Category Archives: harry kennedy

He’s downright balsamaceous, that boy: TAE Word for the Day


(And I’d like to hear him say that word, too.)

Balsamaceous: (adjective): Possessing healing or restorative properties.

The word derives from the Latin balsamum, “resin of the balm tree.” The substance is historically celebrated for its aroma and healing properties.

Dr. Track is a healer by profession, and with his steadfast dedication and delightful bedside manner, he certainly makes us feel better.

And whilst John Porter is a tough soldier by trade with kickass skills, his gentleness and compassion helped Katie through the trauma of her captivity even as he worked to free her. This balsamaceous hero is tops in our books.

Our Victorian hero, Mr. Thornton, restores our belief in foolish passion and sweet romance. Surely he’s been a balm to many a troubled spirit.

Dear Harry Kennedy. His sweet, sunny, nurturing nature–perhaps a reflection of his CReAtor’s own lovely character?–cannot fail to bring a smile to our faces and a warm tug on our hearts.

Just a few examples of Mr. A’s balsamaceous characters. But of course, the most balsamaceous of them all is the man himself.

Lovely, funny, brilliant, modest, insightful, endearing, charismatic . . . how you touch our hearts, minds and souls, Richard Armitage.

A Bountiful Harvest of RA


‘Tis the season to enjoy such a bounty and count our blessings.  Hope your day, be it holiday or work day, is going well.  And if not–maybe these will make it a little better.

Thankful for Richard. Thankful for all of you.


Writing in itself is a rather solitary endeavor. When I was writing for the newspaper, there were times when I simply had to take my laptop and notes and retreat to one of the conference rooms in order to block out some of the madness that could be a newspaper office (yes, even in a small town) and get the story “turned around” as rapidly as possible–written and uploaded to the website.

I work on the components of my blog entries by myself, more or less: making the fanart, creating the videos, writing the essays and so on (although, of course, I benefit from your suggestions and the upcoming rearview vid will have lots of fan input, you cheeky wenches).  Still, it’s mostly just me, my laptop and my imagination.

But if I put my time, creativity and energies into doing all of this and no one comes to the party–well, it would be rather lonely, as much pleasure as Mr. Armitage brings into my life.

And so I am thankful for all of you who stop in, whether it’s on a daily basis or just every so often. I truly appreciate it when you leave a comment. It’s encouraging. It lets me know you are reading/perusing and taking an interest in it. Sometimes you tell me that I have helped make your day. Truthfully, that goes both ways. You also help make mine.

Today is Thanksgiving Day here in the US, a holiday that marks our remembrance of the first feast held by the Pilgrims who arrived at Plymouth Rock shared with the native Americans who had helped them.

Pilgrim Snoopy and Indian Woodstock extend Thanksgiving greetings to each other in “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.”

Celebrated on the fourth Thursday of each November, it means family time, feasting on holiday favorites, watching the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (the same one celebrated in the movie classic Miracle on 34th Street) and football games. For some, it will actually be the kickoff to holiday shopping, as some of our “big box” retailers like K-Mart and Wal-Mart are opening at 8 p.m. offering Black Friday deals early.

From Norman Rockwell’s Freedom series, his famous “Freedom from Want” (

But for me, it is important to also  remember to actually give thanks on Thanksgiving Day. It doesn’t matter what your religious beliefs are or whether or not you even have any; an attitude of gratitude is something that we all can practice, surely.

I am thankful for many things. There’s the everyday blessings we tend to take for granted here; a roof over my head with electricity and running water, a comfortable bed, plenty of food, technology that gives me a window on the world out here in the middle of nowhere.

Thankful for the parents who gave me a sold value system, who encouraged me to develop my brain and my talents and not just focus on being a pretty face a la those Toddlers and Tiaras parents.

For loving sisters and yes, for my own wonderful, darling, kind, sweet, funny, sexy hubby, Benny. For pets who think I’m the greatest and give me so much love and companionship and laughter.  For the blessings of a caring RL community and friendships old and new.

And for Richard Armitage, the perfect muse, the incomparable crush, the warm, witty, talented, beautiful, delightful human being. Without him, this blog wouldn’t exist. And again, I am thankful for you all and the kindness, thoughtfulness, fun and friendship you bring into my life each day

Harry Kennedy, the character Richard says is most like the “real” RA. Surely a fellow with a grateful heart.

