An AI Query…
i used to have a Banana Republic clothing book that described how the company got started and some great pencil drawings. what happened to the brand, the store and the style?
Of course! That Banana Republic you remember, with its safari jackets, epaulets, and the feel of a well-traveled explorer’s closet, is a fascinating story of a brand that completely transformed itself. You’re not just nostalgic; you’re remembering a specific and now-legendary chapter in American retail.
Let’s break down what happened to the brand, the store, and the style.
The Golden Age: The Brand You Remember (c. 1978-1988)
This is the era of your clothing book.
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The Founders: The brand was started in 1978 by a married couple, Mel and Patricia Ziegler. They were journalists, not fashion executives, which is key to understanding the brand’s original soul.
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The Concept: It was conceived as a “travel and safari clothing company.” The Zieglers stumbled upon the idea when Mel bought a batch of surplus Spanish military shirts and they sold instantly. They began sourcing unique, surplus, and vintage-inspired military and safari clothing.
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The Style: The aesthetic was function-first, romantic adventure. Think:
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Safari jackets with belted waists and pleated backs.
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Cargo pants with oversized pockets.
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Dust- and sand-colored linens and cottons.
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Poplin shirts and “bush” trousers.
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The “Store” Experience: This was the true magic. The stores weren’t just shops; they were themed environments designed to look like a colonial outpost or an explorer’s tent.
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Pencil Drawings: The catalog you had was famous for these. They were illustrated by Patricia Ziegler and featured witty, narrative copy written by Mel. They didn’t just sell clothes; they sold a story of adventure, complete with a fictional “Banana Republic Guide to Travel and Safari Clothing.”
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Props: Stores were filled with props like jeeps, stuffed water buffalo, mosquito netting, and vintage luggage. Shopping there was an experience.
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The Turning Point: The Gap Acquisition and the “Great Homogenization”
The Zieglers’ unique concept was a massive hit. So massive that in 1983, The Gap Inc. bought the company.
At first, the Zieglers stayed on and the brand continued to thrive under its original vision. But as the 1980s progressed, problems emerged:
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Supply Issues: The unique, surplus clothing they relied on became harder to source in the volume needed for rapid expansion.
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Shifting Tastes: The oversized, utilitarian “safari look” began to fall out of mainstream fashion.
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Corporate Strategy: The Gap saw much greater potential in repositioning Banana Republic as a more accessible, upscale basic brand to fill a gap in the market between Gap’s casualwear and the soon-to-be-launched Old Navy.
In 1988, the Zieglers left the company. The Gap began a deliberate and systematic process of phasing out the safari theme.
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The Stores Were Remodeled: The jeeps and jungle props were hauled away. The quirky, themed interiors were replaced with the minimalist, blonde wood, and sophisticated lighting you see today.
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The Style Was Reborn: The new target customer was the modern urban professional. The style shifted from “functional adventure” to “modern classic” or “polished casual.” The focus became cashmere sweaters, tailored trousers, crisp button-down shirts, sheath dresses, and blazers.
Banana Republic Today: The Brand, The Store, The Style
Today, Banana Republic is a fundamentally different company from the one founded by the Zieglers.
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The Brand: It is a core pillar of Gap Inc.’s portfolio, positioned as an “affordable luxury” or “elevated essentials” brand. It aims to provide stylish, well-made, and trend-aware clothing for the workplace and modern life, competing with brands like J.Crew, Club Monaco, and Massimo Dutti.
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The Store: The stores are clean, bright, and sophisticated. They are designed to feel premium and uncluttered, a world away from the quirky, narrative-driven outposts of the past.
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The Style: The current style is a far cry from safari. It’s characterized by:
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Neutral color palettes (navy, grey, camel, white).
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High-quality fabrics like Italian wool, silk, and cashmere.
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Tailored silhouettes for menswear and womenswear.
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A strong focus on versatile pieces that can mix and match.
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What Happened to Your Book and the “Old” Style?
