Hocus Pocus 2

Somebody please wave a wand - cold and flu season is upon us. Family movie night has been delayed because Mancub is sick, again.  Since covidisnotover but caution has been thrown to the wind, it's to be expected that germs aren't going to bother RSVPing before they barge in the door. Still cautious and fearful of The Thing That Shook Us, it's easy to forget how two years of masking and social distancing has lowered our defenses to all kinds of invaders. Le sigh. 

He came home from school early this afternoon looking drained and has since been nose-diving into miserable territory (quickly enough that a covid test was in order; one negative 👍 and we'll test again tomorrow.) Fever, sinus congestion, inflamed throat, cough and body aches. He's cuddled up on the couch as the over the counter med has started to kick in and Mom is on an ice-cream run. He's forcing me to watch Youtube videos and I'm transfixed by the process of making an enormous Hello Kitty out of cotton candy.  To think we could have been watching Hocus Pocus 2 right now. Some brain cells must have perished in the last four minutes while my mouth was hanging open because I had my HP2 post ready for your enjoyment but it has poofed.  

If you get the chance to watch it before I do, hopefully you'll enjoy the heck out of it - sequels to beloved cult favourites are tricky! Keep a look out for the hidden Easter Eggs. I wish I'd bought this tshirt from Qwertee.com when it was featured. Wouldn't you? Fingers crossed it will come back into play before Halloween because obviously I'll be needing three.  

Last week, Kitty and I were at a stoplight and both saw it at the same time. We howled and want to be this drivers' friend very badly. If you don't understand the segue, or why it's so hilarious...I'm sorry but I'll have to rethink our friendship. 

Edited to add: 

Love Where You Are

 🎧 Home is Where the Purrs Be

It was another odd week in my bounce schedule.  My stalker/hairdresser was happy when I got home last night. This had been happening for four hours. She'd actually climbed on top of my head. I tried to get a pic, but this was the best I could do. Meemers was in no mood for a photoshoot and had very loud opinions about the paparazzi.

See all that uneven skin tone and the brown patches? Sun damage. There's no filter or beauty editing on that pic. It's straight from my phone after a bit of cropping. Listen to one of The Olds: sunscreen is your forever friend. Use it religiously all year long. Future you will thank both of us. 

In the past I was a tan at all cost sun-worshipper. As a child, my two favourite pastimes were reading and swimming. Lucky enough to have a backyard pool, the only time you wouldn't find me there was when it was raining, and by fall people commented what a cute little brown nut I was. Brazil nut, right? Not nuts-nut, right? Truth either way. 

My teenage years saw me and friends slathering ourselves with babyoil and broiling for hours in our pursuit of getting just a little darker. In my late twenties I was hired at a tanning salon - nirvana! My employer encouraged me to tan as often as possible as a perk and because I was fantastic free advertising. Heh. The place was called Tanfastic and every minute spent baking, covered in nothing but a heart tantoo on my hip, was absolutely glorious. My thirties were spent like a sunflower, constantly turning to find maximum exposure to the rays, whether in our own pool or at our trailer. This was around the time the 'get out in the sun as much as possible because vitamin D is good for us!' narrative gained ground and I felt like a smug pioneer. We've since learned, of course, that we can get the benefits of the vitamin that is good for us without causing damage to our biggest organ - our skin. 

Unfortunately for me, it took a girl's vacation in Virginia Beach in my early forties for the full impact of my ways to slap the foolishness out of me. True to form, I'd squeezed as much sunshine into my pores in seven days as possible and was loving my tan. Look at this. No white girl needs to be that dark. It turns out my top was obscenely low but I didn't know it at the time: 

Possibly because the fridge in our rented condo on the beach looked like this and we tried to pass it off as meeting the four major food groups:

That vacay was one of the most fun girls trips I've ever had. Life threw some stuff at me after that. The great memories of the days and nights spent with four brilliant and hilarious women sustained me and are treasured to this day. It wasn't the first trip we'd taken together. I knew what to expect but it was still hard not to burst into hysterical, immature laughter as the tone was set on the first morning. Purchasing staples was priority, obviously. As we are in fact grown-ass women and all Type As, we decided to err on the side of caution when calculating our alcoholic requirements for the week, made a list and headed out. With filled carts rattling glass against glass, we passed other customers and pretended not to see their judgement, while the most innocent-looking friend boldly stared them down and kept repeating, "Nun Convention" with a totally straight face and making the sign of the cross. 