I made this video last year to celebrate the occasion:

To my fellow American, a Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. And to everyone else, a happy, healthy, blessed Thursday.

Harry’s Got That Gemutlichkeit: TAE Word for the Day


Gemutlichkeit: (noun) warm friendliness; coziness, comfortableness.  The word comes from German word gemutlich (comfortable, cozy). Earliest documented use: 1892.

If “troth” made me think of John Standring, this word made me think of a certain tall, lanky handsome stranger with a penchant for striped jumpers.


I think of the warmth of that dazzling smile with which he greets the vicar and Alice on their visit to Sleepy Cottage; of his sweet and sunny personality and how good it must be to cuddle with someone like Mr. Kennedy.

Harry exudes gemutlichkeit.

I can easily imagine a cold winter’s eve, curling up beneath a quilt on a comfy sofa in front of a cozy fire, head resting on one broad and reliable jumper-clad shoulder,  listening to Harry read aloud in that delicious chocolate voice . . .



I hope you find some gemutlichkeit in your life this holiday season, my friends.

The Ultimate Nonesuch of a Celeb Crush: TAE Word for the Day


Nonesuch (noun): a person or thing without an equal; a person or thing declared as perfect or excellent.

From the Old English nan,  from ne (not) + swelce/swylce. Earliest documented use: 290.

If I were trying to create my very own Perfect Celebrity Crush from scratch, what would I include in the mix?

Stunning good looks, fab physique and sex appeal to spare?


Talent–multi-faceted, versatile, amazing–to spare?



A dedication to his craft that brings such intensity to his performances?



Intelligent, articulate and insightful, a pleasure to see/hear/read in interviews?



A wonderful sense of humor?



An endearing  boy-next-door vibe, gentlemanly, polite, modest, humble, well-grounded and generous of spirit?


A celeb who truly appreciates his fans and treats them well?

courtesy of awkwardcelebencounteres


And that, ladies and gents, are some of the reasons Richard Armitage is my choice of the absolute nonesuch of a celebrity crush.

Splendiferous Armitage: TAE Word for the Day


This is one of my favorite words in the English language. So I was completely delighted to see it arrive in my inbox this morning.

Splendiferous (adj.) magnificent; fine.  Splendiferous is an elaboration of the word splendid (gorgeous, sumptuous, dazzling) but owes its roots to the Latin splendere “to shine” and ferre “to bear.”

Surely, amongst the adjectives we have found so appropriate to describe our dearest RA, we must include the word “splendiferous?”

Porter, a splendiferous hero–brave, resourceful, relentless, yet tender, too. Who would not wish for such a courageous soldier to come to their rescue?

Dearest Harry Kennedy–funny, sweet, sunny-natured, and a man who knows a good woman when he meets her. Simply splendiferous as the handsome stranger we’d all like to move into our neighborhood.

Sir Guy, so regal on horseback as he solemnly rides through the gates of Nottingham to meet Jasper and the prince’s men. Sir Guy, knowing the city is about to be burned and that he will return to almost certain death rather than leave Marian’s side. I’d call that splendiferous.

That kiss? Oh, nothing less than absolutely, positively–splendiferous.

Lucas–our splendiferous spy, no matter what TPTB tried to do to this wonderful character so beautifully crafted by Richard.

Of course, there’s the man himself–intelligent, multi-talented, insightful, versatile, good-humored, modest, humble, gentlemanly, charming, drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as all get out. Such a splendiferous example of masculinity, is he not?? An all=around splendiferous human being.

I know everybody’s probably seen this one, but it is one of my most viewed, most liked videos and you might say it has a touch of the splendiferous in it–after all, who is the focus of it? And Elizaveta’s song is so infectious . . .

Obambulating with Armitage: TAE Word for the Day


This week’s words from A.Word. A. Day feature selections that sound as if they might be tied to the candidates in the presidential election here in the U.S.–but actually have no connection.

I loved this one:

obombulate: (verb) to walk about. From the Latin,  ob- (to) + ambulare (to walk). Earliest documented use: 1614.