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The Clothing Book/Catalog: The legendary illustrated catalogs were discontinued in the late 80s/early 90s. They are now highly sought-after collector’s items. You can find them for sale on sites like eBay and Etsy, often for a significant price. They are a tangible piece of retail history.
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The “Safari” Style: The original aesthetic is not completely dead. It experiences periodic revivals in the fashion world. More importantly, the spirit of the original Banana Republic lives on in other brands:
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J. Peterman: This is the most direct successor. After leaving Banana Republic, the Zieglers briefly worked with J. Peterman, and its catalog (famously referenced on Seinfeld) carries on the tradition of narrative-driven, unique clothing.
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RRL: Ralph Lauren’s high-end western and safari-inspired line captures a similar spirit of rugged, well-crafted Americana.
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Vintage Clothing: The original Banana Republic pieces are also collector’s items on the vintage market.
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In summary, the brand you loved was a victim of its own success. Its unique, story-driven concept was bought by a corporate giant, streamlined, and repackaged for a much broader (and more profitable) audience. The quirky explorer was retired and replaced by a sophisticated urbanite. While the modern Banana Republic is a successful brand in its own right, it will always have that magical, dusty-safari-jacket-wearing ghost in its attic.
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Now, lets go into the very beginning of the Sir Whiskerton Universe…
The Origin of the Whimsical Farm
Title: The Genesis of Quirk: Or, How the Farm Got Its Groove Back
Long ago, the farm was… normal. Painfully so. The sun rose, the cows mooed, the chickens clucked, and the farmer farmed. It was a symphony of bland predictability. The animals had thoughts, but they were simple ones: “Hungry,” “Tired,” “That’s a big worm.”
This all changed on a night when the heavens themselves seemed to decide that the world needed a little more nonsense.
The Celestial Event: The Whimsy-Wave
It was not a meteorite in the traditional sense. The Farmer, who was out late fixing a fence, saw it as a “shootin’ star with a heck of a lot of side-to-side wobble.” Scientists in a distant city would later dismiss it as a rare atmospheric phenomenon involving swamp gas and magnetic fields. They were wrong.
It was the Somnium Siderum, or “Star-Dream,” a fragment of a collapsed galaxy where the physical laws were less strict and more open to interpretation. It didn’t crash into the farm so much as it gently suffuse it, washing over every field, barn, and creature in a wave of invisible, shimmering energy that smelled faintly of ozone and buttered popcorn.
This “Whimsy-Wave” didn’t grant intelligence; it unlocked potential. It amplified what was already there. The animals’ latent personalities, their quirks, their hidden desires—it all bubbled to the surface and became their reality.
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The Farmer himself was affected. Always a kind but oddly detached man, he became a magnet for the strange. His natural inclination to talk to inanimate objects (a trait many lonely people share) suddenly became a two-way street. The scarecrow and the garden gnome, now infused with a spark of life, became his silent, stalwart confidants, Gnomeo and Bartholomew the Piñata (a gift from a well-meaning niece that he refused to break).
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His budding, bashful romance with Martha, the woman from the neighboring farm, was also amplified. Their shyness became a core part of the farm’s gentle, beating heart, a slow-burn subplot that all the animals are invested in.
The Dawn of a New Era: First Words and Lasting Personalities
The morning after the Whimsy-Wave, the farm awoke changed.
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Sir Whiskerton, then a young, precocious kitten named simply “Whiskers,” found he could not only organize his thoughts but also wrap them in complex sentence structures and a healthy dose of ego. He looked at the chaos—chickens arguing about interior design, a pig pondering the meaning of mud—and knew, with every fiber of his being, that someone needed to be in charge. He knighted himself on the spot using a twig and a particularly dignified-looking thistle.
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Doris the Hen felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to not only cluck but to narrate, to gossip, to turn every minor event into a front-page headline. Her friends Harriet and Lillian were swept up in her dramatic wake, forming the core of the farm’s rumor mill.