Nothing was sacred and we didn't care. In stunningly beautiful weather, we pounded back pitchers of the Drink of the Day, getting plastered on the beach from dawn 'til dusk, then cleaning up as best we could to go out at night and be good-natured touristy troublemakers. Our judgement was clearly impaired: a handful of fortysomethings reliving Spring Break in a resort city that's also populated by the major operating base for Amphibious Forces of the United States Navy's Atlantic Fleet, is the eastern home of US Navy SEALs, and a US Naval Air Station. Sure, we knew they were there. We'd ogled them as they did PT along the boardwalk and waved gaily as their boats whizzed by, and okay...yes, we did hang an enormous Navy SEALs flag from our balcony like childish idiots, but it was all a lark we'd bonded over years before and we were having much-deserved harmless FUN. 

Freed from responsibilities, we let loose and I regret none of it. During one midnight dip, we stood waist-deep swaying in the ocean (the tide and stupid high BAC can do that) and chatted mindlessly, hooting like obnoxious sorority girls. I glanced down to see a red laser dot perfectly centered on my sternum. As they turned to look in the direction it came from, we knew whomever it was doing their training out in the pitch black night could be an arm's length away or a thousand yards off. Yet all we could do was laugh and scream hysterically until we fell on our generous middle-aged asses. I'm surprised none of us drowned or got disappeared.

Ahh, good times. That little grannyesque digression was amusing, yes? Back to my tan. Where were we? 

Oh, yes, I was loving it..until the last day. A darker area had appeared over and under my mouth. It had a distinct, slightly dirty appearance. The response to my panicked questioning my friends if they also thought it looked like a mustache and goatee shadow was, "Welcome to menopause." Only a ride or die sistah could get away with that. You know who you are.💜

Since I'd gone through menopause in my early thirties, drug-induced after a life threatening illness, my suffering all the symptoms was over and I knew that wasn't the issue. It wasn't a beard; it was my skin. ON MY FACE. I was horrified when it became more evident upon my return home and patches began to appear on my forehead, cheeks and the sides of my face. Basically, everything but my nose had turned into a ratchet quilt. What it really turned out to be was melasma and I've been fighting it to some degree ever since. It has been costly, frustrating and wreaked havoc on my self-esteem. There isn't a product available that I haven't tried, including years of prescription strength Retin-A, over the counter 'wonder' creams, natural solutions, and cosmetics that promised to hide the problem. Trying to find cover-up and foundations that don't make it appear even worse has been a tear-filled trial. The fact that I had done this to myself with decades of tanning and never giving a thought to protecting my skin with sunscreen almost made it feel like the misery was well-deserved. 

Since then I wear sunscreen 365 days a year and have developed a love affair with ballcaps. During the Thing That Shook Us, donning a mask, sunglasses and hat was freeing in a way that's hard to explain. I don't expect anyone to understand it any more than I can comprehend why wearing a piece of cloth to protect others is construed as a loss of freedom. While it's easy to brush concerns off as vanity, the fact is our appearance is the first thing we are judged by, and we all want the same thing: to look normal. 

When people notice and rudely draw attention to what is wrong with your face, it's mortifying and deeply hurtful. There are more times than I'd like to admit that it became a reason to avoid socializing. Years have gone by when I simply gave up putting in any effort because it seemed nothing would ever work. I'm on the other side of those years...nowhere near who I was or where I want to be, but...so glad to have that defeated, degraded part in the past. 

There are emotional scars, and no apology for how any of it feels to me is coming, but it's a major step to post an unedited photo of myself without fearful regret. That may be hard for many to understand in this social media world innundated with selfies of the generation that gave birth to them and all of us who followed. But Mia gets it and we're proud of Moi. Now if I could just unwrap her from around my torso so I can routine my visage. Don't worry. I won't put that on TikTok because why in the name of all that is holy do people want to spend time watching other people wash their faces? How bored are you??? 

Never mind, to each their own, I'm trying to be less judgy. The struggle is real, but it's a happy day when good results are reflected in the mirror and that means the Riversol products are working well. They also sent me a follow up email with a 30% off code so there's yet another reason for you to give them a try.  