Oh, I do enjoy watching Mr. Armitage and his various ChaRActers doing a bit of obombulating, don’t you?

Harry Kennedy obombulates in Dibley with its charming vicar, Geraldine in a screencap from “The Vicar of Dibley” (courtesy of RANet).

Sir Guy is obombulating a bit unsteadily when he answers Robin’s challenge in the first ep of RH S3.

Oh, dear. Obambulate as much as you want to in that outfit, my Dark Knight!

Sgt. Porter obambulates in the desert (and amazingly, gets a signal on his smartphone).

Watching Richard Armitage obombulate with those long, long legs, those slinky hips and the Derriere of Delight can be downright discombobulating (throwing one into a state of confusion).

If you could obambulate with Mr. Armitage or one of his characters, when and where you choose to do it?

Monday musings: Mother Nature, beautiful and terrible


There’s a chill in the air here and a jacket and shoes do not go amiss when you venture outside. You step out onto the balcony and drink in the morning beauty, always amazed at the ever-changing seascape before youA couple walks slowly down the beach, pausing to watch a bird skipping across the water’s surface as it does a bit of fishing for its breakfast.

The view from the balcony in Orange Beach between 7:30 and 8 a.m. Monday. As Benny said, you get this great ombre effect between the sky and the sea.

Even as I enjoy all the splendid beauty of Mother Nature on this Monday morning, I am reminded that many people are facing a difficult day that may bring more than inconvenience and frustration. This storm could wreak significant havoc on life and property. Remember you are in our thoughts and prayers. I hope these images will lift your spirits, along with the knowledge that people who may live far away from you still care.

I made this video last year after a series of deadly tornadoes took a devastating toll on Alabama and other states in what was called “April’s Fury.”  I share it again now as a reminder we all need to encourage and support one another in times like this.  No man (or woman) is an island . . .

Sunday Smorgasbord: Spicy & Sweet


Oh, those smiles. Sweet, sunny, shy, quietly content, downright flirty-girty, sly and sexy. Wonderful smiles reflected in those amazing azure eyes.   Sugar and spice and everything nice . . . those smiles.

Uncanny/Canny Armitage: TAE Words for the Day


Uncanny (adj.): 1. characterized by supernatural or inexplicable basis 2. beyond the ordinary, expected or normal. 3. Mysterious, strange, especially in an unsettling way

Synonyms for uncanny: unearthly, eery, strange, mysterious; extraordinary, remarkable, fantastic, astonishing, incredible, miraculous, unheard-of

Never have I been affected by one actor as I have been by Richard Crispin Armitage. The power he has over me–the ability to lift my spirits, to stir my libido, to capture my imagination–is positively uncanny. I look into those large, luminous eyes of changeable blue and feel as if he’s looking straight into my soul– it’s uncanny.  I see one of those sunny grins and the joy said smile brings me? Uncanny.

The way Richard can “turn the world on with a smile” is positively uncanny.

Lucas, with his pale skin, dark hair and blue eyes has an unearthly beauty that is quite uncanny.

Uncanny once meant “mischievous.” The association of “uncanny” with the supernatural arose in the 1770s.  The word “canny” means careful, shrewd, astute, frugal and skilled. Hmmmmmm . . .

We know that RA always pauses to weigh his words before he speaks in interviews, giving careful thought to his responses rather than blurting out the first thing off the top of his head. 

He also shows great insight into his characters and is astute in their crafting. The years of struggling financially seem to have made him a prudent and somewhat frugal individual who is not a profligate spender (except, perhaps, for splashing out on his beloved parents from time to time). 

And, as an amazingly gifted and versatile actor, he is nothing less than skilled at his chosen profession.

Therefore, I declare the uncanny Mr. Armitage to be very canny, too.  But wait! There’s more . . .

In the Scots and Northeast England dialects, calling an individual “canny” is very much a sign of approval.  Here, a canny person is one who is good, nice, steady, restrained, gentle.

Wud ye nae say our bonny Richard is a canny lad, indeed? 😉

(courtesy of RAlover)

Here’s to the uncanny delight and pleasure this lovely, canny gentleman brings into our lives on a daily basis. Thank you, dear Rich!

The Accountant & the Artist: The Sunshine of Those Smiles . . .


