It is an inescapable fact that like dogs, toddlers like to talk to each other. Normally, toddlers are content to babble on to themselves, to their toys or to their parents. However, in restaurants, malls, shops or any public place with more than five people, toddlers have a need to protect their territory.
It is an unwritten rule of toddlers that no toddler can be in another toddlers area in a five foot perimeter. To toddlers, five feet is the equivalent of five football fields. Considering they're normally only a few feet from their mothers, five feet is like crossing an ocean.
In order to protect their territory, toddlers must howl, shriek and screech. They have five main sounds they use to inform other toddlers about their territory and where their perimeters are. Toddlers also communicate to one another, usually about their rage they can't expand their perimeters, run around their perimeters or invade another toddlers perimeter.
The five main sounds are:
Howl- This is an angry sound letting other toddlers are too close. This can also be a cry of frustration when a parent won't let a toddler run around or invade another's perimeter.
Shriek- This can be a happy or upset cry. Toddlers just love to shriek. They shriek at play, when they're upset or if they just want to hear themselves talk. To adults, it sounds like a knife going through her ear.
Screech- This is an indignant sound. Toddlers become indignant when another toddler comes too close to their perimeter or their goods. If another toddler tries to touch their toys for example, screeching is their primary defense.
Wail- This is the battle cry. The toddler has discovered invaders, and is using sheer lung power to stop them. Normally, this will cause other toddlers to shriek, wail or cry. It is the most powerful of sounds. It causes anyone over the age of 7 to have an instant hemorrhage and bleeding to come out of their ears.
Cry- This is the toddler's defense method. Like a bird playing dead, they release the tears, snot and sobs. Normally, this method could wear down the most patient of adults. It also creates sympathy in the most hard hearted of playground bullies.
The moral of the story is like dogs, toddlers like to talk to each other. So next time you hear them wailing and screeching, just plug their ears. The toddlers are simply protecting their perimeters.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
If I had wings.....
On my daily walk, I saw an unusual sight. I saw a bright blue butterfly floating through the air over the asphalt street. Reaching out, I started towards him when a car came screeching down the street. When it had passed, the butterfly was gone.
As I reached the corner of the building, I saw another butterfly floating by a brightly colored plant. Then, I saw it. A hummingbird was floating near the sage like bush, drinking out of the flowers.
"Wow," I whispered, staring at it. It's emerald green stomach gleamed in the sunlight as it darted from bud to bud.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" the blue butterfly asked, settling on the blossom of a mountain laurel. His wings slowly opened and closed.
"Gorgeous," I said, looking at the hummingbird. A slight buzzing noise filled my ears as he continued to flitter from blossom to blossom. There was no rhyme or reason to the hummingbird's path. He went from one flower to a flower on the other side to a flower in the center in a disjointed, stumbling pattern.
"The hummingbird is a marvel, that's true," the butterfly said, delicately drinking the dew out of the blossom on the mountain marvel. "Small and agile, his wings are as fast as they are fragile."
A slight reservation in his tone caught my ear. "Are you jealous of him?" I asked. "I would think you would be more delicate than he."
"It's a different kind of delicate," the butterfly said, avoiding my question. "We are paper thin and whisper through out the breeze, creating joy whenever we appear in people's lives. We drink out of flowers and skate from one blade of grass to the next. Just a brush of a finger can cut our lives short, or a careless knock from a branch or car."
I squelched my eyes shut. I didn't want to think of terrible things happening to the butterflies.
"The hummingbird, however," the butterfly continued, "is strong. He has a firm torso and core, a firm belief in himself. He busily goes from branch to branch, always eating, always searching. His work is never done. While we float through the day, he struggles through every minute. His wings move so quickly he burns a ton of energy, creating a everlasting hunger that never ceases."
With new eyes, I took a look at the hummingbird. As his jewel toned body flitted through the air, he did appear to be frantic. While the butterfly rested on the blossoms of the mountain laurel, the hummingbird visited each bud briefly, only getting as much nectar out of it as it possibly could and then moving on.
"I had never thought of it that way," I said, feeling sad. "That's really quite depressing."
