, it is simply personal and probably brought on by sheer emotion, at the imminent prospect of the birth of my second grandchild.

There is nothing like feeling your baby kick inside you. Or the first contractions, or the later ones, unwelcome as they are - "Oh bugger, this is the time I wish I'd just said 'no'." Or that slithery feeling as all your baby is born, followed by that first cry, that primitive instinct to sniff, when what you smell is yourself, the essence of yourself. And breastfeeding (especially at first, when you feel your womb contract and think, satisfyingly, that your stomach is going down every time the baby sucks), the knowledge that this infant is totally yours and that although you are separate, you are still entirely one.

Yup. I miss it. I didn't regret the decision not to have a fourth baby, but there is some little bit of me that will be, forever, broody.

And I had no idea that I was going to write that. If you read it, I even posted it. Well, well.

Oh, and having a baby and feeding it yourself is the best diet in the world. You can eat forever and lose weight. It is impossible to keep it. You can stuff chocolate cake and be a size 8, with a natural D cup*.

Yay. Lucky Dilly. Despite labour and the sleepless nights, I envy her.

*Still got the D cup. But not the size 8.

Are we nearly there yet?

This is something I've been avoiding for a long time. Getting an account on eBay. The Sage loves an auction - so do I come to that, but I have no particular urge to buy things just for the sake of it - and he is an inveterate collector. But, looking for something, nosily, that someone we know is selling, I noticed a teabowl and mentioned it - he was excited to see that he has a matching saucer. So I admitted that it is not hard to set up an account, and we put in a bid.

The close of the auction was 5 o'clock this evening. He was highly excited all afternoon, getting me to check continually to see if he had been outbid - and then, with half an hour to go, he fell asleep, exhausted with nervous tension, in an armchair, the saucer still clutched between his fingers.

He bought it. For less than his maximum bid. Some mean so-and-so put in a higher bid with 5 seconds to go, but not high enough. He is a happy Sage. But what have I started?

There is one good thing. He is completely disconcerted by the computer and doesn't even know how to check his emails. So I have control. But I am just so easily cajoled........

Z is feeling neglected

So. Where is everybody? I went out at about half past three, saying I'd not be home until five, and no one said anything about going out. But I returned to an empty house. Now, at nearly seven, there is still no one here.

Hmph. I bet they will burst through the door in ten minutes, demanding to know when dinner will be ready and what is it?

Corn on the cob. Roast duck and roast potatoes. Whatever other vegetable there is enough of to pick. Twenty to eight precisely.

And, being home and alone, what am I doing? Drinking red wine, eating pretzels, reading blogs, reading the paper, listening to Troubled Diva's podcast* (which I downloaded days ago and haven't had an hour free for until now). How about a little stimulating conversation here?

I sigh. I pour another glass of wine. I eat a fig. I sigh.

*Should I have put a link to that? Surely you all read and love Troubled Diva already.

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Find your own pose!

I have Irreverentmama to thank for this one.