So many of Richard’s roles have been rather serious ones–requiring a lot of angst, brooding and “faces like thunder.” He’s great at it, of course, but sometimes you need a little lightness. So the roles that allow him to laugh and smile are always welcome, because he does both so heartily, beautifully, endearingly. We get those sunny smiles with sweet Harry Kennedy the accountant in The Vicar of Dibley and as Claude Monet, the artist filled with joie de vivre in The Impressionists. Oh, the sunshine of those smiles . . .

Ladywriter & the Unexpected Guests: Part Two (of Three)


(This is a continuation of Ladywriter and the Unexpected Guests. I apologize for the delay, I was ill most of last week and didn’t get much writing of any kind done.  Hope you enjoy! Here’s the link to Part I.

Harry turned, his own bright blue eyes wide with curiosity. “Ladywriter, do you know a lot of–little people with a great deal of—hair?”

Ladywriter furrowed her brow. “There’s my friend Colin, but he’s not particularly hairy . . .”

Recognition dawned on her face. “Why, it must be Thorin and his friends–”

LW raked her fingers through her still uncombed hair. Glancing down at her rumpled tee and shorts, she bit her lip.

“Oh, heavens, I haven’t met any of them other than Thorin. I really need to make myself presentable.”

She expelled a breath and looked up at Harry.

“Dear Mr. Kennedy,  will you play host and welcome them in? I’ll be back in a jiffy. Took a shower last night, so I just to change and slap on a little face paint.”

Harry grinned with his typical amiability. “I’d be happy to, LW.”

A loud sniff sounded as Sir Guy tossed his raven mane with considerable disdain.

Guy . . .”

He bared his teeth in her direction and inclined his head.

“I promise to play nice, my lady.”

“See that you do,” LW replied, brandishing an admonishing finger before disappearing to do a bit of primping.

She was no longer a spring chicken, nor was she as vain as her beloved Sir Guy, but LW did want her unexpected visitors to know she could at least clean up nicely.

In the meantime, Harry opened the door to quite a crowd congregated on the front deck and down the steps.

“Hullo there,” he said with a smile. “I’m Harry. I take it you all are here for Ladywriter’s birthday celebration?”

The tallest and most regal of the hairy little men—actually, they were dwarfs, of course—stepped forward and made a polite bow.

“Indeed, we are. I am Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this company. I am pleased to make your acquaintance on this auspicious occasion.”

Sir Guy managed to contain his sniff, but I fear he did roll his eyes at Thorin’s words.

“And with me I have Oin, Gloin, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Nori and Dori.” As Thorin named the dwarfs, each stepped forward, a sack in hand, and made a small bow before entering the house.

There were probably going to be a lot of sore necks by the end of the day, what with the dwarfs craning theirs to look up at the lads, and the lads bending theirs to look down at the dwarfs as they all introduced themselves.

Soon Porter, Lucas and Claude were in full decorating mode. Porter used his mighty lungs to blow up balloons whilst the former spy and his art instructor hung a broad and colorful birthday banner (hand-painted by the two ChaRActers) above the mantelpiece in the den.

Ori, who was quite the artist himself, looked on with interest and gave them two thumbs up when they got it straight.  “I love the flowers around the lettering,” he said with an approving smile.

Monet flashed a dazzling grin at Ori. “Flowers were the inspiration for me to become an artist.”

Across the way in the kitchen (LW’s home had an open floor plan) Harry organized the food and drink, assisted by one very rotund dwarf—Bombur–who presented the Jumper-Clad One with the dwarves’ contribution to the festivities.

“Arkenstone’s Finest Dwarf Ale,” said Bombur with a nod of his bushy red head.

Harry’s eyes widened as the quantity of ale was revealed, bottles and bottles and bottles of the stuff.

For little fellows, it appeared they could put away quite a lot . . .

Harry’s brow furrowed as he shook back his floppy fringe. “I am not sure there’s going to be room in the refrigerator for all of it, Bombur.”

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders. “’Tis no matter, we will drink it at any temperature.”

“That’s right. Hot, cold, or in between, you can’t stand between a dwarf and his ale, my friend,” chimed in another dwarf. This one wore a rather silly-looking hat with a pair of dark pigtails sprouting right out of the sides of his head.

