The cold has been blown back to the north where it belongs, and the sun smiled down on the Pond today as I skipped about outside. It was much too pretty of a day to spend chained to a computer and a ringing phone. This day, a perfectly cool day with warm sunshine, was perfect for chasing grasshoppers.
As I walked on my daily walk, I squatted down to see the grasshopper hopping through the dead grass. I followed him closely as he crawled through dead leaves and small patches of weeds. You see, I was determined to catch this grasshopper, or at least try. I had determined he could live on my desk in a jar as a pet and keep me company.
Waddling along on the ground in a demented ape-like fashion, I heard a faint whisper in my ear. I grinned, knowing what was coming.
"Would you mind telling me exactly what you're doing waddling about on the ground?" the butterfly scolded in my ear.
"I want to catch this grasshopper and put him in a jar for my desk," I said. "It gets lonely sometimes."
"You should know better than that," the butterfly said disapprovingly. "He does not want to be in a jar. He wants to spring through the grass freely."
"I know," I sighed as I stood up. The butterfly fluttered up to my shoulder and delicately clung to the fabric with it's tiny feet. "It just got so lonely this winter. There were a few animals, but everything was dead, cold and grey."
"That's no reason to put animals in a jar," the butterfly chided. "Would you put a puppy in a jar? Would you want to be in a jar? You can barely sit at a desk for two hours, let alone be confined to a jar."
"I got your point!" I said, rolling my eyes. "I understand."
"You do," the butterfly said, lowering and raising his wings in approval. "You do more than most." His tiny feet grazed the silky material of my shirt.
"I missed you, butterfly," I said, turning my head so his wing could skim my cheek. "Are you back for good now?"
"Perhaps," the butterfly said. "That all depends."
"On what?" I asked.
"On many things." the butterfly ventured into the crook of my neck. I leaned my head into the side.
"You always say that," I sigh. "You always show up long enough to give me hope, then disappear again. It's as if some mystical force is controlling you."
"Perhaps one is," the butterfly said. "Perhaps one isn't. We come and go as we are intended to, and as we wish. Some things, one must take on faith."
I turned and began walking back toward the building, my steps slowing. I looked at the sky.
"Sometimes I wish I could just live in a field," I said dreamily, feeling the sun warm my face. "I wish I could live on a tree, swimming in a creek and living off of berries and homemade breads."
"It is not meant to be," the butterfly said gently. "Dreaming is all well and good, but there comes a point where dreaming about what can not be becomes a source of bitterness rather than fantasy."
"But why?" I asked longingly. "Why can I not sit under a tree and tell stories to raccoons and possums? Why can I not braid flower crowns for my hair and dip my feet in a pond that wouldn't kill me to drink?"
"Why does the grasshopper not wish to be in a jar?" the butterfly traveled between the wisps of my hair. "If you lived outdoors, you would want to live indoors and be waited on. You're simply wishing for an escape. Besides, you would be as ill-suited to living in a tree as a grasshopper would to a jar with a few blades of grass. You are what you are. There is no changing that. Though you come closer than most."
"I just wish I was more connected," I confessed, sighing as I approached the building. "I don't belong cooped up, and I don't need to live outdoors."
"Then fly," the butterfly whispered gently. "Float, and fly."
With that, the butterfly released his clutch on my shirt and floated gently into the breeze. I watched him in wonderment, feeling my face break into a grin.
"When will you return?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be.
"Soon," the gentle reply came, as it always came. "Soon. We will be back soon."
****Land of animals of flowered bed coming soon **********
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Connection
There are some people in the world that without knowing why, you become instantly connected to them. It doesn't have anything to do with blood or relation, love or any other emotion. It is a instant connection when one walks in the room, a utter fascination. That is how I felt when I met Mrs. McGill.
A quiet old woman with a white-blond bob and a fuzzy and wrinkled face, Mrs. McGill appeared to be the model of submissive dignity. When she opened her mouth, however, humorous bits of wisdom floated through the air as they drifted into our ears and settled into our brains for emphasis. An artist known through out San Antonio, her paintings are as detailed as the stories I tell. Unlike my stories, her medium knows no bound. She paints Styrofoam computer packing and turns milk cartons into castles. She paints on paper bags and canvases. She even paints on walls.
I'm not quite sure why I'm so drawn to Mrs. McGill. A part of me feels as though I need to protect her--she's such a sweet woman that seems so vulnerable and alone. Another part of me is drawn to her sense of humor, her dry wit that comes out of such a unexpected source. Another part of me feels that I understand her need to tell stories, just as I understand my need to tell the stories I create. I just know I haven't been this fascinated about anyone since I met Ben.
When I met Ben, I was fascinated about him. I had this burning curiosity to know about him--where was he from, what did he do, what was he like? Did he like puppies? Did he like trucks?
Like Mrs. McGill, his exterior completely hid what he was really like. Instead of the "popular" guy his exterior painted him as, he was a compassionate and kind person with a generous heart.
It occurred to me that the reason I am as fascinated by Mrs. McGill as I was to Ben are for the same reason: their kindness and generosity. As a prickly sort of person, I have never understood how people can give freely. Ben gave his heart and emotion freely, while Mrs. McGill gave her hopes and thoughts freely. Every time I've visited, she's loaded me up with food, conversation and art work. For an artist to give their art away is a personal thing, just as giving emotional support is a very personal thing for a man. Yet, both Ben and Mrs. McGill gave freely and easily, out of love and confidence. Awkwardly, I tried to reach out to them both in a stumbling manner. It was no surprise they both gave me the same soothing smile.
Which is why, I suppose, I shouldn't have been surprised Ben and Mrs. McGill connected. He was drawn to her paintings and colorful home, while she adored that he fixed her computer and worked in insurance like her late husband. Even as they watched them, I realized how lucky I was to have Ben in my life, and how lucky I was to have met Mrs. McGill. Their kindness inspires me to want to do better, to sometimes pull my head out of my bubble to good for others. Sometimes, I spend so much time in my own head I forget to think for others.
For these two, that was never an issue. Generosity, a talent I envied, was given as freely as oxygen. I sat and watched silently, watching the two people I was fascinated by converse easily. The whole process fascinated me.
**Don't worry Invisible Friends, I can hear you whining from here. Land of Flowered Animals to follow in a day or two. Besides, I have to keep you waiting. What fun would you have otherwise?***
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Lament to my Peanut Butter
Dear Jar of Peanut Butter Sitting Sorrowfully in the Trash,
Peanut butter, oh peanut butter, why have you forsaken me? What foreign bacteria has entered your vats of creamy goodness and made it impossible for me to eat? Rather than tantalizing my taste buds with your salty delight, you risk rotting them off my flesh! Why, oh why, have you done this to me?
Oh Peanut butter, throwing you in the trash was the hardest thing I had to do. As I stared down at you in that lonely trash can, tears can to my eyes. You looked so pitiful there, open and exposed in the depths of the trash bin. Instead of sitting on a counter, ready for the making of sandwiches and delightful cracker spreads, you lay forgotten in a plastic wasteland.
Please don't give me that pleading look. This is not my fault. It is not my fault you were recalled for risk of salmonella. It is not my fault your goodness is rotting out in dumpsters across the country. However, it is my fault that you have been replaced. A jar of Jif sits in your spot that you used to occupy.
Don't give me that snide remark! What am I supposed to do until you're cleared again? Am I just supposed to not have peanut butter? Why should I be punished for your poisonous ways?
As much as you have wronged me, peanut butter, I still adore you. I will miss your salty goodness that Jif can't seem to match. Until the bacteria is purged from your thick goodness, I will be waiting. Until then, dear peanut butter.
Mournfully,
The Blonde Duck
Peanut butter, oh peanut butter, why have you forsaken me? What foreign bacteria has entered your vats of creamy goodness and made it impossible for me to eat? Rather than tantalizing my taste buds with your salty delight, you risk rotting them off my flesh! Why, oh why, have you done this to me?
Oh Peanut butter, throwing you in the trash was the hardest thing I had to do. As I stared down at you in that lonely trash can, tears can to my eyes. You looked so pitiful there, open and exposed in the depths of the trash bin. Instead of sitting on a counter, ready for the making of sandwiches and delightful cracker spreads, you lay forgotten in a plastic wasteland.
Please don't give me that pleading look. This is not my fault. It is not my fault you were recalled for risk of salmonella. It is not my fault your goodness is rotting out in dumpsters across the country. However, it is my fault that you have been replaced. A jar of Jif sits in your spot that you used to occupy.
Don't give me that snide remark! What am I supposed to do until you're cleared again? Am I just supposed to not have peanut butter? Why should I be punished for your poisonous ways?
As much as you have wronged me, peanut butter, I still adore you. I will miss your salty goodness that Jif can't seem to match. Until the bacteria is purged from your thick goodness, I will be waiting. Until then, dear peanut butter.
Mournfully,
The Blonde Duck
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's Day Part 2
Continued from part 1
"It's very simple," Cookies said. "First, you need a cloak. You can't be mysterious without a cloak. You need a single flower. Roses are too overdone, perhaps a daisy. Daises are sweet and innocent. Then, you need to arrive about fifteen minutes early and sit in a public spot. That way, she can see you and know you've shown up. Where are you supposed to meet?"
"At the patio doors in the moonlight," Pumble answered.
"How romantic," Hairy sighed. The seals sighed as well, blinking dreamy black eyes. Cookies rolled his eyes.
"You three make me want to gag," he muttered. "Well, what you must do is go to the patio doors at 11:45 and sit in the direct moonlight. She can't miss you there."
"Are you nervous?" the first duck asked.
"What do you think she'll look like?" the second duck asked.
"I'd be terrified," the third duck confessed.
"I'm not scared," Pumble said, trying to put a jovial tone in his voice. "It'll be great fun! I'm sure I'll have a great story out of it." He suddenly had a thought and narrowed his eyes. "Unless one of you jokers wrote this note and is setting me up."
"We would never write a note!" the first duck protested.
"It's not our thing!" the second duck explained.
"It would be very mean," the third duck whispered. Pumble looked at Cookies and Hairy.
"Don't look at us," Hairy said. "We've been with you the entire day. And the seals delivered the note."
"True," Pumble said. He stretched and pulled himself out of the now cool hot tub. "I say we celebrate my midnight rendezvous with a snack!" he said cheerfully. "Who's up for honey and biscuits?"
After the people had come home and gone to bed, the hours crept by. Pumble watched the time carefully, feeling as though midnight would never get there. Finally, at 11:37, he wrapped himself in a sweatshirt for a cloak and crept out of the bedroom, careful to open the door so it didn't squeak. The boy slept lightly, and Pumble couldn't risk getting caught.
Carefully, Pumble crept down the hallway. He heard noise behind him and turned sharply. He could only see a dark outline in the black that surrounded him. "Who are you?" he hissed. "Identify yourself!"
"Good Lord, it's us," Cookies disgusted voice whispered. "Don't be so dramatic. Who did you think it would be? A robber?"
"We want to come support you!" Hairy said sweetly. The seals yipped quietly in agreement.
"What about the ducks?" Pumble asked. "They stayed behind to act as an alarm," Hairy said. "Good," Pumble nodded. "Let's go."
They crept carefully into the living room and around the kitchen cabinet. The seals kept giggling in excitement and clapping their flippers lightly. "Shush!" Hairy would say gently. "We have to be quiet on a rendezvous."
"You stay here," Pumble said. "I'm going to go stand in the moonlight."
"Be sure you have your cloak!" Cookies advised.
"Have fun!" Hairy said cheerfully. The seals gurgled and wished him well. Pumble crept silently into the kitchen and plopped down on the vinyl floor. It was 11:47.
At 11:52, Pumble began to play with his cloak. First he made it into a hat, then into a loin cloth. At a indignant hiss from Cookies, he fixed his cloak and sat sulking on the floor.
At 11:56, Pumble began to play with the daisy. He balanced it on his nose and tried to balance it on the stinger. It fell and he tripped on it, falling and squishing it with his belly. He got up and hastily tried to reattach some of the petals. Hairy smacked his forehead and Cookies began to beat his head into the wall.