Also, I was so excited to see samples of Clinique's Smart Clinical Repair Cream and Smart Clinical Repair Wrinkle Correcting Eye Cream in my mailbox. Reviews will be posted here (and my Topbox Circle Dashboard and socials) when they're done. Thank you for the mission, Topbox Circle! My quest for the best skin I can have continues. 

As always, love where you are and fight on...xox

Feel Good Contests

Shoutout to Canadian Free Stuff for sharing this: Cashmere's annual 'Vote Couture for the Cure' has returned, offering contesters a way of giving back through no-cost participation. The "Twelve Out of the World Dresses - One Extraordinary Cause" is a competition of stunning dresses, made from Cashmere UltraLuxe toilet tissue, and we vote to pick the winner. How cool is that? Go look at these dresses - they are amazing! Each designer has a video explaining their process. By sliding down to the entry form and casting your ballot, you earn entry for the chance to win $1500 CAD and a year's worth of toilet tissue. Remember everyone hoarding TP at the beginning of The Thing That Shook Us? Weirdness was peak weird. As for the giving back part, for each entry, Cashmere will donate $1.00 to the breast cancer cause through The Canadian Cancer Society and The Quebec Breast Cancer Foundation.* *Up to a maximum of $15000 CAD

Storiarts is a favoured shop selling literary-themed apparel, home and library goods, accessories and baby items. I remember back when their scarves were the only thing they sold - now I'm hoping to score a Pride and Prejudice Duvet Cover Set and the fingerless gloves I keep forgetting to gift myself. It's been a pleasure to watch the small company grow over the years. What better place to hold a 'Treat Your Teacher' competition? They're awarding three lucky teachers each with a bundle of Storiarts products worth over $300.

"Don't delay! Nominations close September 28. Winners will be notified via email on September 30 and announced here on our blog. Nominations will be accepted for all types of teachers: coaches, fitness instructors, music teachers, college professors, etc. If they've inspired you to learn, then they're eligible, and we want to hear about them!"''

Hope you'll go right now to sprinkle some good out into the universe. Good luck to all who do!

Whiskers Wednesday

My Mom used to take great delight recounting the story of how, when I was but a wee one, I used to begin stories with, "When I was a pussycat..." 

No doubt I believed it with all my young heart. Truthfully, I'm not even sure young soul-me didn't know something grown-up me was taught isn't possible. If it is possible, one of my past lives was surely spent as a scruffy street cat, scrapping away at life wearing my battle scars, a squinty eye, one torn ear and a bad cattitude. 

It's safe to say from my earliest memories that being a batshit crazy Cat Person was  my destiny. Hard core. There's just so many things about them that earns my respect. Obviously, I'm not alone; the internet was basically invented for them, right? That's not to say dogs and other animals haven't held a special place in my life, heart and soul.  There are a particular few who blessed my life greatly. So many of my furbabies have crossed the rainbow bridge and I'm trying to collect their photos to share here along with my memories. 

For now, onward with the Roll Call of Present Furbabies...

Originally I was only supposed to foster this fellow while a new acquaintance sorted out a difficult living situation. Newly moved into my own apartment, and coming off a long stretch of being without a pet, I was wary of getting too attached. We shared affection, cuddles and playtime but when I spoke of him, he was The Cat. After dropping him off with a half a bag of food, some litter, a ton of thanks yous and promises, she patted him on the head and we never heard from her again. As I said, I tried very hard not to fall in love with him. My heart was already in a battered state and another loss was not on the agenda. But I can be pretty stupid about trusting people to keep their word. After a month had passed, another friend finally convinced me that she wasn't coming back, he was mine, and I better give him a proper name. This is Fetch. Yeah, I made that happen. Tribute to Gretchen Weiners. Never give up on your dreams, girl! How cute is the heart on his nose? He looks so over everything but he's dialed in to it all.

Nobody can convince me angels with whiskers don't exist. His appearance doesn't convey the sweetest personality, but he's provided so much love and comfort to myself, my Mom, Kitten and Mancub over the years. The young lad was three when Fetch came into our lives. I'll never forget the pure delight in his voice the first time they met, as Fetch ran to him, he exclaimed: "He likes me!" Sally Field's Oscar speech had nothing on the kid. Whenever the tiny human came to visit, this kitty would wait for him to fall asleep, park himself by his head, and would not budge. They lived with me for a time and he bonded with both like a pro. Once they moved, I used to bring him back and forth as I bounced between their home and mine. He really didn't enjoy the car and we ultimately decided he would live with them. So, they have custody of my cat and I have weekly visitation twice a month. He's pretty happy with the arrangement; Kitten buys the expensive treats and makes sure he always has catnip mousies to toy with. He is known as Good Sir Fetchimus, Our Cat.