"Not really," the butterfly said, stretching it's tiny feet lazily. "Do you know someone that's always bustling about?"
"Yes," I answered, images of the people's faces popping in my head.
"Are they happy when they sit with you and read a novel? Or watch a television show?"
"No," I answered, understanding dawning. "They're not. They're absolutely miserable. They're only happy when they're bustling about and being busy."
"Same for the hummingbirds," the butterfly said wisely. "They enjoy the search, they enjoy the chase. They enjoy feeling energy surge through their veins as they search for the next drop of nectar. It makes each flower that much sweeter, that much better. They feel rewarded for their search. When they finally sleep at night, they feel as though they've accomplished a lot."
"It's amazing how similar humans are to animals," I observed. "Most of them don't know it at all."
"The majority of people don't know as much as they think they do," the butterfly said. "They simply don't take the time to think and understand. They want to put everything into neat little boxes, and not everything fits into a box. I wouldn't fit in a box. The hummingbird wouldn't fit in a box."
"No," I grinned. "He'd fly out of it."
The hummingbird buzzed by closer, and the buzzing noise grew louder. I leaned in closer, straining to hear.
"What's he saying?" I asked.
"Listen," the butterfly answered.
I crept closer to the bushes, as slowly as I could. I heard a very faint mutter. "Nownownowquickquicktrythatflowernothatflowernothatflowerhungryhungry
hungrynownownownownownownowhungryhungrynownownownow."
"He talks so fast!" I exclaimed softly, sitting back from the bush so I wouldn't scare the bird.
"For him, life moves fast," the butterfly shrugged. He left the mountain bush to gently land in my hair.
"Is that a hint I should slow down?" I asked.
"Take it as you wish," the butterfly said. "Just as in nature, every human is different. Don't try to cage all the animals into boxes when they need to be free."
"You're leaving again, aren't you?" I said slowly, watching him crawl down my arm.
The butterfly whispered in reply.
"When will you come again?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be. And the answer was the same, as it always was.
"Soon," the faint reply came in the breeze. "I'll be back soon."
As I reached the corner of the building, I saw another butterfly floating by a brightly colored plant. Then, I saw it. A hummingbird was floating near the sage like bush, drinking out of the flowers.
"Wow," I whispered, staring at it. It's emerald green stomach gleamed in the sunlight as it darted from bud to bud.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" the blue butterfly asked, settling on the blossom of a mountain laurel. His wings slowly opened and closed.
"Gorgeous," I said, looking at the hummingbird. A slight buzzing noise filled my ears as he continued to flitter from blossom to blossom. There was no rhyme or reason to the hummingbird's path. He went from one flower to a flower on the other side to a flower in the center in a disjointed, stumbling pattern.
"The hummingbird is a marvel, that's true," the butterfly said, delicately drinking the dew out of the blossom on the mountain marvel. "Small and agile, his wings are as fast as they are fragile."
A slight reservation in his tone caught my ear. "Are you jealous of him?" I asked. "I would think you would be more delicate than he."
"It's a different kind of delicate," the butterfly said, avoiding my question. "We are paper thin and whisper through out the breeze, creating joy whenever we appear in people's lives. We drink out of flowers and skate from one blade of grass to the next. Just a brush of a finger can cut our lives short, or a careless knock from a branch or car."
I squelched my eyes shut. I didn't want to think of terrible things happening to the butterflies.
"The hummingbird, however," the butterfly continued, "is strong. He has a firm torso and core, a firm belief in himself. He busily goes from branch to branch, always eating, always searching. His work is never done. While we float through the day, he struggles through every minute. His wings move so quickly he burns a ton of energy, creating a everlasting hunger that never ceases."
With new eyes, I took a look at the hummingbird. As his jewel toned body flitted through the air, he did appear to be frantic. While the butterfly rested on the blossoms of the mountain laurel, the hummingbird visited each bud briefly, only getting as much nectar out of it as it possibly could and then moving on.
"I had never thought of it that way," I said, feeling sad. "That's really quite depressing."
"Not really," the butterfly said, stretching it's tiny feet lazily. "Do you know someone that's always bustling about?"