At 11:59, Pumble stood anxiously holding his tattered daisy in his crooked cloak, growing nervous. What if she didn't show up? What if she didn't come? What if she wasn't a she? What if this was all a cruel joke? He felt the adrenaline course through his veins. What if---
"Hello, Valentine," a sweet low voice said. He could hear Hairy and Cookies gasp and the seals giggle. "Happy Valentine's day!" the shadowy figure said. A small hand held out a Valentine.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Pumble said, holding out the tattered flower. He stuttered, "I'm sorry, I accidentally fell--"
"It's beautiful!" the figure exclaimed. She pressed it to her nose. "Thank you so much for meeting me. It was nice of you. See, I've admired you for months."
"Months?" Pumble said, confused. "I don't believe I've ever met you before."
"I stopped by a long time ago," the figure reassured him. "We never actually met, but I saw you through a window."
"I must admit, I'm quite flattered," Pumble said. "I've never had a secret admirer or a midnight rendezvous before. I was actually nervous."
"Told you," Cookies muttered to Hairy softly.
"I was nervous too," the figure admitted. "But, I figured there was no harm in trying. So, happy Valentine's Day." The figure turned to leave.
"Wait!" Pumble said, rushing towards her. "I haven't seen your face!"
The figure turned and slowly walked back into the light. Pumble gasped. "You!" he cried. "I can't believe it!"
"It was nice to see you," the Ladybug said softly. "I must go now. I have to get back home before it gets too cold. Thank you for being my Valentine."
"When will you come back?" Pumble said, taking another step forward. "I'd like to see you again."
"Soon," the Ladybug smiled. "Soon. I will return to you, Valentine."
With a smile and a wave, she gently flew out the patio doors into the midnight. Pumble heard her faint whisper in the cool wind that blew by his ear, "Maybe you'll have a story for me next time..."
Pumble stood grinning dumbly at the doors as Cookies and Hairy rushed forward. "Who was that?" they cried. "We didn't recognize her at all."
"Was she nice?" Hairy asked.
"Was she pretty?" Cookies demanded. The seals barked and whined, wiggling their tales.
"Yes, yes and yes," Pumble said dreamily. Cookies stared at him in frustration. "Who was she?" he cried.
Pumble smiled serenely. "She was my Valentine."
"It's very simple," Cookies said. "First, you need a cloak. You can't be mysterious without a cloak. You need a single flower. Roses are too overdone, perhaps a daisy. Daises are sweet and innocent. Then, you need to arrive about fifteen minutes early and sit in a public spot. That way, she can see you and know you've shown up. Where are you supposed to meet?"
"At the patio doors in the moonlight," Pumble answered.
"How romantic," Hairy sighed. The seals sighed as well, blinking dreamy black eyes. Cookies rolled his eyes.
"You three make me want to gag," he muttered. "Well, what you must do is go to the patio doors at 11:45 and sit in the direct moonlight. She can't miss you there."
"Are you nervous?" the first duck asked.
"What do you think she'll look like?" the second duck asked.
"I'd be terrified," the third duck confessed.
"I'm not scared," Pumble said, trying to put a jovial tone in his voice. "It'll be great fun! I'm sure I'll have a great story out of it." He suddenly had a thought and narrowed his eyes. "Unless one of you jokers wrote this note and is setting me up."
"We would never write a note!" the first duck protested.
"It's not our thing!" the second duck explained.
"It would be very mean," the third duck whispered. Pumble looked at Cookies and Hairy.
"Don't look at us," Hairy said. "We've been with you the entire day. And the seals delivered the note."
"True," Pumble said. He stretched and pulled himself out of the now cool hot tub. "I say we celebrate my midnight rendezvous with a snack!" he said cheerfully. "Who's up for honey and biscuits?"
After the people had come home and gone to bed, the hours crept by. Pumble watched the time carefully, feeling as though midnight would never get there. Finally, at 11:37, he wrapped himself in a sweatshirt for a cloak and crept out of the bedroom, careful to open the door so it didn't squeak. The boy slept lightly, and Pumble couldn't risk getting caught.
Carefully, Pumble crept down the hallway. He heard noise behind him and turned sharply. He could only see a dark outline in the black that surrounded him. "Who are you?" he hissed. "Identify yourself!"
"Good Lord, it's us," Cookies disgusted voice whispered. "Don't be so dramatic. Who did you think it would be? A robber?"
"We want to come support you!" Hairy said sweetly. The seals yipped quietly in agreement.
"What about the ducks?" Pumble asked. "They stayed behind to act as an alarm," Hairy said. "Good," Pumble nodded. "Let's go."
They crept carefully into the living room and around the kitchen cabinet. The seals kept giggling in excitement and clapping their flippers lightly. "Shush!" Hairy would say gently. "We have to be quiet on a rendezvous."
"You stay here," Pumble said. "I'm going to go stand in the moonlight."
"Be sure you have your cloak!" Cookies advised.
"Have fun!" Hairy said cheerfully. The seals gurgled and wished him well. Pumble crept silently into the kitchen and plopped down on the vinyl floor. It was 11:47.
At 11:52, Pumble began to play with his cloak. First he made it into a hat, then into a loin cloth. At a indignant hiss from Cookies, he fixed his cloak and sat sulking on the floor.
At 11:56, Pumble began to play with the daisy. He balanced it on his nose and tried to balance it on the stinger. It fell and he tripped on it, falling and squishing it with his belly. He got up and hastily tried to reattach some of the petals. Hairy smacked his forehead and Cookies began to beat his head into the wall.
At 11:59, Pumble stood anxiously holding his tattered daisy in his crooked cloak, growing nervous. What if she didn't show up? What if she didn't come? What if she wasn't a she? What if this was all a cruel joke? He felt the adrenaline course through his veins. What if---
"Hello, Valentine," a sweet low voice said. He could hear Hairy and Cookies gasp and the seals giggle. "Happy Valentine's day!" the shadowy figure said. A small hand held out a Valentine.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Pumble said, holding out the tattered flower. He stuttered, "I'm sorry, I accidentally fell--"
"It's beautiful!" the figure exclaimed. She pressed it to her nose. "Thank you so much for meeting me. It was nice of you. See, I've admired you for months."
"Months?" Pumble said, confused. "I don't believe I've ever met you before."
"I stopped by a long time ago," the figure reassured him. "We never actually met, but I saw you through a window."
"I must admit, I'm quite flattered," Pumble said. "I've never had a secret admirer or a midnight rendezvous before. I was actually nervous."
"Told you," Cookies muttered to Hairy softly.
"I was nervous too," the figure admitted. "But, I figured there was no harm in trying. So, happy Valentine's Day." The figure turned to leave.
"Wait!" Pumble said, rushing towards her. "I haven't seen your face!"
The figure turned and slowly walked back into the light. Pumble gasped. "You!" he cried. "I can't believe it!"
"It was nice to see you," the Ladybug said softly. "I must go now. I have to get back home before it gets too cold. Thank you for being my Valentine."
"When will you come back?" Pumble said, taking another step forward. "I'd like to see you again."
"Soon," the Ladybug smiled. "Soon. I will return to you, Valentine."
With a smile and a wave, she gently flew out the patio doors into the midnight. Pumble heard her faint whisper in the cool wind that blew by his ear, "Maybe you'll have a story for me next time..."
Pumble stood grinning dumbly at the doors as Cookies and Hairy rushed forward. "Who was that?" they cried. "We didn't recognize her at all."
"Was she nice?" Hairy asked.
"Was she pretty?" Cookies demanded. The seals barked and whined, wiggling their tales.
"Yes, yes and yes," Pumble said dreamily. Cookies stared at him in frustration. "Who was she?" he cried.
Pumble smiled serenely. "She was my Valentine."
Monday, February 12, 2007
Valentine's Day
Love had filled the air. The seals nuzzled everyone and stared up at them with adoring eyes, Cookies had become a bit nicer and Hairy had taken to watching movies on Lifetime in the middle of the day and crying.
"It's just so romantic!" he would blubber, blowing his nose on the Kleenex. "So romantic!"
Even Pumble had gotten into the romance of it all, as he sat in the spa feeding himself chocolate covered strawberries. "You know," he told the ducks as they floated in the bathtub, "I had a girl once."
"Be serious!" they cried, leaning in for the juicy gossip. Pumble nodded, pleased at the response, and paused dramatically.
"Her name was Petunia," he said romantically. "Petunia the Bee. But you see, it was never meant to be." He giggled at the rhyme.
"What happened?" the third duck cried.
"Well, her mother was the Queen Bee of another hive. She was in line to the throne, and had been bethrothed since eggs to this loser." Pumble narrowed his eyes. "We dated all through bee school, but it was to no use. Her mother wouldn't let me marry her. She kept her locked up in the very top part of the hive. One night, I begged her to elope with me and presented her with the finest honey in the land. But she was too scared of her mother's wrath, and turned me away." Pumble looked at the anxious faces watching him and felt pleased as a storyteller.
"Well that's horrible!" one of the ducks cried. "So that's it? Just this tragic ending?"
"Well, she got to be queen and I got to come here," Pumble said, grinning. "Honestly, why would I want to sit around a palace and have to solve problems when I could eat chocolate strawberries in a bathtub. I do believe I got the better end of the deal."
"So what are you doing for Valentine's Day then?" the second duck asked. "I'm going to--" Pumble stopped as one of the seals delivered and envelope to him. "What the devil is this?" he asked as he tore it open. He pulled out a red card and opened it, reading it in shock.
"What is it?" the first duck asked.
"What's going on?" the second duck asked.
"Is it Petunia?" the third duck asked eagerly.
"It's a secret admirer!" Pumble said in amazement. "My admirer wants to meet me on Wednesday for a midnight rendezvous!"
"A midnight rendezvous?" Cookies exclaimed, eavesdropping from the doorway. "Why that's romantic! This woman is in love with you! Only women in love crave midnight rendezvous."
"What if she just likes him?" Hairy asked practically. "Perhaps she gets off work at midnight."
"As what?" Cookies asked scornfully. "A bar maid?"
"I suppose I should pick her some flowers," Pumble said thoughtfully. He wasn't quite sure what to think of a secret admirer. He'd never had one. "I could brush my teeth to."
"That's a brilliant idea," Cookies snorted.
"What exactly does a secret admirer do?" one of the ducks asked. Cookie laughed at him and said, "You poor silly duck." Pumble was glad he hadn't asked.
"A secret admirer is someone that sends you secret notes and gifts because they care about you," Cookies said. "You always know someone's in the distance, watching and pining for you."
"That's so romantic!" Hairy cried as he blew his nose. He felt all weepy. The seals nuzzled up to him and barked happily. "I love you too!" Hairy squealed, petting their soft heads. "I love everybody!" He buried his face into their squirming body and cried tears of joy.
"What is wrong with him?" Ccookies said in disgust. "Get ahold of yourself man."
"He's just feeling the love," Pumble smiled. "Just like me."
"What should we do?" the ducks asked. "What do you do for a rendezvous?"
"It's very simple," Cookies began.........
To be continued
"It's just so romantic!" he would blubber, blowing his nose on the Kleenex. "So romantic!"
Even Pumble had gotten into the romance of it all, as he sat in the spa feeding himself chocolate covered strawberries. "You know," he told the ducks as they floated in the bathtub, "I had a girl once."
"Be serious!" they cried, leaning in for the juicy gossip. Pumble nodded, pleased at the response, and paused dramatically.
"Her name was Petunia," he said romantically. "Petunia the Bee. But you see, it was never meant to be." He giggled at the rhyme.
"What happened?" the third duck cried.
"Well, her mother was the Queen Bee of another hive. She was in line to the throne, and had been bethrothed since eggs to this loser." Pumble narrowed his eyes. "We dated all through bee school, but it was to no use. Her mother wouldn't let me marry her. She kept her locked up in the very top part of the hive. One night, I begged her to elope with me and presented her with the finest honey in the land. But she was too scared of her mother's wrath, and turned me away." Pumble looked at the anxious faces watching him and felt pleased as a storyteller.