This young lady is Callie and she'd just scared the heck out of me when I walked into a dark room. She really likes to be up high where she can spy on observe everyone. Once I found her sleeping in the little useless cupboard over the fridge. It's become one of her favourite hangouts, as is this tall coffee holder. Apologies for the poor picture quality but this girl doesn't sit still long enough to get a good shot. She has eternal zoomies. Athletic, lean and lanky, her Parkour antics are truly amazing but there's never enough warning to capture the hilarity.

She's technically Mancub's, but I'm to blame for bringing a straggly little kitten into their world.  They'd just returned from visiting the wasband and Mancub was missing the dog. Kitten had been thinking about adopting another cat for him once Fetch had traitorously abandoned their sleeping ritual in favour of her bed. He can't be blamed. The boy kept getting bigger and has lengthy conversations in his sleep. She's got a king size bed and barely moves once she closes her eyes. She still hasn't learned it's probably not wise to let me in on all the things she's thinking of doing though. Allow me to believe this. 

There happened to be a crate of free kittens when I stopped in a store. I impulse cat. Perhaps I should be ashamed of the number of stories that begin with me walking through the door with a new cat, however I remain unrepentant. When I walked in with Callie, Mancub got so emotional that he cried. What an unforgettable moment for me. It's quite something to watch a ten year old boy try to tough out tears of joy. She's a little pain in the ass, but we adore her and I was forgiven my transgression. Fetch slid into big brother mode without incident and she bosses him around. Why we give pets nicknames in addition to their name is beyond me, but she's Calliekins.

Which brings us to Mia, a.k.a. Meems, Meemers, Meemerella, and My Best Friend. She's another angel with whiskers and has seen me through the aching loneliness of The Thing That Shook Us and nearly two years of grieving my previous best friend, my Mom. That they happened at the same time was especially difficult. It may sound as though my life is terribly empty when I say this cat literally saved my life, but it's not. For what is probably the first time in my life, I really like where I'm at. During lockdowns and ever-changing restrictions, though, having to isolate from the people who make my world matter, in pain and uncertain what the future held, it would have been easy to fall into a pit of despair. The experience is not unique, it's just mine, and there were days caring for and being comforted by Mia was all that kept me hanging on. Here we are in a rose-coloured glasses, heavily filtered, selfie. The Rona had gotten me and she plastered herself to my person like this for hours each miserable day. 

She loves to travel in the car and would probably be very content if we lived in an RV traveling to and fro. A country girl at  heart, she's another example of my affliction. Impulse catting. Wow, that sounds very weird. While spending a weekend at Mancub's paternal grandparent's home, I was delighted by three nearly identical kittens. They were all attention-seeking, deeply affectionate, and had the loudest purrs, but the one with a little white on the tip of her tail seemed special. Meems came home with me. She's still wildly affectionate, her purr can be distinctly heard over the phone as she vies for my undivided attention, and while I jokingly refer to her as my personal assistant, the truth is she's the queen.

Lest you think our relationship is all sunshine and butterflies, Mia is quick to let me know when I've displeased her. In the early spring, I threw the windows open and went on a cleaning spree. As it happens, one thing led to another, chaos ensued and it had gotten late by the time I sat down to have a coffee. That's when I noticed it had gotten very cold once the sun had set. She had been suspiciously quiet for some time. I glanced up and saw she was giving me the classic feline rebuke. Her majesty ignored me calling and cajoling her, for almost an hour. When I texted this pic to Kitten and Belle, their automatic replies were along the lines of, "Oh, you in deep shit nao." They know. 

I could have made a point that she clearly had enough padding to keep her warm, but I know how to read a room. Of this I'm pretty sure: fat shaming any cat, let alone a female pissed off cat, will lead to nothing good. 

So there you have an accounting of the present fluffs in my life. Previous posts have also mentioned my furgrandbabies. Yeah, I call them that. Yeah, I'm nuts. Who cares? The fact that all my kids have grown up to be animal lovers is a point of pride. High on the list of rules in my life to follow is to never trust a person animals dislike. They listen to their instincts. As should we. I love them all, sometimes more than people, but there are no plans for more. Keep in mind, I'm a little spontaneous and once had two dogs and nineteen cats. Yep, that's another post though.  