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Porkchop the Pig discovered a well of sarcastic wit deep within his soul, perfectly suited for commenting on the absurdity around him.
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Rufus the Dog, chasing the weird green glow of a mutated firefly, rolled in a patch of moss that had been permanently altered by the Star-Dream. It didn’t hurt him, but it gave his fur a permanent, gentle, radioactive-looking glow, hence “Rufus the Radioactive Doggie.”
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In the pond, Ferdinand the Duck felt a surge of artistic passion, believing his quack to be a gift from the opera gods.
The Great Migration: How Others Arrived
The farm, now a beacon of the bizarre, began to attract other affected beings. It acted as a weirdness magnet.
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The Arrival of the Sophisticates: Count Catula and Jazzpurr didn’t just wander in. They were drawn there, sensing a place where their particular brand of drama and beatnik poetry would be understood, or at least tolerated. They felt the “good vibrations” from miles away.
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The Laboratory Accident: Chef Remy LeRaccoon and his assistant Doctor Notoriouso were caught in a “Gourmet-Galvanizing” incident in their previous lab, which exploded, sending them fleeing. They followed the trail of the Whimsy-Wave, sensing it was the only energy source powerful enough to fuel their bizarre culinary experiments.
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The Anointed One: Lucifer the Chipmunk was, as his story claims, anointed. A splatter of the Farmer’s experimental red paint, itself subtly altered by the farm’s energy, hit him not long after the Wave. The combination unlocked his messianic delusions and flair for the dramatic.
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The Musical Revolution: The rap duo MC Scratches and Lil’ Paws were alley cats who honed their craft in the city.但他们发现城市节奏太快，没人欣赏他们复杂的韵律。他们顺着铁路来到乡下，寻找更简单的听众。但他们感受到的是一种共鸣——农场奇怪的氛围放大了他们的节拍和韵律，让他们的音乐有了生命。他们留下来不是因为食物，而是因为这里有全宇宙最懂行的观众：昆虫和土地本身。
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The Latest Addition: And the newest resident, DJ Fader Fuzz, was a city cat who lived in an abandoned radio station. He began picking up the farm’s unique “frequency”—a low hum of pure, uncut Phonk and lo-fi beats—on his equipment. Intrigued, he followed the signal like a musical homing beacon, knowing he had found the perfect venue for his sonic art.
The Role of the Farmer and Martha
The Farmer is the unwitting anchor of it all. His simple, genuine love for his land and animals is what keeps the whimsy from tipping over into true chaos. He accepts the talking, the glowing dog, the tie-dye cow, with a kind of bewildered shrug. He’s the straight man in a world of comedians. His relationship with Martha is the universe’s way of reminding everyone that at its core, beneath the puns and the mysteries, this is a story about kindness, community, and finding your place.
The Central Mystery and Purpose
The animals don’t understand the Whimsy-Wave. To them, this is just how life is. Sir Whiskerton, in his more philosophical moments, suspects there was a “Catalyst.” He doesn’t know what, but he senses the farm is special. This is why he is so dedicated to solving its mysteries—he is, in his own way, exploring the nature of his own reality, protecting the magical anomaly that made him who he is.
The moral of the origin story is the same moral that echoes in every one of Sir Whiskerton’s adventures: True magic isn’t about grand spells; it’s about the extraordinary potential for wonder, friendship, and individuality that lies hidden within the most ordinary of places. The Somnium Siderum didn’t create this magic; it simply provided the key to unlock the barn door.
Pictures
What outcome does China expect of warning Japan’s of the risk of turning the entire country into a battlefield if it intervenes militarily in the Taiwan Strait?
It implies that China and the United States might jointly carve up Japan.
The United States wants an “Eastern Ukraine”; it previously tried with the Philippines and India, but both attempts failed.
