The spy who bugged me.

Tonight as I close 368, I was simply going to post the above image (since this all started because of my photography).  Yes.  I intended on thanking all of you for reading, for being supportive of my creative efforts, and for sticking with this column day in and day out.   Then…. close 368 at that.

But dang it… I woke up this morning thinking about Mati Hari.  Sure enough… I opened my eyes and skipping across my thought waves like a broken record… Mati Hari, Mati Hari, Mati Hari….  Why, I ask you. Why?

It actually happens to me on a great many mornings. I think it is because I fall asleep with the TV on … very quietly … and I somehow get a brand of subliminal messaging throughout the night. I awake the following morning, and think… “Jane Pauley.” Or…. “Is Kim Kardashian the same person a Snooky?” Or sometimes even more strange than that… “Don’t set the big skillet near the kittens.”

This makes no sense. What in the world is wrong with me? But it happens.. and so…. this morning it was none other than Mati Hari.

She was born Dutch you know. Her real name was Margaretha Zele and she was an exotic dancer, courtesan, and…… an accused spy. Not only was she accused…. they killed her for her alleged spy-dom. Yep. She was executed by firing squad in France under charges of espionage. The French (& British) claimed she was giving information to the Germans during WWI… though they didn’t have any substantial evidence. So BLAM. Firing squad. End of Mati Hari.

Here’s something most people don’t know. After she was executed, there was no one to claim her body. So it was used for medical study. But….. yikes….. her head was embalmed and kept in the Museum of Anatomy in Paris. And here’s another twist. Museum archivists were doing their note taking in 2000 and discovered her head was gone. Missing in action. I’d love to know who has it on their living room mantle.

And why did I feel the need to tell you this? Well… again, there are some neurotransmitters in my brain that are just a little lame…. I suspect. And that is how 368 has gone all year long. My disconnected thoughts fly through cyber space to the RGB pixels on the monitor in front of your eyes…. in a flash. BLAM. Sort of like an online firing squad. But sometimes it isn’t so quick….. or painless.

So here’s to Mati Hari… the Naked Spy. And…. to the last night of writing at 368…. for just like Mati Hari…. I think I’ve lost my head.

But I have NEVER…. NEVER…. spied for the Germans.

Gute Nacht. Und Aufwiedersehen Meine Freunde.

Vielen Dank.  Many, Many, Thanks.


Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.  –Marcel Proust

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