I Need A Title Now?

Some days, I feel like a kid whose parents have parted ways and made new homes, while the wee ones have to get used to a semi-regular back and forth, and adjust. Mancub spends a week with his Mom, then on Fridays after school, he goes to his Dad's for a week. The kid has two homes, sometimes takes the school bus and sometimes gets picked up; has rules for one place, then switcheroos on a dime so what was okay there is not okay here, and he's even got two sets of pets. Yes, cats. Why do you ask?

While it's the best arrangement to ensure equal time with both sides of his family, I empathize. Luckily, everyone lives in the same small town, but it's an arrangement that takes work on all fronts. How do parents who couldn't live together provide a seamless, similar environment for their child? They try, but it's impossible. One home has dad, a loving stepmom, and a little brother to contend with; the other is headed by an adoring single mom who works two jobs, attends college full time, and has a weekly assist from Grandma Moi. Fridays are my shuffle day too. 

Twice a month I bounce back to my own apartment, 45 minutes away, when Mancub heads to his other home. How bewildering it must be for children...I often think of his little brother, coming into the world and then trying to understand why his big bro disappears regularly. (He once joyfully called me by the nickname Mancub uses for me -- not Grandma -- because that's what he figured my name must be. What was a three year old supposed to think? It went over like a lead balloon. Snerk.) He's a precious kid and trust me when I say we worried as much about him during The Thing That Shook Us as we did about Mancub. Word is he's a little terror, exactly like his dad was, and I'll not be hypocritical and say the tales don't amuse the hell out of me.

In any case, we have to find the giggle in each day, because that is just What We Do. It's been a heartbreaking journey for our Mancub, and really, for everyone who loves him. I've often said the best thing my former son-in-law did was picking my daughter to be his first child's Mom and the boy they made together, followed closely by his choice for the next woman he made a family with. She is an excellent influence in my grandson's life and I'm eternally grateful for that, as is Kitten. 

For years, it's all been a little deja vu. I see the similarities between him and his Dad, butting heads like the young, male deer with their fathers, and my own now-grown young buck, McSteamy, with the wasband. (he doesn't get a capital because I can be a Bitter Betty and I don't wanna.) Once, I came home from work to  two hysterical girls, who had run to the neighbours after the menfolk got physical, and I threw them both out. The dudes. Not the cute little girls. I am not a monster. The wasband never forgave me, but the image of Belle throwing a Coke on their heads after someone's noggin went through a wall was, and is, 100% Worth It. Lordty help me, it's a miracle they all turned into highly functioning members of society. 

I'd like to think I can take some of the credit for that, and the young man the baby-boy no-more is growing into, despite my own flaws. Selfless is not the angle here -- I have benefited from the sacrifices more than anyone. The mileage my glued-to-the-driver's seat butt has seen, however, is astronomical. We've made it work because stability for him is paramount and I have the ability to spend two weeks a month with them. I treasure that time. As I said, we're lucky. Now he's transitioned into the teen years, and he's been expressing how very much he wants to live with Mom full time, and only go to his Dad's when he wants to spend time with them. It's normal teenage stuff, but dreaded, and the anticipation of old wounds sprouting up in fear or resentment is stressful. We keep encouraging him to make the best of the time he has with all his family. We remind him that in a few short years, he'll be able to make that decision for himself, and why we feel it's important to maintain those steady connections. There aren't enough words to express how much he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. That child was born with a heart and soul a mile wide and empathy to spare. It's also very important to us that he doesn't make any decisions he'll regret later. Isn't that the ultimate puzzle everyone who loves a child has faced?

Co-parenting is a challenge under the best circumstances and I whole-heartedly encourage every parent blessed with a child to put their own crap on mute to do what's best for the wee one. If only I could go back and do it all better for my own kids, but none of us has that luxury. We can only do the best we can at any given time. Looking back, I'd sweat a lot of useless stuff less if that was an option. Trust me, time with them is finite. As they say, the days are long, but the years are short. 

Which is what this post was supposed to be, but ramble on... 

This past week was extra long. Kitten has a girl's getaway next weekend and they juggled schedules a bit. This morning, I dropped him off at school after enjoying extra weekend days with him, but won't see them again until the following weekend. I haz the blues. But then, when I came home tonight, propped in front of my door...a package did doth appear!