"Well that's horrible!" one of the ducks cried. "So that's it? Just this tragic ending?"
"Well, she got to be queen and I got to come here," Pumble said, grinning. "Honestly, why would I want to sit around a palace and have to solve problems when I could eat chocolate strawberries in a bathtub. I do believe I got the better end of the deal."
"So what are you doing for Valentine's Day then?" the second duck asked. "I'm going to--" Pumble stopped as one of the seals delivered and envelope to him. "What the devil is this?" he asked as he tore it open. He pulled out a red card and opened it, reading it in shock.
"What is it?" the first duck asked.
"What's going on?" the second duck asked.
"Is it Petunia?" the third duck asked eagerly.
"It's a secret admirer!" Pumble said in amazement. "My admirer wants to meet me on Wednesday for a midnight rendezvous!"
"A midnight rendezvous?" Cookies exclaimed, eavesdropping from the doorway. "Why that's romantic! This woman is in love with you! Only women in love crave midnight rendezvous."
"What if she just likes him?" Hairy asked practically. "Perhaps she gets off work at midnight."
"As what?" Cookies asked scornfully. "A bar maid?"
"I suppose I should pick her some flowers," Pumble said thoughtfully. He wasn't quite sure what to think of a secret admirer. He'd never had one. "I could brush my teeth to."
"That's a brilliant idea," Cookies snorted.
"What exactly does a secret admirer do?" one of the ducks asked. Cookie laughed at him and said, "You poor silly duck." Pumble was glad he hadn't asked.
"A secret admirer is someone that sends you secret notes and gifts because they care about you," Cookies said. "You always know someone's in the distance, watching and pining for you."
"That's so romantic!" Hairy cried as he blew his nose. He felt all weepy. The seals nuzzled up to him and barked happily. "I love you too!" Hairy squealed, petting their soft heads. "I love everybody!" He buried his face into their squirming body and cried tears of joy.
"What is wrong with him?" Ccookies said in disgust. "Get ahold of yourself man."
"He's just feeling the love," Pumble smiled. "Just like me."
"It's just so wonderful!" Hairy cried. "Everyone's so happy! I just feel all squishy inside."
Cookies rolled his eyes.
"We must get you ready for your secret rendezvous!" Cookies said, checking his watch. "There isn't much time!""What should we do?" the ducks asked. "What do you do for a rendezvous?"
"It's very simple," Cookies began.........
To be continued
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The Transformation
After staring at a computer screen for hours, trying to ignore the screaming muscles in my back and the tenseness in my shoulders, I push away from my desk. The white and black words have run together in my mind into a jumbled mess of a headache. The air hums with the buzz of machinery. The recycled air is stifling as I type a one-word e-mail and press send. Pulling on my coat, I smile as we walk outside.
As soon as the cool air hits our cheeks, we are transformed. Instead of two women dealing with the drudgery of office life, two girls scamper through the parking lot. When people look out their windows, they see a lanky girl with wispy white ringlets and a shorter beaming girl with short black pigtails and rosy apple cheeks. They giggle as they walk through the grass, kicking at rocks and picking up acorns of interest.
They chatter excitedly, ignoring the stares from the workmen around them. The dark haired girl plays with her toy pig, who is fond of swimming in mud holes and prancing in clovers. The blond looks at the sky with her wide blue eyes, completely in her own world. The other girl's giggles interrupts her reverie, and she follows grinning. She'll have plenty of time for her own world when she's alone again.
They circle the building, inspecting the clovers and gently touching the red and brown leaves. The dark haired girl's grin causes the blond to show off, crushing the fallen nuts from the tree with her over-sized pink cowboy boots. With her friend she is confident, bossy even. The dark haired girl's peals of laughter fill the air, and the blond smiles in shared happiness. The freedom they share sings in their hearts. They skip down the sidewalk, and slow as they walk to the door. Their smiles fade into pouts as they pull the door open.
Once they pass the threshold, they return to women again. Sharing one secret smile, they both sit back down at their desks, waiting until they can be transformed once again.
As soon as the cool air hits our cheeks, we are transformed. Instead of two women dealing with the drudgery of office life, two girls scamper through the parking lot. When people look out their windows, they see a lanky girl with wispy white ringlets and a shorter beaming girl with short black pigtails and rosy apple cheeks. They giggle as they walk through the grass, kicking at rocks and picking up acorns of interest.
They chatter excitedly, ignoring the stares from the workmen around them. The dark haired girl plays with her toy pig, who is fond of swimming in mud holes and prancing in clovers. The blond looks at the sky with her wide blue eyes, completely in her own world. The other girl's giggles interrupts her reverie, and she follows grinning. She'll have plenty of time for her own world when she's alone again.
They circle the building, inspecting the clovers and gently touching the red and brown leaves. The dark haired girl's grin causes the blond to show off, crushing the fallen nuts from the tree with her over-sized pink cowboy boots. With her friend she is confident, bossy even. The dark haired girl's peals of laughter fill the air, and the blond smiles in shared happiness. The freedom they share sings in their hearts. They skip down the sidewalk, and slow as they walk to the door. Their smiles fade into pouts as they pull the door open.
Once they pass the threshold, they return to women again. Sharing one secret smile, they both sit back down at their desks, waiting until they can be transformed once again.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
The Smell
"What is THAT?" Cookies bellowed, retching in disgust. The seals gagged and choked as they crawled on their bellies to the window, desperate for a fresh breath of air. Pumble lay on the ground wheezing.
"This is it," he wheezed. "This is the end. The end of the honey jar. I can smell the cold hand of death coming to wrap his bony fingers around my neck."
"First of all," Cookies choked out. "Your neck is too fat for anyone to wrap their fingers around, even death. Second of all, that smell isn't death, it's putrid. It's inhuman. It's more disturbing then fat women wearing pleather mini skirts."
"Quit being mean," Hairy grunted as he pulled and jerked on the window. "You're just cranky because of the smell."
"I'm cranky because I can't breathe!" Cookies bellowed. "You'd be cranky too if the air in your lungs was green and rotting!"
"I can see the light," Pumble cried. "It's coming towards me! I can see castles of honey and biscuits!"
Hairy jerked the window open as the seals gasped for air. They lay on the floor, sucking in deep breaths of fresh air. The stench slowly seeped from the room. Cookies quit bellowing and Hairy felt the burn in his sinuses cease.
"The tunnel is closing!" Pumble cried. "The castles of honey are fading! It's--it's gone!" He sat up beaming. "Hooray!" he cried. "Guess what? I'm not dying anymore!"
"I'm so thrilled," Cookies said sarcastically.
"Oh hush," Hairy said as Pumble pouted. "What do ya'll think the smell was?"
"Pumble farted!" Cookies announced immediately.
"The seals didn't throw away their raw fish!" Pumble retaliated. The seals barked in disagreement, crossing their flippers over their bodies.
"Now, now, there has to be a reason for the smell," Hairy said. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "I know what it is!" he cried. "A skunk?"
"A skunk?" the others cried in shock. "Where?" Pumble leaped to the top of the pillows while the seals dove under the bed to look for him eagerly.
"Well think about it," Hairy said logically. "What else smells that bad?"
"Pumble's farts," Cookies replied promptly.
"Oh stop it," Hairy said in exasperation.
"But wouldn't the smell have gotten worse when you opened the window, if it was a skunk?" Pumble said thoughtfully.
"That's a good point!" Hairy said. His eyes grew wide. "That means the skunk is in the Land of the Flowered Bed."
"That's all we need," Cookies rolled his eyes. "We already have three ducks in the bathroom. Of course we need a skunk as well."
"When are the ducks leaving?" Pumble asked. "They tend to hog the hot tub."
"Don't stand there arguing!" Hairy cried. "We have to find the skunk."
"Oh, right," Pumble said. "The skunk." The animals looked under the bed, and found no skunk. They looked in the spa- no skunk. They looked in the refridgerator and under every nook and cranny--no skunk. The seals were sniffing frantically to locate the smell. The others were confused.
"How can it smell so bad and not come from a source?" Hairy asked. "That makes no sense."
Suddenly, the seals began barking and hopping up and down. They pointed their noses to a pair of socks. Hairy went over to sniff the socks and turned green within three feet of them. "That's it all right," he gagged. "It's nauseating. It's completely awful!"
"We have to get rid of it!" Cookies demanded. "Pumble, get rid of the socks."
"No way," Pumble said. "I want to be able to eat again. My hands will fall off."
"I'm not doing it!" Hairy cried. "I found it!" As the three argued, the seals rolled their eyes and used their tails to kick the socks in the toilet. One of the ducks flushed, and the seal barked in appreciation. The three interrupted their arguing.
"Well then," Cookies said. "That's done. Onto the next adventure of the day."
Later that evening, I opened the screen door to take out the trash and froze once again. There on my patio stood a tiny skunk.
"Hello," he beamed up at me. "I heard there was a skunk in the Land of the Flowered Bed. I came to join him."
I stared at him in amazement and shook my head. "Here we go again," I muttered.
"This is it," he wheezed. "This is the end. The end of the honey jar. I can smell the cold hand of death coming to wrap his bony fingers around my neck."
"First of all," Cookies choked out. "Your neck is too fat for anyone to wrap their fingers around, even death. Second of all, that smell isn't death, it's putrid. It's inhuman. It's more disturbing then fat women wearing pleather mini skirts."
"Quit being mean," Hairy grunted as he pulled and jerked on the window. "You're just cranky because of the smell."
"I'm cranky because I can't breathe!" Cookies bellowed. "You'd be cranky too if the air in your lungs was green and rotting!"
"I can see the light," Pumble cried. "It's coming towards me! I can see castles of honey and biscuits!"
Hairy jerked the window open as the seals gasped for air. They lay on the floor, sucking in deep breaths of fresh air. The stench slowly seeped from the room. Cookies quit bellowing and Hairy felt the burn in his sinuses cease.
"The tunnel is closing!" Pumble cried. "The castles of honey are fading! It's--it's gone!" He sat up beaming. "Hooray!" he cried. "Guess what? I'm not dying anymore!"
"I'm so thrilled," Cookies said sarcastically.
"Oh hush," Hairy said as Pumble pouted. "What do ya'll think the smell was?"
"Pumble farted!" Cookies announced immediately.
"The seals didn't throw away their raw fish!" Pumble retaliated. The seals barked in disagreement, crossing their flippers over their bodies.
"Now, now, there has to be a reason for the smell," Hairy said. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "I know what it is!" he cried. "A skunk?"
"A skunk?" the others cried in shock. "Where?" Pumble leaped to the top of the pillows while the seals dove under the bed to look for him eagerly.
"Well think about it," Hairy said logically. "What else smells that bad?"
"Pumble's farts," Cookies replied promptly.
"Oh stop it," Hairy said in exasperation.
"But wouldn't the smell have gotten worse when you opened the window, if it was a skunk?" Pumble said thoughtfully.
"That's a good point!" Hairy said. His eyes grew wide. "That means the skunk is in the Land of the Flowered Bed."
"That's all we need," Cookies rolled his eyes. "We already have three ducks in the bathroom. Of course we need a skunk as well."
"When are the ducks leaving?" Pumble asked. "They tend to hog the hot tub."
"Don't stand there arguing!" Hairy cried. "We have to find the skunk."
"Oh, right," Pumble said. "The skunk." The animals looked under the bed, and found no skunk. They looked in the spa- no skunk. They looked in the refridgerator and under every nook and cranny--no skunk. The seals were sniffing frantically to locate the smell. The others were confused.
"How can it smell so bad and not come from a source?" Hairy asked. "That makes no sense."
Suddenly, the seals began barking and hopping up and down. They pointed their noses to a pair of socks. Hairy went over to sniff the socks and turned green within three feet of them. "That's it all right," he gagged. "It's nauseating. It's completely awful!"
"We have to get rid of it!" Cookies demanded. "Pumble, get rid of the socks."