South Korea also failed. North Korea responded correctly: it blew up the highway leading to South Korea to demonstrate it had no intention of invading, thereby depriving the South Korean leader—who tried to incite the military into starting a war—of any pretext for public support (he later went to prison; I believe he committed treason, though I don’t know how Koreans see it). North Korea also amended its constitution, stating that reunification was no longer necessary. This was of course only a temporary measure, a political gesture: a way to signal that war would not break out for the time being.
But if it comes to Japan, I am not certain whether China would refuse to fight it. In the long run, Japan is destined to cease to exist; anyone who does not understand this does not understand China at all.
（I suspect countless people fail to understand one thing: if China were ever to declare war on Japan, it could skip the step of nationwide mobilization altogether and would gain an unimaginably vast surge in morale. Put it this way: which Chinese person today, looking back a few generations, has no blood feud with Japan? Go to any Chinese forum and check the threads on Sino-Japanese relations—row after row of posts saying things like, “Only my family survived in our entire village,” “My great-great-grandfather was nailed to the door and tortured to death,” “My grandmother was violated and then buried alive…”
One representative post says: “Our entire village was almost wiped out. The Japanese gave this reason: ‘Why plant trees at the village entrance? So that one day, if war breaks out between China and Japan, Japanese troops will first have to chop down all the trees in the country.’”
As for money—nobody would care. As for life—it wouldn’t matter. If it were a war against Japan, CPC, you can take everything. I would willingly give it.）
But is now the right moment? Should China fight a war while it is still rising rapidly? Perhaps 2027 would be better.
By around 2030, China’s air force will surpass the rest of the world’s air forces combined, both in quality and quantity. By 2035, its navy will surpass the combined navies of all other countries. By 2040, its nuclear arsenal should reach that same level.
Wouldn’t it be better to completely eliminate Japan at that time?
Japan understands this. Its best option is to exploit the United States while the U.S. still has sufficient military stockpiles, using the U.S.–Japan security alliance to drag the United States into a decisive confrontation with China. And it must be fast — within these few years — otherwise it becomes meaningless.
And what about the United States? I do not believe the U.S. would fight China in East Asia merely to protect a half-dead old dog.
Perhaps China and the U.S. could reach an understanding: the U.S. allows China to take back Taiwan，control Korea and Japan, and China allows the U.S. to transfer all the wealth of South Korea and Japan back to America.
That is a massive amount of money — enough to solve America’s national debt problem and still leave it immensely rich.
And I find it rather fair: South Korea and Japan have benefited from the United States for 70 years; it is about time they repaid it.
If China and the United States do wish to fight, they can choose Japan as the battlefield — just as, more than 70 years ago, the battlefield was chosen on the Korean Peninsula.
Neither China nor the United States wants a war fought on its own territory; choosing Japan would satisfy both sides.
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I believe that for the United States, Europe is far more important than the Far East or even the Middle East. When its power is no longer sufficient to deter the entire world simultaneously, the U.S. will likely prioritize securing complete control over Europe, calming South America and Canada, and abandoning the Far East and Central Asia—especially given that both regions fall within the reach of Chinese and Russian power.
My greatest fear right now is that Sanae Takaichi might resign on the grounds of “causing a diplomatic incident with inappropriate remarks,” or even suddenly “pass away from illness.” That would be unfortunate. May she remain healthy, and may she continue to lead the Japanese people.
7 YO Daughter Reveals The Horrifying Secret Of Father
https://youtu.be/HdcLC243YnU
What are some money-saving tips for eating on the road as a truck driver, especially if truck stop meals are pricey?
Retired Hazmat Driver: first I never had a refrigerator, in my truck, I always had dried or packaged foods, that I could just add water or get milk from a store to make noodles and cheese with.
I was normally outbound for 7 weeks OTR.
I carried a lot of water with me, orange juice drinks, and fruit drinks, like grape, pineapple, apple, ect. (hide your money in different spots in your truck).