Yes, it was Bofur, he of the devilish dimpled grin . Somehow Harry suspected this dwarf would be sporting one of LW’s lampshade on his head and swinging from one of the chandeliers before all was said and done.

Bofur had moved to the stereo in the den and was sorting through the CDs. “We need to get this party started—we need some music!”

Soon the sound of KC and the Sunshine Band—who knew dwarfs were a fan of 70’s disco?—was blasting through the Surround Sound speakers as Bofur did his best Saturday Night Fever imitation, spinning his arms and pointing at the ceiling.

In the kitchen, his brother Bombur’s eyes lit up when he spied a large box of Cheez-Its. “Ooooh, I love a good cheese snack,” he said with a clap of his chubby hands before opening the box and shoving a large handful into his mouth.

Harry looked on with a bemused expression.  Sir Guy—aficionado of all things Cheez-It—would not be happy.

Oh, dear, what have we got ourselves—and Ladywriter—into?


Whilst her beloved ChaRActers and their guests were busy taking over the house, LW changed into her best jeans and a favorite blouse in a festive tomato red color.

Giving her hair and teeth a quick brush, she popped in her contacts and applied a touch of liner, a coat of mascara, a sweep of blush and a swipe of red lippie.  After a spritz of her J’Adore, she was ready to face all her unexpected guests.

“Oh, heavens,” she murmured under her breath as she walked into the living room. Her home was average-sized—just over 2,000 square feet—but it seemed very crowded.

One might be surprised by just how much space 13 dwarfs can take up (Bombur alone equaled at least two dwarfs), not to mention five full-sized ChaRActers.

It was not only crowded, but rather noisy, as music blared from the den stereo, mingled with an unusual number of deep baritone voices talking and laughing together.

Everyone, that is, except Guy. The knight was quiet as he lounged against the upright piano in the living room, watching Thorin and the other dwarves as they conversed.  His arms folded, Guy was wearing what he thought was an impassive expression.

Ladywriter smiled at him and gave a quick pat to his arm.

Guy is never very good at hiding his feelings, bless his heart. He is certainly not happy about this latest development.

He gave her a small nod. “My lady looks lovely,” he rumbled, his face still rather somber, save for a certain glint in those blue eyes.

“So does my dark knight. Now, if he will only behave as beautifully as he looks . . .” Ladywriter said, positioning her head so that Guy alone could see the slow wink she gave him.

She saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He bent his head and whispered in her ear. “I promise to be a veritable pussy cat, my lady.”

“A declawed and toothless one, Sir Guy?” Oh, I really should not tease him.

Ladywriter . . .” There was definitely the hint of a growl there.

Ladywriter squeezed his arm, giving him another wink and turned to find the leader of the dwarves had risen to his feet.

“My lady,” Thorin said with a gracious bow. “I bid you good tidings on this special day.” He withdrew a square package tied with blue ribbon from a pocket inside his  coat and presented it to LW with a flourish.

“’Tis a small token from our company to mark the occasion.”

LW smiled down at Thorin—what a handsome creature he was, and that hair!–and inclined her head. “Thank you so much for your good wishes and for this gift. I am sure I will treasure it, whatever it may be.”

Thorin inclined his head. “You are most welcome. And now, Ladywriter, may I introduce to you our company?”

LW raised her hand. “Actually, if you don’t mind, Thorin, I would like to see if I can name them all–” She gave him a rather sheepish smile. “And get the right name with the right face. I have been studying.”

LW thought she detected a twinkle in his grey-blue eyes beneath those bushy brows.

“Then by all means, proceed, my lady,” Thorin said with another small bow of his regal head.

LW nodded. “OK.”

She looked at the older grey-haired dwarf, wearing a somewhat dour expression, sitting to the left of Thorin. “You must be—Dori, brother to Ori and Nori.” LW smiled. “You’re the caring big brother who always looks out for the younger ones.”

Dori nodded and gave her an appreciative half-smile. “I do my best—although it certainly isn’t not easy,” he replied with a put-upon sigh.

LW glanced at the dwarf sitting to Dori’s left and wagged a finger. “And you, if I am not mistaken, are Nori.”