"No way," Pumble said. "I want to be able to eat again. My hands will fall off."
"I'm not doing it!" Hairy cried. "I found it!" As the three argued, the seals rolled their eyes and used their tails to kick the socks in the toilet. One of the ducks flushed, and the seal barked in appreciation. The three interrupted their arguing.
"Well then," Cookies said. "That's done. Onto the next adventure of the day."
Later that evening, I opened the screen door to take out the trash and froze once again. There on my patio stood a tiny skunk.
"Hello," he beamed up at me. "I heard there was a skunk in the Land of the Flowered Bed. I came to join him."
I stared at him in amazement and shook my head. "Here we go again," I muttered.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Sunning
The sun was shining, the sky was a bright blue and a cool breeze blew through the air. As I went on one of my daily walks, enjoying the warm sun on my face, I heard a familiar voice.
"Hello, Lady!" A small voice greeted me. I turned to see Ernie the Earthworm laying in the shade of a leaf that had been propped up on some thick grass. His little acorn hat shaded his eyes so all I could see was his glowing pink body.
"Hello, Ernie," I greeted him. "What are you doing today?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Ernie asked, tipping his hat up so he could narrow his eyes at me. "I'm sunning myself."
"But you're in the shade," I said.
"Well then, I'm shading myself." Ernie retorted, relaxing under his leaf.
"You never struck me as the sunbathing type," I said. "Aren't you worried about getting sunburned?"
"I'm more afraid of the birds," he said, creeping closer to the edge of his leaf. "If I lay in the sun too long, they think I'm a scrap of ham."
"Do birds eat ham?" I asked, looking confused. "I would think worms would be tastier than ham."
"Shhh!" Ernie whispered, looking around carefully. "Don't give them any ideas. I've managed to convince them I'm an Earthworm God. So they don't mess with me."
"Is that why you needed your hat?" I asked, trying not to smile. Every time he turned his tiny pink head, his hat spun around like a top.
"Of course not," Ernie snapped, acting as though I was dumb. "I need it so I won't get freckles."
I just stared at him. "I have sensitive skin, you know," Ernie said defensively. "People pay money for this shade of pink."
"I'm sure they do," I said, trying not to laugh.
"Lady, where is my hat?" Ernie demanded, trying to see if I was holding it in my hand. "You promised me a spring hat."
"It's not spring yet," I said.
"What do you call this?" Ernie said, looking up at the great blue sky.
"Gorgeous weather," I said.
"Gorgeous weather is the definition of spring," Ernie said triumphantly. "Give me my hat!"
"I don't have it," I said. "You'll have to wait."
Ernie scrunched up his face and his thin pink body began to tremble. The next thing I knew, he was throwing himself all over the ground wailing. "Gimme gimme gimme gimme!" he screamed.
The birds perched above my head didn't miss this new action.
"Is it a worm?" one pondered.
"No it's a ham," another said. "Dummie!"
"You're all wrong!" the third bird said. "It's a french fry!"
"It's pink, stupid!" the first bird said.
"Duh," the third bird said. "It's pink for Valentine's Day. Isn't it romantic?"
"It's not romantic because it's a worm!" the second worm argued. "Only cockroaches are romantic. Now that's elegant cuisine right there."
While the birds argued over dining choices, I bent down and whispered to Ernie, "They think you're a pink french fry."
Ernie quit flopping and sniffled. "I might as well be," he sobbed. "You don't even care about me enough to make me a spring hat." He began to wail again. Rolling my eyes, I took his pre-existing hat and tied some flowers and tiny clovers to the top of it. I bent down and handed it to Ernie.
"How's that?" I asked. Ernie stopped wailing and eyeballed his new hat. "Marvelous!" he cried happily. He put it on his head, causing the flowers to flop over in different directions.
"Don't I look darling?" he beamed up at me. Once again, I couldn't break his wormy little heart.
"Darling," I said, trying not to laugh. And with that, Ernie the earthworm returned to his sunning, the birds continued to argue regarding the romance of worms, and I took a few more minutes in the glorious sunshine. After all, it was a wonderful day for sun.
"Hello, Lady!" A small voice greeted me. I turned to see Ernie the Earthworm laying in the shade of a leaf that had been propped up on some thick grass. His little acorn hat shaded his eyes so all I could see was his glowing pink body.
"Hello, Ernie," I greeted him. "What are you doing today?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Ernie asked, tipping his hat up so he could narrow his eyes at me. "I'm sunning myself."
"But you're in the shade," I said.
"Well then, I'm shading myself." Ernie retorted, relaxing under his leaf.
"You never struck me as the sunbathing type," I said. "Aren't you worried about getting sunburned?"
"I'm more afraid of the birds," he said, creeping closer to the edge of his leaf. "If I lay in the sun too long, they think I'm a scrap of ham."
"Do birds eat ham?" I asked, looking confused. "I would think worms would be tastier than ham."
"Shhh!" Ernie whispered, looking around carefully. "Don't give them any ideas. I've managed to convince them I'm an Earthworm God. So they don't mess with me."
"Is that why you needed your hat?" I asked, trying not to smile. Every time he turned his tiny pink head, his hat spun around like a top.
"Of course not," Ernie snapped, acting as though I was dumb. "I need it so I won't get freckles."
I just stared at him. "I have sensitive skin, you know," Ernie said defensively. "People pay money for this shade of pink."
"I'm sure they do," I said, trying not to laugh.
"Lady, where is my hat?" Ernie demanded, trying to see if I was holding it in my hand. "You promised me a spring hat."
"It's not spring yet," I said.
"What do you call this?" Ernie said, looking up at the great blue sky.
"Gorgeous weather," I said.
"Gorgeous weather is the definition of spring," Ernie said triumphantly. "Give me my hat!"
"I don't have it," I said. "You'll have to wait."
Ernie scrunched up his face and his thin pink body began to tremble. The next thing I knew, he was throwing himself all over the ground wailing. "Gimme gimme gimme gimme!" he screamed.
The birds perched above my head didn't miss this new action.
"Is it a worm?" one pondered.
"No it's a ham," another said. "Dummie!"
"You're all wrong!" the third bird said. "It's a french fry!"
"It's pink, stupid!" the first bird said.
"Duh," the third bird said. "It's pink for Valentine's Day. Isn't it romantic?"
"It's not romantic because it's a worm!" the second worm argued. "Only cockroaches are romantic. Now that's elegant cuisine right there."
While the birds argued over dining choices, I bent down and whispered to Ernie, "They think you're a pink french fry."
Ernie quit flopping and sniffled. "I might as well be," he sobbed. "You don't even care about me enough to make me a spring hat." He began to wail again. Rolling my eyes, I took his pre-existing hat and tied some flowers and tiny clovers to the top of it. I bent down and handed it to Ernie.
"How's that?" I asked. Ernie stopped wailing and eyeballed his new hat. "Marvelous!" he cried happily. He put it on his head, causing the flowers to flop over in different directions.
"Don't I look darling?" he beamed up at me. Once again, I couldn't break his wormy little heart.
"Darling," I said, trying not to laugh. And with that, Ernie the earthworm returned to his sunning, the birds continued to argue regarding the romance of worms, and I took a few more minutes in the glorious sunshine. After all, it was a wonderful day for sun.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Focus in
Writing is a terrifying prospect at times. I've re-written a story I plan to submit for publication three times.
Ben thinks I'm nuts. The animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed think I'm obsessive. Anyone who has met me knows I'm eccentric in the least, so this should be no surprise.
Sometimes I worry I focus too much on things. I rabidly await the weekend to work on writing and getting publication stuff out. I manage to get writing done, but something always comes up for sending stuff out. The spacing is off or this envelope looks tacky, or an event comes up that derails my schedule. Realistically, I know that waiting a week, or two, isn't going to be a earth shattering event.
To me, however, it is. I feel as though I'm operating on borrowed time. I'm running down a highway that's eventually going to run into a cliff, which may or may not have a bridge. I know within five years, we may look into having children. At that point, I want to have enough "street cred" and connections to launch a career as a full time author.
Still, on the same hand, I can't freeze my life for five years. I am married, I do have friends and I do have a family. It's not fair for me to ask them to freeze for five years while I chase this dream. At the same time, it's hard for me to be there at a late dinner on Saturday night or going out when all I can think of is the characters in my head. There's so many stories to be told, and it feels as if my fingers can't type fast enough to tell them all.
If you were to go inside my convoluted mind, you would see a room with several doors. Each door would be a different part of my life, and a different story. These stories I write: the blog, the Christmas stories, Lint gremlins, peanut monster all have a different door. Work has it's own door. Home has it's own door. Friends have their own door. For the past month, the doors have all been opening and slamming quickly or remaining cracked. I'm standing in the middle, running from door to door to door. I peek into a door just to see a sliver of light before it slams shut again, sending me to the next door down.
All I know is, I need to close some doors before I open some more. I want to get these stories, out, get them seen, get them published. I don't want to see another week, another day of focus slip by. Even if it is somewhat terrifying to risk rejection, I feel like I can't afford not to. So here I go.
Ben thinks I'm nuts. The animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed think I'm obsessive. Anyone who has met me knows I'm eccentric in the least, so this should be no surprise.
Sometimes I worry I focus too much on things. I rabidly await the weekend to work on writing and getting publication stuff out. I manage to get writing done, but something always comes up for sending stuff out. The spacing is off or this envelope looks tacky, or an event comes up that derails my schedule. Realistically, I know that waiting a week, or two, isn't going to be a earth shattering event.
To me, however, it is. I feel as though I'm operating on borrowed time. I'm running down a highway that's eventually going to run into a cliff, which may or may not have a bridge. I know within five years, we may look into having children. At that point, I want to have enough "street cred" and connections to launch a career as a full time author.
Still, on the same hand, I can't freeze my life for five years. I am married, I do have friends and I do have a family. It's not fair for me to ask them to freeze for five years while I chase this dream. At the same time, it's hard for me to be there at a late dinner on Saturday night or going out when all I can think of is the characters in my head. There's so many stories to be told, and it feels as if my fingers can't type fast enough to tell them all.
If you were to go inside my convoluted mind, you would see a room with several doors. Each door would be a different part of my life, and a different story. These stories I write: the blog, the Christmas stories, Lint gremlins, peanut monster all have a different door. Work has it's own door. Home has it's own door. Friends have their own door. For the past month, the doors have all been opening and slamming quickly or remaining cracked. I'm standing in the middle, running from door to door to door. I peek into a door just to see a sliver of light before it slams shut again, sending me to the next door down.
All I know is, I need to close some doors before I open some more. I want to get these stories, out, get them seen, get them published. I don't want to see another week, another day of focus slip by. Even if it is somewhat terrifying to risk rejection, I feel like I can't afford not to. So here I go.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Just Duckie
After a long day at work, I came home and fixed dinner. As I was cleaning up the kitchen, lost in my own thoughts, I opened up the back patio door. I raised my head and froze, still holding the trash sack in my hand. In front of me stood several white ducks, peering at me curiously.
"Excuse me!" one duck called. "Can you help us find something?"
"Sure, I suppose," I said, dumbfounded.
"Wonderful!" the duck exclaimed. "Do you know where The Pond is?"
"The pond?" I echoed.
"No," the duck said, shaking his bill. "The Pond."
"I'm not quite sure what you mean by The Pond," I said, setting down the trash sack.
The ducks sighed, obviously vexed by my lack of knowledge. "You know," another duck said. "The Pond. The Pond where you, the Blonde Duck, resides."
"Oh!" I cried, immediately understanding. "The Pond!" The ducks nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you're in the Pond."
The ducks looked at me, looked at the yard, and looked back at me. "Excuse me?" one duck said. "This is THE Pond?"
"Well, it's not all of the Pond," I huffed. "There's more inside." The ducks sighed in relief and waddled after me through the house. I gave them a tour. While they enjoyed the Land of the Flowered Bed and the garage where Henry the Lizard lay sleeping, they kept quacking to themselves and gnashing their beaks. We returned to the patio, where they perched on the patio table.