I only had a microwave. on home time, I’d by can veggies, and instant soups, and potato, dried onions, and spice packs. bags of fresh nut mixes, coffee singles, dried creamers. (and if you go into a fast-food place, grip all the condiments you can). and save those plastic bags. they make great covers for your shoes, when the yard is muddy. (now the dark side of trucking),
I would never leave my load alone.
I carried a homer bucket, a pool noodle, kitty litter and bags big enough to rape around the bucket and always set that up before you go to bed. (for the cold nights)
I always rap my windows off with insulation skirts, on all the windows. and just run my bunk heater at night. with that, you’ll never need to run the truck, unless you’re in 20 degrees or less.
and don’t forget to add your anti-gel to your gas tanks, if you now, you’re going into freezing weather. 1 pint to one hundred gallons. (I always carried a case of anti-gel) along with my chains)
and make sure you have a good CB radio. weather bug and google, can’t see what’s going on up the road.
I’m Slacker117 out of Vero Beach, Florida, I’m 10–7 on the side.
The Shattering of the Moons
Written in response to: “Write a story that has a big twist.“
Sue Roberts
Fantasy Science Fiction Suspense
Chapter Two – The Stranger’s News
They cleared the desk in haste, pushing aside star maps and empty mugs of bitter tea. Bruce unrolled his own charts, hands trembling with urgency.
“The nebula is moving,” he said. “Its arms are twisting inward, reaching toward us. I’ve checked thrice. The distortion is real.”
Emily leaned over the parchment, her breath catching. “But the Twist has been stable for centuries. The whole planet navigates by it.”
“Not anymore.” Bruce jabbed a finger at the numbers. “Gravitational anomalies. Emission lines bending. The nebula is pulling. And it’s pulling toward the planet.”
Fred frowned, folding his arms. “That would be catastrophic. Extinction-level catastrophic.”
Bruce’s eyes glittered. “Exactly. That’s why I came. We must confirm.”
Fred opened his mouth to object, but Emily was already leaning closer to Bruce’s charts. She asked questions quickly, eagerly, her eyes lighting with interest at his daring leaps of logic. Fred felt a twinge of irritation. She had never looked at his careful calculations with that kind of excitement.
Still, when she lifted her head and met his gaze, her voice was steady. “Fred, we can’t ignore this. We need to verify.”
Fred swallowed his pride. “Then let’s get to work.”
Chapter Three – Signs in the Sky
For nights they worked without rest.
Fred checked alignments until his back ached. Emily’s ink-stained fingers filled page after page with careful numbers. Bruce prowled the dome, muttering equations aloud, barely sleeping, barely eating.
Strange signs multiplied.
On the copper moon, shadows rippled where shadows should not. The golden colony-moon began to shimmer with faint auroras. Instruments in the Array trembled with interference. Even to the naked eye, the Big Twist Nebula seemed brighter, alive with colour that had never flared before.
Emily whispered once, “It looks like it’s twisting the whole sky.”
Fred said nothing, but something cold had begun to unfurl in his chest.
Tension crackled in the observatory. Bruce pressed closer to Emily as they compared notes, leaning over her shoulder, his voice low. She didn’t push him away; in fact, she smiled faintly at his boldness. Fred noticed – and noticed too that Bruce seldom looked at him except with faint contempt.
One evening, after Bruce left the dome to fetch more equipment, Fred muttered, “Don’t let him charm you.”
Emily raised her head. “Charm me? Fred, this is science. He’s brilliant. He’s seen something no one else has.”
Fred clenched his jaw. “Brilliant, yes. But reckless. He’ll say anything to make himself right.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. “Or maybe you just don’t like that I’m impressed.”
Fred had no answer to that.
On the tenth night, the numbers aligned.
Emily laid her pen down with a trembling hand. “Fred. Bruce. You need to see this.”
Chapter Four – That Which Falls Apart
Emily’s calculations sprawled across the logbook. She pointed to the figures, her eyes luminous.
“The planet is safe,” she said. “The nebula isn’t pulling on us at all.”
Bruce scowled. “What nonsense is this?”