Dori would want to keep an eye on you. You’re always up to something. A bit light-fingered. But not here—I am hoping. What is that bulge in your coat pocket?

Nori grinned, waggling the multiple braids of his brown beard.

“If you are looking for little brother, he’s in the other room with your artist friends.”

Well, that made sense, LW thought. Quiet, polite, artistic Ori would very likely be drawn to that sensitive soul, her darling Lucas and the brilliant and passionate Monet.

However, she still had dwarves in the living room to identify. It was pretty hard to mistake which one was sitting next to Nori.

The rusting remnants of an Orc ax buried in his poor head was a dead giveaway. She knew the dwarf was no longer able to speak.

“Hello, Bifur,” LW said, stretching out a hand and giving him a welcoming smile. The dwarf gave her hand a firm shake, grunting in reply.

She turned her attentions to the loveseat, where a couple of handsome young dwarves, one fair and one dark, were seated.

They both jumped to their feet with the enthusiasm of youth and gave her a bow.

Ladywriter inclined her head. “I believe I have the honor of meeting—Fili and Kili, if I am not mistaken.”

“At your service,” Fili and Kili chimed in unison.

“Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake your bootie, shake your bootie!!” Someone was singing at the top of his lungs.

A dwarf with Pippi Longstocking-style braids came dancing into living room, doffing his hat to twirl it in the air above his head as he wiggled his posterior with great enthusiasm.

“This has to be Bofur,” LW said with a chuckle, shaking her head.

“At your service, my lady.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it even as he still kept dancing, his dark eyes full of mirth. “Happy Birthday and I hope you don’t mind us making ourselves at home.”

Ladywriter gave him a lop-sided grin. “I understand dwarves have a habit of doing just that . . .”

She glanced toward the den, where she could glimpse Porter, Lucas and Monet tying balloons to pretty much–everything, while assorted and sundry dwarves looked on.

“Well, it certainly is looking festive,” she announced loudly, slipping over to the stereo cabinet to turn the volume down just a tad.

“Oh, the banner is gorgeous! Did you lads paint it?”

Lucas and Claude glanced at each other, grinning, and nodded.

“And you must be Ori. The artist of the group.” Ori gave her a soft, shy smile,  his dark eyes not quite meeting hers, a blush coming to his cheeks.
Clearly a sweetheart.

And more dwarves to identify: two on the sofa and two more in the oversized easy chairs. She restrained an impulse to giggle as they rocked, their booted feet dangling in mid-air in the rocker-recliners.

Something told her it would be bad form to laugh at—

“Hello, Oin.” LW said in a loud voice, knowing this grey-haired healer was hard of hearing. He nodded in response.

“And you must be Gloin, his brother. May I say you have a most impressive beard.”

The fierce-looking dwarf lightly stroked said beard, trimmed with a great deal of silver jewelry.  He was obviously proud of it.

“Regular conditioning treatments. My wife’s beard is almost as impressive.”

That left three dwarves to name. She smiled at the venerable-looking white-haired gentleman on the sofa.

“I believe you are Balin, the Dwarf Lord and a trusted advisor to Thorin?”

Balin gave her a gracious nod. “Indeed, you are correct, my lady. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

As for the fearsome balding tattooed dwarf sitting beside Balin, it could only be–

“Dwalin, welcome.” Knowing Dwalin’s prejudices, LW was thankful no elves had shown up. Yet. Where would I put them if they did?

That left only one dwarf. And he was unmistakable.

The rotund red-haired fellow in the kitchen with Harry was the Company’s chief cook, Bombur.

He stopped stuffing his mouth with Cheez-Its long enough to mumble an amiable reply to LW’s greeting. Cheez-Its! And it was Guy’s favorite flavor, Hot and Spicy.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and gave her a reassuring smile as if to say, “Go with the flow, LW, go with the flow.”

“I say break out the Arkenstone ale!” Bofur cried.

Ladywriter was surprised he hadn’t already been into it.

Oh, dear. A dozen naughty, raucous, hard-partying dwarves, five ChaRActers, including  a somewhat volatile knight whose favorite snack food was rapidly being scarfed down by one of those dwarves.

“Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy birthday,” she murmured to herself.

 (End of Part Two)