"Well, what did you think?" I asked. The ducks conferred then looked at me.
"We don't like it," one duck said. "It's dull," the second duck said. "I like the Land of the Flowered Bed," the third duck ventured. I smiled and thanked him. He grinned back at me and asked for some tuna.
As I prepared a dish of tuna for the ducks, they discussed their grievances with me.
"The ponds in your pond were quite white and warm," the first duck said. "Or small and metal," the second duck said, nodding enthusiastically. "A bit too yuppie for me," the third duck confessed through loud smacks. "I would feel like I was in a spa."
"Again with the spa," I muttered. As they had traveled all the day to see the Pond, I felt obligated to appease them. "So what would you like to see?" The ducks muttered among each other, than turned to me over their plates of tuna.
"We would like a pond within the Pond," the first duck said. "An outdoor pond, not a big indoor pond," the second duck clarified. "With flowers and frogs!" the third duck said enthusiastically, finishing his tuna. "Some cattails too, if you please."
"You want a pond in the backyard?" I asked. The ducks nodded. "We can do that," I said. The ducks quacked happily. "We would also like a slide," the first duck said. "And a cabana bar with fish juice," the second duck said. "Isn't that a bit yuppie?" the third duck asked anxiously. He was shushed by the other two ducks. Three sets of bright eyes looked up at me expectantly.
"I'll see what we can do," I said, trying not to smile.
"Until then, you can find us in the Spa at the Land of the Flowered Bed," the first duck said, toddling off.
"I hear they serve smores," the second duck said, waddling quickly behind.
"Thank you for the tuna," the third duck said shyly, using his beak to throw away his plate. "When do we get our pond?"
"Soon," I promised. He smiled and waddled away quickly around the corner. I began to clean up the half chewed plates of tuna.
"Blonde Duck?" the third duck asked. I turned to look at him. "It's a very nice Pond," he grinned. I grinned back and finished cleaning up, humming to myself. Here at The Pond, things are just ducky.
"Excuse me!" one duck called. "Can you help us find something?"
"Sure, I suppose," I said, dumbfounded.
"Wonderful!" the duck exclaimed. "Do you know where The Pond is?"
"The pond?" I echoed.
"No," the duck said, shaking his bill. "The Pond."
"I'm not quite sure what you mean by The Pond," I said, setting down the trash sack.
The ducks sighed, obviously vexed by my lack of knowledge. "You know," another duck said. "The Pond. The Pond where you, the Blonde Duck, resides."
"Oh!" I cried, immediately understanding. "The Pond!" The ducks nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you're in the Pond."
The ducks looked at me, looked at the yard, and looked back at me. "Excuse me?" one duck said. "This is THE Pond?"
"Well, it's not all of the Pond," I huffed. "There's more inside." The ducks sighed in relief and waddled after me through the house. I gave them a tour. While they enjoyed the Land of the Flowered Bed and the garage where Henry the Lizard lay sleeping, they kept quacking to themselves and gnashing their beaks. We returned to the patio, where they perched on the patio table.
"Well, what did you think?" I asked. The ducks conferred then looked at me.
"We don't like it," one duck said. "It's dull," the second duck said. "I like the Land of the Flowered Bed," the third duck ventured. I smiled and thanked him. He grinned back at me and asked for some tuna.
As I prepared a dish of tuna for the ducks, they discussed their grievances with me.
"The ponds in your pond were quite white and warm," the first duck said. "Or small and metal," the second duck said, nodding enthusiastically. "A bit too yuppie for me," the third duck confessed through loud smacks. "I would feel like I was in a spa."
"Again with the spa," I muttered. As they had traveled all the day to see the Pond, I felt obligated to appease them. "So what would you like to see?" The ducks muttered among each other, than turned to me over their plates of tuna.
"We would like a pond within the Pond," the first duck said. "An outdoor pond, not a big indoor pond," the second duck clarified. "With flowers and frogs!" the third duck said enthusiastically, finishing his tuna. "Some cattails too, if you please."
"You want a pond in the backyard?" I asked. The ducks nodded. "We can do that," I said. The ducks quacked happily. "We would also like a slide," the first duck said. "And a cabana bar with fish juice," the second duck said. "Isn't that a bit yuppie?" the third duck asked anxiously. He was shushed by the other two ducks. Three sets of bright eyes looked up at me expectantly.
"I'll see what we can do," I said, trying not to smile.
"Until then, you can find us in the Spa at the Land of the Flowered Bed," the first duck said, toddling off.
"I hear they serve smores," the second duck said, waddling quickly behind.
"Thank you for the tuna," the third duck said shyly, using his beak to throw away his plate. "When do we get our pond?"
"Soon," I promised. He smiled and waddled away quickly around the corner. I began to clean up the half chewed plates of tuna.
"Blonde Duck?" the third duck asked. I turned to look at him. "It's a very nice Pond," he grinned. I grinned back and finished cleaning up, humming to myself. Here at The Pond, things are just ducky.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Here kitty, kitty
There was a crisis in the Land of the Flowered Bed.
Cookies stared at what was in front of him in complete disbelief. "She's been doing this ALL day?"
"All day," Hairy confirmed, nodding his head.
"Is she not tired of it?" Cookies asked, scratching his feathered head. "Shouldn't she be over this already?"
"Apparently not," Hairy sighed. "She's convinced that this is her true self. I have no idea why. I think it's because she watched Animal Planet all morning." The seal purred in response.
"It's making me hungry," Pumble said, smacking on some toast with honey. "All that activity--it makes a person hungry. Can you imagine moving around that much?" He yawned, honey clinging to both lips. "It makes me sleepy too."
One seal flopped around, barking angrily at the other seal. He barked and clapped his fins like a scolding parent.
"I don't think she's listening," Cookies said gently. "You're just making yourself mad for no reason."
Standing in a circle, they all stared at the seal. The seal who was now wrapping her little seal head around each of their legs, purring like a cat. She pulled herself along with her short front flippers, purring and licking as though she was trying to clean herself. She bounced along, mewing loudly at everyone. Well, she tried to mew. It came out like a strangled garble, which only enraged the other seal, who began barking louder and bouncing up and down angrily.
"I know she's not a cat!" Hairy sighed. "I know she's annoying you. I know this is ridiculous. No, you're not allowed to slap her. That's against the law. What law? Well the non-slapping law. It is too real!"
Cookies stared at the mewing seal, twirling the girl's glasses in his mouth. "Do you suppose she's gone mad?" he asked, his eyes widening in excitement. "Do you think she has Mad Seal disease? We could cut open her brain and study why she's--"
The other seal exploded in a frenzy of barking and rushed to block Cookie's view of the other seal, who rubbed and purred against him. "Fine, have it your way. Deny science what rightfully belongs to it. Anyone can see she's gone perfectly mad!"
Annoyed, Cookies wondered off to look for a book to read. He was bored with the seals. Hairy stood alone, watching the one seal purr and try to saunter about while the other one hopped and barked angrily.
"Do shut up already," Pumble cried wearily, shoving another cracker in his mouth. "It's almost time for my nap and that darn seal is still carrying on!"
"He may be right," Hairy told the barking seal gently. "If you ignore her, she'll probably stop." The barking seal agreed and sadly followed Hairy to the pillows.
The seal continued to slink about the bedroom, trying to behave like a cat. When she tried to snuggle against Pumble, he shooed her away with a honey covered hand. Offended, she hopped over to Cookies, who tried to give her an X-Ray with a piece of paper and a flash light. Terrorized, she crawled over to Hairy, who gently tried to get her to talk about her feelings and what was bothering her.
Confused, the seal hopped to the kitchen in search of milk. She was sure she would enjoy the milk. After all, cats drank milk, and she was a cat wasn't she? Cats ate fish, and she enjoyed fish. The seal opened the fridge with her tail and hopped into it, knocking the milk over with her stout body. As the milk covered the floor, she happily slid over and began lapping it up with her tongue. After a few laps, she looked up and smacked her mouth. She took a few more tentative licks, than spat. She did not like the milk at all! How could she be a cat if she didn't like milk?
Even more confused, the seal slid over to the patio doors. She would lay in the sun, she thought. Cats like sun. After awhile, the seal hopped back to the room. She was hot, sweaty and covered in sour milk. Barking frantically, she hopped into the pillows looking for the other seal.
"She's back!" Hairy cried, alerting the others. Together, the seals emerged from the pillows barking.
"You're not a cat?" Hairy asked in response to their frenzied barking. "Well that's nice to know. You spilt what! Oh no! I've got to clean it up before they get back!"
"You may want a bath too," Pumble said lazily, holding his nose. "You smell."
"So I don't get to operate?" Cookies asked disappointingly, emerging from the other room with a hammer and screwdriver. "How distressing! I was almost ready."
As Hairy cleaned up the split milk, the seals took a bath in the sink and laid out in the sun to dry. The girl seal leaned her head against the boy and sighed contently. It wasn't so bad being a seal after all. Even if cats were much fuzzier.
Cookies stared at what was in front of him in complete disbelief. "She's been doing this ALL day?"
"All day," Hairy confirmed, nodding his head.
"Is she not tired of it?" Cookies asked, scratching his feathered head. "Shouldn't she be over this already?"
"Apparently not," Hairy sighed. "She's convinced that this is her true self. I have no idea why. I think it's because she watched Animal Planet all morning." The seal purred in response.
"It's making me hungry," Pumble said, smacking on some toast with honey. "All that activity--it makes a person hungry. Can you imagine moving around that much?" He yawned, honey clinging to both lips. "It makes me sleepy too."
One seal flopped around, barking angrily at the other seal. He barked and clapped his fins like a scolding parent.
"I don't think she's listening," Cookies said gently. "You're just making yourself mad for no reason."
Standing in a circle, they all stared at the seal. The seal who was now wrapping her little seal head around each of their legs, purring like a cat. She pulled herself along with her short front flippers, purring and licking as though she was trying to clean herself. She bounced along, mewing loudly at everyone. Well, she tried to mew. It came out like a strangled garble, which only enraged the other seal, who began barking louder and bouncing up and down angrily.
"I know she's not a cat!" Hairy sighed. "I know she's annoying you. I know this is ridiculous. No, you're not allowed to slap her. That's against the law. What law? Well the non-slapping law. It is too real!"
Cookies stared at the mewing seal, twirling the girl's glasses in his mouth. "Do you suppose she's gone mad?" he asked, his eyes widening in excitement. "Do you think she has Mad Seal disease? We could cut open her brain and study why she's--"
The other seal exploded in a frenzy of barking and rushed to block Cookie's view of the other seal, who rubbed and purred against him. "Fine, have it your way. Deny science what rightfully belongs to it. Anyone can see she's gone perfectly mad!"
Annoyed, Cookies wondered off to look for a book to read. He was bored with the seals. Hairy stood alone, watching the one seal purr and try to saunter about while the other one hopped and barked angrily.
"Do shut up already," Pumble cried wearily, shoving another cracker in his mouth. "It's almost time for my nap and that darn seal is still carrying on!"
"He may be right," Hairy told the barking seal gently. "If you ignore her, she'll probably stop." The barking seal agreed and sadly followed Hairy to the pillows.
The seal continued to slink about the bedroom, trying to behave like a cat. When she tried to snuggle against Pumble, he shooed her away with a honey covered hand. Offended, she hopped over to Cookies, who tried to give her an X-Ray with a piece of paper and a flash light. Terrorized, she crawled over to Hairy, who gently tried to get her to talk about her feelings and what was bothering her.
Confused, the seal hopped to the kitchen in search of milk. She was sure she would enjoy the milk. After all, cats drank milk, and she was a cat wasn't she? Cats ate fish, and she enjoyed fish. The seal opened the fridge with her tail and hopped into it, knocking the milk over with her stout body. As the milk covered the floor, she happily slid over and began lapping it up with her tongue. After a few laps, she looked up and smacked her mouth. She took a few more tentative licks, than spat. She did not like the milk at all! How could she be a cat if she didn't like milk?