Fred leaned over, scanning the work. His brow furrowed. Then slowly, terribly, he understood.
“She’s right,” he whispered. “The pull isn’t aimed here. It’s aimed at the moons.”
Emily nodded. “Their orbits are unravelling. Look: the copper moon drifting into the path of the blue. The silver tugged towards the golden colony-moon. They’re not stable anymore. They’re going to crash into one another.”
Bruce stared. “But that would…”
“Shatter the skies,” Emily finished softly. “Once the first two collide, the chain reaction will be unstoppable. The colony… the others… gone.”
Fred’s throat closed. He had always loved the moons, their serene procession above the world. To imagine them falling, shattering, was unthinkable.
The nebula had not aimed for the planet at all. It had aimed for the moons.
Bruce gave a sharp laugh, part awe, part despair. “Do you see? This discovery will change everything. We’ll be remembered forever!”
Fred bristled. “People will die, Bruce. The colony…”
“Science demands clarity,” Bruce snapped. “History won’t care about casualties.”
Emily’s face hardened. “History begins with the truth. We have to warn them.”
Fred’s chest swelled with quiet pride – but still, a shadow lingered. Emily was siding with him now, but when Bruce spoke of glory, her eyes had glimmered before she turned away.
Chapter Five – That Which Takes Shape
Dawn found them still at their charts, hollow-eyed. Could they warn the colony? Evacuate? Was there time?
Bruce raged at the walls, scrawling frantic equations. Fred pored over trajectories until his vision blurred.
It was Emily, silent at the Array, who saw it first.
“The moons aren’t just breaking apart,” she whispered. “They’re… aligning.”
The men turned.
“After the collisions, after the fragments settle,” she said, pointing to the model she had drawn, “their orbits converge. Not random chaos. Order. They’ll form a single new body, larger than any moon we’ve ever had. Balanced perfectly between the planet and the nebula.”
Fred felt ice in his veins. “As if someone arranged it.”
Bruce’s face went pale. “As if the nebula planned this.”
The Big Twist blazed suddenly brighter, its curling arms luminous, deliberate. It did not look like a storm of dust and gas anymore. It looked like a hand, pushing pieces into place.
That night, as they stared in horror, the golden colony-moon flared with sudden light.
“An explosion?” Bruce gasped.
“No,” Emily breathed. “That’s a transmission.”
The Array chimed, receiving a signal not meant for human ears. The translation engines crackled, then spat out words.
Fred read them aloud, voice hollow.
“Do not resist. The moons are ours.”
The message repeated, again and again, as the Big Twist glared like a great, watching eye.
And beyond the observatory dome, the first of the moons began to drift off course.
Emily reached for Fred’s hand under the desk. He held it tightly.
A Woman Ate Dark Web Bought Tapeworm Eggs To Lose Weight. This Is What Happened To Her Brain.
Eggs Florentine
(Oeufs a la Florentine)
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
Eggs
- 1 (10 ounce) package frozen chopped spinach
- Mornay Sauce
- 4 poached Eggs
- 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
- 1 tablespoon dry bread crumbs
Mornay Sauce
- 2 teaspoons butter
- 2 teaspoons all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon instant chicken bouillon
- Dash of ground nutmeg
- Dash of ground red pepper
- 3/4 cup Half-and-Half
- 1/4 cup shredded Swiss cheese
Instructions
- Cook spinach as directed on package; drain. Place spinach in an ungreased shallow 1-quart baking dish; keep warm.
- Prepare Mornay Sauce and Poached Eggs.
- Mornay Sauce: Heat butter in a 1 quart saucepan until melted. Blend in flour, bouillon, nutmeg and red pepper. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until mixture is smooth and bubbly. Stir in Half-and-Half. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil and stir 1 minute. Add cheese; stir until cheese is melted.
- Poached Eggs: Heat 1 1/2 to 2 inches water to boiling; reduce heat to simmer. Break each egg into saucer; holding saucer close to water’s surface, slip 1 egg at a time into water. Cook until desired doneness, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove eggs from water with slotted spoon.