Another prize, another contest win. I cackled. Bring me ALL.THE.BOOKS!! Note to anyone entering contests, read your emails carefully. I didn't even know I'd won and had to backtrack. It's a good problem to have. 

P.S. Nope, not doing a title. Good night, Muffins. xox

Labour Day 2022

The following was previously published on another site on September 5, 2022.

May you have stumbled here admidst good times, family, friends, music and tons of laughter! A little PSA reminder that fireworks are a terrifying nightmare to the furbabies. Please make sure they're secured indoors in the most comforting place of your home. Once upon a time, my roomate's dog ripped up the floor when we were both out. In a rental. She was pissed, but also felt guilty and sad. He was very loved and quickly forgiven.

The history of Labour Day, or Labor Day south of the border, is rooted not just in celebrating the workers who toil, but rather around the labour movement 's fight in the 19th Century to ensure better working conditions for all. Mostly all men, but the times were what they were. Our whole society continues to benefit to this day from the rights won and you just can't swing a cat without hitting a politician boasting their platform is For The Workers. The jury's still out. It doesn't look promising.

Work takes many forms. As humanity tries to adjust to The Thing That Shook Us, it seems we're collectively changing the narrative of what work means. Buzzwords like 'The Great Resignation' and 'Quiet Quitting' are a clear indication that we're in the midst of another reset. People are seeking new ways, whether through necessity, or determination to reach the ever elusive acceptable life/work balance. While many still schlep back to the office 9 - 5, what we do, and how we're financially compensated is changing at warp speed.

Some days it feels like everyone is gasping and struggling to play catch-up. Work takes many forms. Making sacrifices to opt out of the 'workforce' to raise families can be as exhausting as busting your butt working more than one job to pay the bills, or punching a time card while juggling child care and parenting to the best of your ability. Looking after the needs of others who are sick, disabled, or reached their senior years can require as much stamina as doing your job in your jammies at home as while dodging distractions and furry assistants. Volunteering to make your community stronger, or the too-often overlooked emotional labour required to keep each of us functioning as a cog in the human race, have no less value than showing up to perform physical acts that nobody else has the skill, drive, or courage to do. Self-employed or still working for the man. Full time. Part Time. Temp. Occasional. Side hustles and gigs that we couldn't imagine a decade ago are commonplace now. People making bank as YouTubers, TikTokers, and Streamers - PLAYING GAMES! - once seemed laughable.

When my grandson told me five years ago that he wanted to be a YouTuber when he grew up, I despaired. The eight year old him wasn't impressed with my explanation of why that isn't a job that would support him as an adult. Fortunately, these days he's gracious when he glances up from whatever game he's playing with his friends online to fire me a "You were saying?" look.

We . . . okay . . . * I * have to acknowledge it takes a lot of hard work to achieve success and support themselves in the platform of their choosing. While we can resent the obscene wealth accrued by Zuckerberg, Bezos, Jack and his Tweeps, Chad, Jawed, and Steve, and the latest King of the Hill, Zhang Yiming , there can be no doubt they are revolutionaries who have changed the way we experience the world forever.

The old is entwined with the new and that has to affect how people earn their way. My father didn't know how to use an ATM machine until I taught him when he was fifty years old. He's been gone for twenty three years now and when I stop to really think of how much has changed in just over two decades, I feel like a fossil. I imagine toddlers using smartphones and personal tablets to access people the globe in an instant would boggle his mind. Today, I turn to Millenials and Gen Z to help me navigate new tech. I refuse to be left behind like some dinosaur. It's a little startling to realize this is how people my age during the Industrial Revolution must have felt. 54. Rude.

There's comfort to be had that some things don't change. We'll always need people to do certain jobs, like build things, grow our food, and transport our goods. At least until automation and AI makes us obsolete, and I'll be long gone by then. Good luck with that, y'all. For now, let's enjoy being on the middle of the bridge, where people who are hands-on can also share digital gems like this with the rest of us. No matter what you labour at, or how you do it, your work matters. We need you. Now, and in all of the uncertain, exciting, wonderous days ahead. Sending love to you and yours. Now, go forth and celebrate!

Look, it just so happens my eyes needed that tasty morsel.

Thank you, Ma and Pa Hemsworth.

Love, The World.