Even more confused, the seal slid over to the patio doors. She would lay in the sun, she thought. Cats like sun. After awhile, the seal hopped back to the room. She was hot, sweaty and covered in sour milk. Barking frantically, she hopped into the pillows looking for the other seal.
"She's back!" Hairy cried, alerting the others. Together, the seals emerged from the pillows barking.
"You're not a cat?" Hairy asked in response to their frenzied barking. "Well that's nice to know. You spilt what! Oh no! I've got to clean it up before they get back!"
"You may want a bath too," Pumble said lazily, holding his nose. "You smell."
"So I don't get to operate?" Cookies asked disappointingly, emerging from the other room with a hammer and screwdriver. "How distressing! I was almost ready."
As Hairy cleaned up the split milk, the seals took a bath in the sink and laid out in the sun to dry. The girl seal leaned her head against the boy and sighed contently. It wasn't so bad being a seal after all. Even if cats were much fuzzier.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Swimming
The animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed were thrilled. It had finally stopped raining, and sunshine was pouring through the open blinds. Frost was beginning to melt off the leaves, and tufts of green were peeking through. For a few days, at least, a taste of spring was here. It was time to celebrate!
Cookies decided to fix smores and toasted mice, while Pumble set about laying out. He placed a pillow under the window and plopped down on it, his big tummy raising up and down as he snored.
As mayor, Hairy surveyed the scene, smiling. Then he noticed the seals weren't around. He checked under the bed and in the pillows, and they were no where to be found. Suddenly, he heard the sound of water running. Alarmed, he found the seals barking happily and filling up the bathtub with water.
"What are you doing?" Hairy shouted. "You can't get all wet! You'll get us discovered!" The seals barked happily and slid into the water on their bellies, splashing happily in the tub. Hairy clapped his hand over his head as Cookies ran in.
"What are they doing?" Cookies said, confused. "They're going swimming," Hairy replied, gesturing to the seals, who were now doing backstrokes. "They said it was such a nice day, they wanted to go swimming."
"They won't dry," Cookies said, gesturing at the clock with his tongs. "I know," Hairy said. Cookies looked around the bathroom, tapping his feathered chin with his tongs. "You know, this place would be a perfect spa."
"A spa?" Hairy asked in disbelief. "A spa?" Pumble woke out of a dead sleep. "Where? Do they have a chef?"
"Actually, yes," Cookies said, preening. "I am the chef of La Bathroom, the most elegant spa in the Land of the Flowered Bed. We offer freshly baked smores and toasted mice, and will cook anything you like. We have an Olympic sized swimming pool and a hot tub. Discriminating guests will enjoy the masseuse table, where they will be wrapped in white fluffy towels and rubbed down with lotion."
"That sounds wonderful!"Pumble said, now fully awake. "Who do I talk to?"
"Our concierge!" Cookies said with a broad smile. "You, sir, tell the man how much it costs!" Hairy looked at Cookies in confusion, down where his wing was pointing, and back at Cookies.
"Me?" he squeaked. "Yes you," Cookies muttered with impatience. "Get on with it!"
"Um," Hairy stuttered. "We require reservations five minutes in advance, and payments are made in-"
"Cookies," Cookies supplied. "Freshly baked ones."
"Sign me up!" Pumble said, running into the spa. He filled up the sink with hot water and climbed in, sighing with relief. "What a lovely spa," he sighed. The seals splashed about happily, barking and having diving contests with the soap. Cookies brought out fresh smores for everyone, and Hairy later gave the seals massages, where they both fell asleep on the toilet wrapped in a towel. The animals were so relaxed they barely moved when the people came home.
"What a lovely spa," Pumble mumbled sleepily. He had spent the day eating smores and sitting in the hot tub, which had to be refilled seven times. Lazily, he draped one lotion covered arm over his cookie covered eyes. "Hairy," he said thoughtfully. "What if you gave me a honey oil treatment tommorow? Or perhaps you could dip me in chocolate? What if we filled the bathtub full of whipped cream, and swam in it? Would you be interested in giving me a chocolate massage?"
His plump ears were met with silence. "Hairy?" he asked. "Hairy?" He looked up to see Hairy and Cookies running down the hallway in terror at that thought. Only the seals were left, who were grinning up at him. "Would you give me a chocolate massage?" he asked the seals. The seals barked and crossed their arms in reply. "Only if we swim in purred salmon and chocolate?" Pumble said, removing his arm from his eyes. He thought a moment, then placed his arm back. "It could work," he said thoughtfully. "It could work. I do loovvveeee chocolate. Even if it's got some salmon in it." The seals licked their lips happily in reply.
Cookies decided to fix smores and toasted mice, while Pumble set about laying out. He placed a pillow under the window and plopped down on it, his big tummy raising up and down as he snored.
As mayor, Hairy surveyed the scene, smiling. Then he noticed the seals weren't around. He checked under the bed and in the pillows, and they were no where to be found. Suddenly, he heard the sound of water running. Alarmed, he found the seals barking happily and filling up the bathtub with water.
"What are you doing?" Hairy shouted. "You can't get all wet! You'll get us discovered!" The seals barked happily and slid into the water on their bellies, splashing happily in the tub. Hairy clapped his hand over his head as Cookies ran in.
"What are they doing?" Cookies said, confused. "They're going swimming," Hairy replied, gesturing to the seals, who were now doing backstrokes. "They said it was such a nice day, they wanted to go swimming."
"They won't dry," Cookies said, gesturing at the clock with his tongs. "I know," Hairy said. Cookies looked around the bathroom, tapping his feathered chin with his tongs. "You know, this place would be a perfect spa."
"A spa?" Hairy asked in disbelief. "A spa?" Pumble woke out of a dead sleep. "Where? Do they have a chef?"
"Actually, yes," Cookies said, preening. "I am the chef of La Bathroom, the most elegant spa in the Land of the Flowered Bed. We offer freshly baked smores and toasted mice, and will cook anything you like. We have an Olympic sized swimming pool and a hot tub. Discriminating guests will enjoy the masseuse table, where they will be wrapped in white fluffy towels and rubbed down with lotion."
"That sounds wonderful!"Pumble said, now fully awake. "Who do I talk to?"
"Our concierge!" Cookies said with a broad smile. "You, sir, tell the man how much it costs!" Hairy looked at Cookies in confusion, down where his wing was pointing, and back at Cookies.
"Me?" he squeaked. "Yes you," Cookies muttered with impatience. "Get on with it!"
"Um," Hairy stuttered. "We require reservations five minutes in advance, and payments are made in-"
"Cookies," Cookies supplied. "Freshly baked ones."
"Sign me up!" Pumble said, running into the spa. He filled up the sink with hot water and climbed in, sighing with relief. "What a lovely spa," he sighed. The seals splashed about happily, barking and having diving contests with the soap. Cookies brought out fresh smores for everyone, and Hairy later gave the seals massages, where they both fell asleep on the toilet wrapped in a towel. The animals were so relaxed they barely moved when the people came home.
"What a lovely spa," Pumble mumbled sleepily. He had spent the day eating smores and sitting in the hot tub, which had to be refilled seven times. Lazily, he draped one lotion covered arm over his cookie covered eyes. "Hairy," he said thoughtfully. "What if you gave me a honey oil treatment tommorow? Or perhaps you could dip me in chocolate? What if we filled the bathtub full of whipped cream, and swam in it? Would you be interested in giving me a chocolate massage?"
His plump ears were met with silence. "Hairy?" he asked. "Hairy?" He looked up to see Hairy and Cookies running down the hallway in terror at that thought. Only the seals were left, who were grinning up at him. "Would you give me a chocolate massage?" he asked the seals. The seals barked and crossed their arms in reply. "Only if we swim in purred salmon and chocolate?" Pumble said, removing his arm from his eyes. He thought a moment, then placed his arm back. "It could work," he said thoughtfully. "It could work. I do loovvveeee chocolate. Even if it's got some salmon in it." The seals licked their lips happily in reply.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
A Day in the Life of an Artist*
Since I spend the majority of my time being perky, cheerful and happy, I decided to see what it would be like to live in the life of an artist* (pronounce R-Teest). For a day, I would live as the creatively tortured do. I would wail in anguish, shriek in frustration and be glum and dreary. My day would be filled with brilliant ideas and rock-bottom moments in which I hit my knees, screaming toward the heavens, "Why meee?" It was to be an interesting day.
The mood was set when I woke up with a steady, falling rain. The steady, falling rain did not stop until 5 p.m. The skies were grey, as they had been for days. Therefore, I had the perfect environment in which to be an artist.
Driving to work, I encountered masses of people. Apparently, the rain was such a confusing occurrence they all crowded onto the highway I take to work going 20 mph. Sullenly, I drove through the pouring rain, letting the battering raindrops hammer away at my consciousness. I played two slow, depressing John Mayer songs over and over and thought about dark subjects, like global warming. By the time I got to work, my mood matched the sky.
I carefully stepped through the rain, distressed my new boots were getting wet. As an artist, I had to have the proper footwear. The mood in the office was tense and somber. People glided about with vacant looks in their eyes, or scurried around with their heads down muttering to themselves. Walking down the halls, heads would pop out over cubicles and glare suspiciously at you. I wrapped my dark coat further around me as if to ward off their evil looks, and cloaked myself in oblivion. After all, an artist must focus on his creativity.
Throughout the way, I was restless. There was a deep need in my soul to shout, to dance, to laugh. However, the tense air around me cracked with the slightest giggle. I felt as though I was caged in a box. My mind wandered all day, bursting with creativity and having no avenue to take it down. I read depressing song lyrics and slipped slowly into madness. As an artist, I was bound to have maniacal highs and lows.
After a long, depressing day, I finally arrived home. As soon as my hands flipped the light switch, I looked around my silent house. Looking at the bright cheerful items, I couldn't help but smile and feel my spirits lift. The artist scowled and buried deeper inside of me. And by the time Ben came home, I was back.
While being an artist is interesting, I think I like being the Blonde Duck much better. I'm a bit tired of those John Mayer songs.
Invisible Friends-
Stay tuned for a Land of the Flowered Bed story, coming soon! You'll have it by Friday at the latest!
Love,
The Happily Cheerful and Delightfully Cute Blonde Duck
The mood was set when I woke up with a steady, falling rain. The steady, falling rain did not stop until 5 p.m. The skies were grey, as they had been for days. Therefore, I had the perfect environment in which to be an artist.
Driving to work, I encountered masses of people. Apparently, the rain was such a confusing occurrence they all crowded onto the highway I take to work going 20 mph. Sullenly, I drove through the pouring rain, letting the battering raindrops hammer away at my consciousness. I played two slow, depressing John Mayer songs over and over and thought about dark subjects, like global warming. By the time I got to work, my mood matched the sky.
I carefully stepped through the rain, distressed my new boots were getting wet. As an artist, I had to have the proper footwear. The mood in the office was tense and somber. People glided about with vacant looks in their eyes, or scurried around with their heads down muttering to themselves. Walking down the halls, heads would pop out over cubicles and glare suspiciously at you. I wrapped my dark coat further around me as if to ward off their evil looks, and cloaked myself in oblivion. After all, an artist must focus on his creativity.
Throughout the way, I was restless. There was a deep need in my soul to shout, to dance, to laugh. However, the tense air around me cracked with the slightest giggle. I felt as though I was caged in a box. My mind wandered all day, bursting with creativity and having no avenue to take it down. I read depressing song lyrics and slipped slowly into madness. As an artist, I was bound to have maniacal highs and lows.
After a long, depressing day, I finally arrived home. As soon as my hands flipped the light switch, I looked around my silent house. Looking at the bright cheerful items, I couldn't help but smile and feel my spirits lift. The artist scowled and buried deeper inside of me. And by the time Ben came home, I was back.
While being an artist is interesting, I think I like being the Blonde Duck much better. I'm a bit tired of those John Mayer songs.
Invisible Friends-
Stay tuned for a Land of the Flowered Bed story, coming soon! You'll have it by Friday at the latest!
