Postmarked somewhere entirely different that has nothing to do with any circle of hell or even purgatory

Whilst I was wildly careening around Southern Africa, expertly dodging (Ahem! Yes. You have to own your strengths and avoidance of things is what I do best.) my mother-in-law's sneaky attempts at... what? I'm not sure, but she was definitely up to something sneaky and evil-ish, who knows with her? To wean me off her precious eldest so that he can find a nice Danish girl? To magically make me forget about contraception (and actually suddenly gain the ability to reproduce) and populate the earth with tiny ginger-haired half-vikings for her to clothe and give hard candy to? To make me eat a sugary dessert? To feed me to the lions? To ...

What was I saying?

Oh yes. Whilst I was romping around my part of this continent with my spirit safely stowed away in the upstairs shower, and taking crap from a certain someone without once raising a finger and only sometimes an eyebrow and only rolling my eyes and sighing when she couldn't see or hear, something wonderful happened.

Somehow, at some office of the infamous South African postal service someone decided to deliver two (I know. TWO! I can't get over the number, which usually is more like 0, the remains of 1, "Ma'am, there is no delivery for you", 1/3, "Are you accusing us of theft ma'am?" or less than 0) packages to me.

TWO!!! (I know I already said it, but two is almost unheard of. A mythical number postal delivery-wise. Possibly a sign that somewhere up there, an angel finally has his wings. Or a pig flies. Or a baby unicorn frolics. Or Hitler's learning to snowboard, way way below up there and everyone else in the bad man's case, of course.)

It is as if the universe knew who was visiting me. And wanted to stop me just shy of a violent act.

By making me remember how wonderful a place this world of the interwebz can actually be. And how well my bloggy pals really do know me.

I present to you in order of arrival:

A thing of pure beauty and ingenuity that really truly encompasses a good deal of my personality. Something to do with golf and then again, something to do with my blatant inability to golf. A way to become better without actually doing anything really taxing about it. I've always thought voodoo might very well be the answer to most of my problems. Or at least a more exciting way of ignoring them and not dealing with them than your most garden-variety means of procrastination.

A Golf Voodoo Kit

From my beloved siamese sister (who lets me ignore her just as I do my biological family) VEG of the (Mis)Adventures of VEG. Go read her! She is very much like a Canadian me. Except that instead of drinking wine, she recycles.

Followed by a mere day by another thing of pure beauty and ingenuity that really truly encompasses a good deal of my personality. Something to do with coffee. Well, actually the precious infant born to Arabica and Light roast: Starbucks. Which I love only slightly less than the Viking.

A Starbucks Christmas ornament and a card made by the sender herself

From my dear, dear friend and part-Finn Erin of My Camera and The Gentle Giant. Go check out her wonderful photos, learn about her life, or at least go check out something very close to her heart: autismspeaks.org

Thank you universe for people who love me and remember me. Even when my spirit's in storage.

Love you right back people!

Not you, mother-in-law.