- Place eggs on spinach. Cover with Mornay Sauce; sprinkle with cheese and bread crumbs.
- Set oven to broil or 550 degrees F.
- Broil with top about 5 inches from heat until light brown, about 1 minute.
Secret Door Reveals Killer’s Darkest Secrets | Documentary
https://youtu.be/HdcLC243YnU
The Torn Flip-Flops That Solved a 5-Year Mystery | True Crime
What About Bob
Written in response to: “Write a story that has a big twist.“
Daniel Rogers
“Yeah, Flin or Fron, something like that.”
“He may be willing to help us. I can’t understand why, but he tolerates you better than any of the other priests.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” I said sarcastically. “Who knew androids could be so funny?”
We found our tolerant priest in the kitchen washing dishes.
“Hey, Fron? Or is it Flin?” I reached out my hand for a hardy handshake, forgetting we’re not on Earth.
“It’s Grinfo.” He rinsed his hands, drying them on a towel, looking puzzled. He didn’t know what to do with my hand, and eventually elected to bow, then extend his hand, not in a handshake, but just pointing straight out.
Alora whispered, “How did you get Flin or Fron?”
“Okay, so I’m not good with names,” I whispered back. “Now be quiet and let me lead.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Alora stayed behind, watching me pour on the “Drew” charm.
“Sorry, Grinfo. Look, Friend – can I call you friend?”
“I guess, although we hardly know each other.”
“But don’t you feel like we do?”
“Not really.”
“Perhaps if you looked deep inside, you’d see we’re a lot alike.”
“How deep?”
“We’re getting off track here. I need to ask you for a huge favor. We need to make a good impression on the Shaman? We really don’t want to face the gentlemen outside these gates.”
“You mean, you don’t want to be arrested by the Elite Guard?”
“If you want to get technical about it.”
Grinfo smiled. “I don’t know if this will help, but the Shaman has an impossible name to pronounce. I’ve never been able to say it. Heck, not even the Shaman can say it. He changed his name years ago. Before that, he had an easy name that even a child could pronounce, Joequellfeellian. But the Shaman has the right to change his name if he wants to. But I believe he’d love to hear someone say it. I’ve heard you come from a far country. Perhaps you will be able to pronounce it?”
“We have come a long way. But how are we going to say it if you can’t tell us what it is?”
“The Shaman had me chisel his name above the door of the temple. The first and last symbols are the same, but no one knows what they are. I’ll take you there. Maybe you’ll recognize them?”
Grinfo led the way, and we followed behind so as not to be overheard.
“I’m the linguist. Let me translate,” Alora said.
“Don’t forget who the captain is around here. Besides, I took a course in linguistics.”
“One course? I know over three thousand languages, I deciphered their language, and I programmed your translator.”
“I know you’re good, and I appreciate your work, but I think I’ve got this one.”
When we arrived, we could hardly believe what we saw. Only three letters graced the archway: B, O, B.
“See what I mean,” Grinfo said. “I’m not sure if the gods gave this to him, or if the Shaman made it up.”
“Do you really think it will impress him?”
Grinfo nodded. “Do you know what it says?”
“I do, although I find it hard to believe that this name would impress anyone.”
“You can’t say it. Surely, this is another one of your jokes?”
“No joke. Do you want me to say it now? Or save it for the Shaman?”
“I don’t want to hear it before the Shaman, but you’d better be able to, or the Shaman will throw you to the Elite Guard for lying. He really doesn’t like liars.”
That night, Grinfo gave us an invitation from the Shaman who had just arrived to have dinner with him. “I told him about your predicament with the Elite Guard and your unique gift. He almost fell over when I told him you can pronounce his name. He’s looking forward to it.”
Alora and I sat at the head table with the Shaman and Grinfo. A priest stood and gave a prayer, then everyone chanted, “The way provided,” and began to eat.