Love,
The Happily Cheerful and Delightfully Cute Blonde Duck
Monday, January 22, 2007
Arguing with Birds, part 2
The warm weather on Sunday had encouraged the birds to re-appear. They were not amused that the cold front had returned with a vengeance on Monday morning, and sat shivering and sniping at each other as I walked by.
"That is a bird!"
"It is not a bird!"
"It is so a bird. It's the leader of all the hawks!"
"Look at how big it's tail feathers are. It has to be a bird."
"You are dumber than a bug," their leader said in disgust. "It is not a bird."
"Ask the lady."
"Yes the lady will know."
"What will I know?" I asked, stopping to talk to them. The cold wind whipped around us, and the birds and I both squelched up our shoulders for warmth. The birds buried their heads in their wings, with only their loud beaks protruding.
"Is that a bird or is it a hawk?" one particularly naive bird asked me, eyeballing the wisps of hair blowing around my head. I narrowed my eyes at him as his friend smacked him.
"You dumb bird!" his friend scolded him. "A hawk is a bird!"
"But it's a special bird," the bird countered, still watching my head. "Are those golden worms growing out of your scalp?"
"No, it's hair, and no you can't taste it," I answered before he could say anything else. He looked distressed. I looked around, but I could see no birds other than the ones sitting on the fence.
"I don't see another bird," I said. The birds sighed and shook their heads. "Duh, it's up there," one pointed with his beak. I turned to look at a plane flying in the sky.
"That's a plane!" I said. "That's not a bird!"
"Nuh-uh!" the unintelligent bird argued. "Planes are mechanical birds. It says so on that sign over there."
Their leader sighed heavily. "You idiot!" he cried. "That's just a comparison. A plane is a machine."
The birds looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. "This is worse than the french fry incident," the bird muttered. He flew off with the other birds following him. "Wait for me!" the dumb bird cried. "I want to say hi to the mechanical bird! Maybe he'll lead us down South!"
"You're going North!" I called after them. Cursing, they turned in their tracks and flew east, still arguing amongst each other. It doesn't pay to argue with birds.
"That is a bird!"
"It is not a bird!"
"It is so a bird. It's the leader of all the hawks!"
"Look at how big it's tail feathers are. It has to be a bird."
"You are dumber than a bug," their leader said in disgust. "It is not a bird."
"Ask the lady."
"Yes the lady will know."
"What will I know?" I asked, stopping to talk to them. The cold wind whipped around us, and the birds and I both squelched up our shoulders for warmth. The birds buried their heads in their wings, with only their loud beaks protruding.
"Is that a bird or is it a hawk?" one particularly naive bird asked me, eyeballing the wisps of hair blowing around my head. I narrowed my eyes at him as his friend smacked him.
"You dumb bird!" his friend scolded him. "A hawk is a bird!"
"But it's a special bird," the bird countered, still watching my head. "Are those golden worms growing out of your scalp?"
"No, it's hair, and no you can't taste it," I answered before he could say anything else. He looked distressed. I looked around, but I could see no birds other than the ones sitting on the fence.
"I don't see another bird," I said. The birds sighed and shook their heads. "Duh, it's up there," one pointed with his beak. I turned to look at a plane flying in the sky.
"That's a plane!" I said. "That's not a bird!"
"Nuh-uh!" the unintelligent bird argued. "Planes are mechanical birds. It says so on that sign over there."
Their leader sighed heavily. "You idiot!" he cried. "That's just a comparison. A plane is a machine."
The birds looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. "This is worse than the french fry incident," the bird muttered. He flew off with the other birds following him. "Wait for me!" the dumb bird cried. "I want to say hi to the mechanical bird! Maybe he'll lead us down South!"
"You're going North!" I called after them. Cursing, they turned in their tracks and flew east, still arguing amongst each other. It doesn't pay to argue with birds.
Friday, January 19, 2007
A Crime in the Land of the Flowered Bed
Time: 8:08 a.m. January 17, 2007
Location: The Land of the Flowered Bed, on the bed
It was a horrible scene. The seals had buried themselves in the pillows to avoid looking at it, and Pumble was so upset he made a beeline for the ice cream. Cookies and Hairy were left standing at the disaster.
"Well," Hairy said. "I suppose one of us should check it's tags."
"The horror!" Cookies clutched his chest. "Oh the humanity! Who could have done this? Only a monster!"
Hearing the shrieks, the seals trembled more and dove only deeper under the pillows.
"You're scaring them," Hairy scolded, as he grimly surveyed the scene.
"They should be scared," Cookies said ominously. "I'm scared. And nothing scares me." The seals' tails completely disappeared. Hairy made a face at him.
"I'm back," Pumble announced, strolling back in with a ring of chocolate syrup around his mouth. He saw the sight and grimaced. "Haven't you cleaned that up yet? It's making me nauseous just looking at it."
Hairy stepped forward and carefully reached under the victim and checked his tags. After carefully reading them, he carefully relaxed.
"It's a false alarm!" he cried happily.
"What do you mean it's a false alarm?" Cookies said in shock. "Could it be? No one has been murdered? We are safe in our beds at night? We can relax in the knowlege that--"
"YES!" Hairy cried happily. "We're safe! There's not a killer on the loose!"
Barking excitedly, the seals emerged from the pillows.
"Well, then whatever is it?" Pumble demanded.
"Yes, what is it?" Cookies asked anxiously.
Hairy looked at each of them dramatically, then grinned. "It's wool and cashmere!"
"Wool and cashmere!" they all cried excitedly.
"So they didn't skin stuffed animals!" Pumble cried. "It's just a boring ordinary sweater! It's not worthy of investigation!"
"We're safe!" Cookies cried. "They're shearing sheep instead! How glorious! I always knew there had to be another explanation. I was never convinced that a stuffed animal killer was on the loose. Besides, why would he skin the animals and turn their hides into sweaters? That's utterly ridiculous."
"That's why you woke us up with the blood curdling shriek, 'Murder, Murder!" Pumble mimicked.
"Ok, ok," Hairy said, rolling his eyes. "The important thing is that it is a sweater, and that it is made from wool, not from skins. It was just a product of our over-active imaginations."
After they sat around and congratulated each other, they sat still, rather bored.
"Well, there went all the excitement," Pumble muttered. "I'm going to go see what's in the kitchen!"
As the seals played quietly on the floor, Hairy read a magazine on the bed while Cookies perfected his soliloquy. Suddenly, Pumble came racing in the room.
"Guys, you'll never believe it!" he cried dramatically. "Someone stole all the crackers! They're gone! My precious wheat crackers--they're GONE!" Hairy grabbed his magnifying glass and Cookies hurried behind him with his special detective hat. The seals followed, barking excitedly. The next adventure had begun.
Location: The Land of the Flowered Bed, on the bed
It was a horrible scene. The seals had buried themselves in the pillows to avoid looking at it, and Pumble was so upset he made a beeline for the ice cream. Cookies and Hairy were left standing at the disaster.
"Well," Hairy said. "I suppose one of us should check it's tags."
"The horror!" Cookies clutched his chest. "Oh the humanity! Who could have done this? Only a monster!"
Hearing the shrieks, the seals trembled more and dove only deeper under the pillows.
"You're scaring them," Hairy scolded, as he grimly surveyed the scene.
"They should be scared," Cookies said ominously. "I'm scared. And nothing scares me." The seals' tails completely disappeared. Hairy made a face at him.
"I'm back," Pumble announced, strolling back in with a ring of chocolate syrup around his mouth. He saw the sight and grimaced. "Haven't you cleaned that up yet? It's making me nauseous just looking at it."
Hairy stepped forward and carefully reached under the victim and checked his tags. After carefully reading them, he carefully relaxed.
"It's a false alarm!" he cried happily.
"What do you mean it's a false alarm?" Cookies said in shock. "Could it be? No one has been murdered? We are safe in our beds at night? We can relax in the knowlege that--"
"YES!" Hairy cried happily. "We're safe! There's not a killer on the loose!"
Barking excitedly, the seals emerged from the pillows.
"Well, then whatever is it?" Pumble demanded.
"Yes, what is it?" Cookies asked anxiously.
Hairy looked at each of them dramatically, then grinned. "It's wool and cashmere!"
"Wool and cashmere!" they all cried excitedly.
"So they didn't skin stuffed animals!" Pumble cried. "It's just a boring ordinary sweater! It's not worthy of investigation!"
"We're safe!" Cookies cried. "They're shearing sheep instead! How glorious! I always knew there had to be another explanation. I was never convinced that a stuffed animal killer was on the loose. Besides, why would he skin the animals and turn their hides into sweaters? That's utterly ridiculous."
"That's why you woke us up with the blood curdling shriek, 'Murder, Murder!" Pumble mimicked.
"Ok, ok," Hairy said, rolling his eyes. "The important thing is that it is a sweater, and that it is made from wool, not from skins. It was just a product of our over-active imaginations."
After they sat around and congratulated each other, they sat still, rather bored.
"Well, there went all the excitement," Pumble muttered. "I'm going to go see what's in the kitchen!"
As the seals played quietly on the floor, Hairy read a magazine on the bed while Cookies perfected his soliloquy. Suddenly, Pumble came racing in the room.
"Guys, you'll never believe it!" he cried dramatically. "Someone stole all the crackers! They're gone! My precious wheat crackers--they're GONE!" Hairy grabbed his magnifying glass and Cookies hurried behind him with his special detective hat. The seals followed, barking excitedly. The next adventure had begun.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Snow Day
The seals were barking enthusiastically, jumping up and down at the window. With their black little noses pressed against the glass, their tails wiggled in delight. It was all they could do not to burst through the window and onto the frosted grass.
"Would you shut up!" Cookies glared, peering out from under the pillow he had wiggled under. "I'm trying to sleep!"
"Why are you sleeping during the day?" asked Pumble. In honor of the snowday, he had dawned a hat and a sweatshirt that was much too large for him. "Be productive. Beeeee productive." He giggled at his own joke.
Cookies stared back indignantly. "Do you think that's funny?" he asked bitingly. "I suppose it's funny to morons and fat people! Is eating all day productive? If expanding your waistline is a national goal, I say you should get a raise. Look at you!"
"Now Cookies," Hairy said kindly. "You're simply cranky because you haven't had your nap. Don't be mean to Pumble. He doesn't critisize your weight. It's time to go to sleep. " Giving one final glare, Cookies collapsed back into the pillows. "Now Pumble," Hairy continued. "Don't feel bad about Cookies. He just makes fun of your weight because he can't insult your sunny personality. He's just a negative person." An indignant squawk came from the pillows, and a few choice words.
Pumble puffed up his chest and replied, "I'm simply pleasantly plump. Besides, have you had these new crackers? They're too die for!"
Terrified no one was listening to their weather report, the seals barked louder and jumped harder, almost falling off the window seal. Hairy rubbed his temples and sighed inwardly.
"That's lovely," he said kindly to the seals. "Thank you for telling us. I appreciate the update." The seals continued to bark and bounce. "No thank you," Hairy said. "I'd rather not go outside. It seems a bit chilly."
"You want to go outside?" he asked as the seals continued. At their enthusiastic bobbing, he hesitated. "I'm not sure how to get you out there." The two seals erupted into barking and tail pointing. "Well, we can try," Hairy said reluctantly. "I don't think you'll like it--it's a lot colder than you think. Yes, I understand you're Arctic seals, but you have been in the Land of the Flowered Bed, not the Arctic."
The animals crept toward the front door. Even Cookies forgoed his nap to join the expedition. When they reached the door, Cookies flew up and undid the dead bolt and chain. Pumble turned the handle, and cold air blasted through the open door. The seals gingerly hopped onto the concrete, then to the edge of the sidewalk. Once the cold ice hit the seals' tender bellies, they yelped and skidded back onto the concrete, hopping down the hallway. They hopped into the living room, down the hallway, and back to the pillows, where they dove in for warmth. The other animals followed, laughing.
Pumble hoisted himself back up to the bed and began eating his crackers while Cookies returned to his nest of pillows. Hairy sat next to the seals and listened to their muffled barking.
"Yes, it was cold," Hairy said, smiling. "No, I agree. The snow in here is much nicer after all."
"Would you shut up!" Cookies glared, peering out from under the pillow he had wiggled under. "I'm trying to sleep!"
"Why are you sleeping during the day?" asked Pumble. In honor of the snowday, he had dawned a hat and a sweatshirt that was much too large for him. "Be productive. Beeeee productive." He giggled at his own joke.
Cookies stared back indignantly. "Do you think that's funny?" he asked bitingly. "I suppose it's funny to morons and fat people! Is eating all day productive? If expanding your waistline is a national goal, I say you should get a raise. Look at you!"
"Now Cookies," Hairy said kindly. "You're simply cranky because you haven't had your nap. Don't be mean to Pumble. He doesn't critisize your weight. It's time to go to sleep. " Giving one final glare, Cookies collapsed back into the pillows. "Now Pumble," Hairy continued. "Don't feel bad about Cookies. He just makes fun of your weight because he can't insult your sunny personality. He's just a negative person." An indignant squawk came from the pillows, and a few choice words.
Pumble puffed up his chest and replied, "I'm simply pleasantly plump. Besides, have you had these new crackers? They're too die for!"
Terrified no one was listening to their weather report, the seals barked louder and jumped harder, almost falling off the window seal. Hairy rubbed his temples and sighed inwardly.
"That's lovely," he said kindly to the seals. "Thank you for telling us. I appreciate the update." The seals continued to bark and bounce. "No thank you," Hairy said. "I'd rather not go outside. It seems a bit chilly."
"You want to go outside?" he asked as the seals continued. At their enthusiastic bobbing, he hesitated. "I'm not sure how to get you out there." The two seals erupted into barking and tail pointing. "Well, we can try," Hairy said reluctantly. "I don't think you'll like it--it's a lot colder than you think. Yes, I understand you're Arctic seals, but you have been in the Land of the Flowered Bed, not the Arctic."
The animals crept toward the front door. Even Cookies forgoed his nap to join the expedition. When they reached the door, Cookies flew up and undid the dead bolt and chain. Pumble turned the handle, and cold air blasted through the open door. The seals gingerly hopped onto the concrete, then to the edge of the sidewalk. Once the cold ice hit the seals' tender bellies, they yelped and skidded back onto the concrete, hopping down the hallway. They hopped into the living room, down the hallway, and back to the pillows, where they dove in for warmth. The other animals followed, laughing.
Pumble hoisted himself back up to the bed and began eating his crackers while Cookies returned to his nest of pillows. Hairy sat next to the seals and listened to their muffled barking.
"Yes, it was cold," Hairy said, smiling. "No, I agree. The snow in here is much nicer after all."
Monday, January 15, 2007
Ernie
Before the wind turned icy and the roads turned slick, I took a walk around in the drizzly grey weather. As I strolled down the slick sidewalk, I saw an earthworm who had crawled up from the ground and was sitting in a patch of clovers. He looked quite confused. He heard my footsteps and looked up at me.
"Excuse me," he said. "Do you have an umbrella?"
"Well, yes I do," I said. "Only I'm afraid it is much too big for you."
"Drat," he said. "Do you know where I could find an umbrella?"
"I'm afraid I don't," I said. "All the umbrellas I know of are for people, not earthworms. Why do you need an umbrella?"
"Why do you need one?" he responded snottily.
"Because it's raining," I said.
"That is precisely the reason I need an umbrella," he said. "I'm quite sensitive to the rain."
"Oh," I said, very confused. "But you live underground. The rain must make it easier for you."
"Easier?" the worm said, sounding annoyed. "Easier? You try trying to crawl through mud with water droplets pounding on your head incessantly. You've got a massive headache, you can't feel where you're going and you're being washed away or drowning in a giant flood. Right, that's a lot EASIER."
"Well how is an umbrella going to help you with all that?" I asked, annoyed as well.
"It will protect my head and help me see." the Earthworm said smugly.
"See?" I asked, staring at the pompous blind worm who was staring up at me.
The worm sighed, as if I was an idiot. "I know where to go because the tiny hairs on my skin sense where the dirt is, where the rocks are and if there's a stick in my way," he said. "I absorb the nutrients in my skin, so I can always tell where I am. The closer I get to buildings, for instance, the worse the nutrients are. As long as I can see, I'm ok. The raindrops throw off my vision."
"Oh," I said. I wasn't quite sure what I was to do with this earthworm. "Would you like an acorn top for a hat?" I asked. "It's not an umbrella, but it would protect your head."
"That's actually a brilliant idea!" the Earthworm cried, looking pleased. "Would you mind getting me one so I could try it?"
I picked up an acorn top of the ground and placed it on his tiny pink head. He beamed up at me.
"This is wonderful!" he said. "I'm so delighted. Am I not the cutest thing you've ever seen?"
"Sure," I said, not wanting to break his wormy little heart. The small pink worm in his over-sized acorn hat then wriggled back into the ground, with only his tail sticking out of the mud.
"Oh!" he cried out over his shoulder. "My name is Ernie by the way. It was nice meeting you giant! I hope to see you again soon! I'll probably need a new hat shortly- spring is coming!"
I grinned. "I'll save you some acorns," I promised. And with that, his little pink tail disappeared into the mud, leaving only silence and a naked acorn in his path.
"Excuse me," he said. "Do you have an umbrella?"
"Well, yes I do," I said. "Only I'm afraid it is much too big for you."
"Drat," he said. "Do you know where I could find an umbrella?"
"I'm afraid I don't," I said. "All the umbrellas I know of are for people, not earthworms. Why do you need an umbrella?"
"Why do you need one?" he responded snottily.
"Because it's raining," I said.
"That is precisely the reason I need an umbrella," he said. "I'm quite sensitive to the rain."
"Oh," I said, very confused. "But you live underground. The rain must make it easier for you."
"Easier?" the worm said, sounding annoyed. "Easier? You try trying to crawl through mud with water droplets pounding on your head incessantly. You've got a massive headache, you can't feel where you're going and you're being washed away or drowning in a giant flood. Right, that's a lot EASIER."
"Well how is an umbrella going to help you with all that?" I asked, annoyed as well.
"It will protect my head and help me see." the Earthworm said smugly.
"See?" I asked, staring at the pompous blind worm who was staring up at me.
The worm sighed, as if I was an idiot. "I know where to go because the tiny hairs on my skin sense where the dirt is, where the rocks are and if there's a stick in my way," he said. "I absorb the nutrients in my skin, so I can always tell where I am. The closer I get to buildings, for instance, the worse the nutrients are. As long as I can see, I'm ok. The raindrops throw off my vision."
"Oh," I said. I wasn't quite sure what I was to do with this earthworm. "Would you like an acorn top for a hat?" I asked. "It's not an umbrella, but it would protect your head."
"That's actually a brilliant idea!" the Earthworm cried, looking pleased. "Would you mind getting me one so I could try it?"
I picked up an acorn top of the ground and placed it on his tiny pink head. He beamed up at me.
"This is wonderful!" he said. "I'm so delighted. Am I not the cutest thing you've ever seen?"
"Sure," I said, not wanting to break his wormy little heart. The small pink worm in his over-sized acorn hat then wriggled back into the ground, with only his tail sticking out of the mud.
"Oh!" he cried out over his shoulder. "My name is Ernie by the way. It was nice meeting you giant! I hope to see you again soon! I'll probably need a new hat shortly- spring is coming!"
I grinned. "I'll save you some acorns," I promised. And with that, his little pink tail disappeared into the mud, leaving only silence and a naked acorn in his path.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Letter to My Jetta
Dear 2000 Silver Jetta,
We've had some good times, you and I. We've had some good times, and some bad times. I know I've been hard on you--I've run you into rocks, backed you into trashcans and used your bumper to hurl my parent's recycling bin. My clumsy auto skills have run you up on curbs, taken you over dirt roads with lots of rocks. I nearly burned up your clutch learning to drive, almost stalled you out over hills and ran up your odometer with tons of interstate miles.
We've had some good times, you and I, dear Jetta. Remember all the long drives to Shreveport and Austin, dancing to music and looking at the pretty trees? Remember the leopard seat covers that made you look so pretty? Even if they did squirm around worse than a thong on a big lady's behind, they sure were nice.
You've hauled shameful colorguard poles, semester loads of crap (freshman year was the biggest) and moved me four different times. You've traveled through three different cities, and traveled up and down I-35 dozens of times. No matter how much mud, paper, dirty kleenexes, old food, books, crumbled newspapers, umbrellas I shoved in your interior, you always looked nice to me.
For all the abuse you suffered at my inexperienced hands, you never let me down. You never left me stranded on the side of the road during a rainstorm, or busted out a tire. Tirelessly and loyally, you shuffled me back and forth for seven years.
Dear Jetta, you've been a big part of my life. You were my first car, my first love of automobiles. You took me to my prom and drove me home from my wedding. You took me to college and to my first real job. You've navigated countless cities, driven to countless places and been to four different malls.
From high school to my twenties, you've been there. And for that, I will always love you. I want to thank you for seven years of dependability and loyal service.
I know it may seem I'm throwing you to the wolves, but I'm not. I can tell you're tired, dear Jetta. I can tell the forty miles a day are wearing on you, that the stop and go traffic is hurting your soul. You're not meant to just shuffle back and forth on a interstate all day long. You're meant to drive. You need someone with adventure and spirit. Right now, I can't give that to you.
This is a sacrifice of love, for both you and I. In the end, we'll both be better for it. You'll find a college student in need, someone who needs a safe, dependable car. Someone that will spend their evenings driving under the stars, your headlights lighting up the night sky. You need that dear Jetta. I want that for you.
So thank you, again. I will always remember you, and what you did for me.
Love,
The Blonde Duck
We've had some good times, you and I. We've had some good times, and some bad times. I know I've been hard on you--I've run you into rocks, backed you into trashcans and used your bumper to hurl my parent's recycling bin. My clumsy auto skills have run you up on curbs, taken you over dirt roads with lots of rocks. I nearly burned up your clutch learning to drive, almost stalled you out over hills and ran up your odometer with tons of interstate miles.
We've had some good times, you and I, dear Jetta. Remember all the long drives to Shreveport and Austin, dancing to music and looking at the pretty trees? Remember the leopard seat covers that made you look so pretty? Even if they did squirm around worse than a thong on a big lady's behind, they sure were nice.
You've hauled shameful colorguard poles, semester loads of crap (freshman year was the biggest) and moved me four different times. You've traveled through three different cities, and traveled up and down I-35 dozens of times. No matter how much mud, paper, dirty kleenexes, old food, books, crumbled newspapers, umbrellas I shoved in your interior, you always looked nice to me.
For all the abuse you suffered at my inexperienced hands, you never let me down. You never left me stranded on the side of the road during a rainstorm, or busted out a tire. Tirelessly and loyally, you shuffled me back and forth for seven years.
Dear Jetta, you've been a big part of my life. You were my first car, my first love of automobiles. You took me to my prom and drove me home from my wedding. You took me to college and to my first real job. You've navigated countless cities, driven to countless places and been to four different malls.
From high school to my twenties, you've been there. And for that, I will always love you. I want to thank you for seven years of dependability and loyal service.
I know it may seem I'm throwing you to the wolves, but I'm not. I can tell you're tired, dear Jetta. I can tell the forty miles a day are wearing on you, that the stop and go traffic is hurting your soul. You're not meant to just shuffle back and forth on a interstate all day long. You're meant to drive. You need someone with adventure and spirit. Right now, I can't give that to you.
This is a sacrifice of love, for both you and I. In the end, we'll both be better for it. You'll find a college student in need, someone who needs a safe, dependable car. Someone that will spend their evenings driving under the stars, your headlights lighting up the night sky. You need that dear Jetta. I want that for you.
So thank you, again. I will always remember you, and what you did for me.
Love,
The Blonde Duck
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