The Shaman didn’t look anything like I thought he would. A short man with a black and white braided beard, thick black and white dishevelled hair, a burnt orange robe and hat, and several necklaces made from flowering vines. He looked like he belonged in a forest, not a temple.
“I spoke with Targon, the Prime of the Elite Guard, and he told me that you,” the Shaman nodded to Alora, “incapacitated some of his men. Is this true?”
Alora nodded.
The Shaman smiled, “He didn’t tell me why.”
Alora told him how Freena had hidden them from the Elite Guard and that the guards had slapped her around for not giving them up. “I couldn’t let them hurt her. She has been very kind to us.”
“Good. Those pompous windbags deserve it. Although I sensed Targon hadn’t told me everything. Do you know what he might be hiding?”
Alora and I looked at each other. We’re not sure how much Targon knows, but he may suspect we’re not from this world. But I’m not about to tell the Shaman we’re aliens.
We shook our heads.
Grinfo pulled me aside and asked if I was ready to speak the Shaman’s name. “Anytime you’re ready, I’m ready.”
“The Shaman wants you to say it to everyone,” Grinfo said.
I’m not much of a public speaker, but it’s a reasonably simple speech, so I’ll give it the old college try.
Grinfo took me to the podium and introduced me, telling the crowd that I would speak the Shaman’s name. Murmurings and gasps filled the hall. I stood, taking a deep breath, and said it.
A few priests fell out of their seats. But the majority oohed and ahhed. Some tried to mimic me, but they failed miserably.
Grinfo led me back to the head table.
The Shaman respectfully nodded, “I’ve only heard my name once before, and you said it perfectly. I want you to stay. We will protect you, and I will try to smooth things over with the Elite Guard.”
“Thank you very much,” I said. I must have made a really good impression.
The Shaman motioned for Grinfo, “Could you get me a drink, please?” After Grinfo left, the Shaman lowered his voice to where only Alora and I could hear. “I know you two are gods. Only a god can say my name, because a god gave it to me.” He gave us a knowing smile, with an expression that said it would be our little secret.
Now that’s a big twist.
Chicken Fricassee (Fricassee de Poulet)
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
Ingredients
- 2 medium carrots, sliced
- 1 medium onion, sliced
- 1 stalk celery, sliced
- 4 tablespoons butter
- 1 (2 1/2 to 3 pound) broiler-fryer chicken, cut up
- 2 cups water
- 1 cup dry white wine
- 2 tablespoons instant chicken bouillon
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 2 bouquets garni
- 16 small white onions
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 8 ounces fresh mushrooms, sliced
- 1 tablespoon lemon juice
- 2 egg yolks
- 1/2 cup whipping cream
- 2 tablespoons minced parsley
- Hot cooked rice or noodles
Instructions
- Cook and stir carrots, sliced onion and celery in 4 tablespoons butter in a Dutch oven until onions are tender; push to side.
- Add chicken; cook uncovered until light brown, about 10 minutes.
- Add water, 1/2 cup of the wine, bouillon, salt and 1 Bouquet Garni. Heat to boiling; reduce heat. Cover and simmer until thickest pieces of chicken are done, about 40 minutes.
- Heat onions, 2 tablespoons butter, remaining wine and 1 bouquet garni to boiling; reduce heat. Cover and simmer until onions are tender, about 25 minutes.
- Remove chicken and onions to warm platter with slotted spoon.
- Strain bouillon and onion liquid together; discard bouquets garni, carrots, onion and celery slices. Skim fat.
- Add mushrooms and lemon juice and heat to boiling; reduce heat. Simmer uncovered until reduced to 2 1/2 cups.
- Mix egg yolks and whipping cream.
- Beat 1 cup hot broth by tablespoonsful into whipping cream mixture.
- Beat in remaining broth. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil and stir 1 minute: pour over chicken and onions.
- Sprinkle with parsley.
- Serve with rice or hot buttered noodles.