"Yes," I answered, images of the people's faces popping in my head.
"Are they happy when they sit with you and read a novel? Or watch a television show?"
"No," I answered, understanding dawning. "They're not. They're absolutely miserable. They're only happy when they're bustling about and being busy."
"Same for the hummingbirds," the butterfly said wisely. "They enjoy the search, they enjoy the chase. They enjoy feeling energy surge through their veins as they search for the next drop of nectar. It makes each flower that much sweeter, that much better. They feel rewarded for their search. When they finally sleep at night, they feel as though they've accomplished a lot."
"It's amazing how similar humans are to animals," I observed. "Most of them don't know it at all."
"The majority of people don't know as much as they think they do," the butterfly said. "They simply don't take the time to think and understand. They want to put everything into neat little boxes, and not everything fits into a box. I wouldn't fit in a box. The hummingbird wouldn't fit in a box."
"No," I grinned. "He'd fly out of it."
The hummingbird buzzed by closer, and the buzzing noise grew louder. I leaned in closer, straining to hear.
"What's he saying?" I asked.
"Listen," the butterfly answered.
I crept closer to the bushes, as slowly as I could. I heard a very faint mutter. "Nownownowquickquicktrythatflowernothatflowernothatflowerhungryhungry
hungrynownownownownownownowhungryhungrynownownownow."
"He talks so fast!" I exclaimed softly, sitting back from the bush so I wouldn't scare the bird.
"For him, life moves fast," the butterfly shrugged. He left the mountain bush to gently land in my hair.
"Is that a hint I should slow down?" I asked.
"Take it as you wish," the butterfly said. "Just as in nature, every human is different. Don't try to cage all the animals into boxes when they need to be free."
"You're leaving again, aren't you?" I said slowly, watching him crawl down my arm.
The butterfly whispered in reply.
"When will you come again?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be. And the answer was the same, as it always was.
"Soon," the faint reply came in the breeze. "I'll be back soon."
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Blonde Duck goes to a basketball game
In the Pond, many of my fellow Pondites are obsessed with a certain NBA sports team. You may have heard of it--it's called the Spurs. For most people in the Pond, the Spurs are their Messiahs. The Spurs can do no wrong. If the players miss a basket, it's the other team's fault. If they lose a game, the other team set a voo-doo spell upon them and revenge must be taken.
Ben won some tickets at his company, so we got to go. The tickets would let us spend the evening dining in a private suite with catered food and wonderful seats so close we could see the players sweat. After work, we changed close and drove through the pouring rain to get there. I foolishly thought the floods and monsoon-like rains would deter spectactors--but oh no. They came in droves.
After we found our way to the suite, a feast lay out before us. We dined on salad, fruit, fajita meat, fresh tortillas and a huge subway sandwich. Now, this was no ordinary subway sandwich. This sandwich would have made Dagwood proud. It was full of thick, quality deli meat, cheese and some kind of pink sauce that was strangely delicious on thick wheat bread. In order to eat this enourmous sub sandwich, one had to literally vacumn it into it's mouth. Needless to say, it was glorious.
After chatting with a few company co-workers, we made our way to our seats. We watched the game and cooed over the graphics and catchy song clips. Then the true entertainment arrived: the blimp.
The blimp puttered it's way around the cieling directed by an invisible hand. It bobbed slowly up and down lazily through the air. People leaped toward the cieling, squealing in glee. And then, there was Ben.
"OOOOHOHHHHH!" Ben squealed. "I want it!"
Reaching above him, Ben joined the mass of hopping people. "OOOOHHHH!" he shouted, his arm raised in the air. "OOOOHHH!!!"
I simply stared at him.
"I really want one of these!" Ben squealed happily. "Can I have one? Can I can I?"
"Sure," I said. Ben looked excited at the prospect of owning his own blimp. After we left later that evening, he was still talking about it.
"Can I get a blimp?"
"Sure."
"I'm going to fly it all over the neighborhood."
"I'm sure you are."
"That was an awesome blimp."
"That was an awsome sandwich."
"No, I think the blimp was much cooler."
So there you have it. VIP tickets to an NBA basketball game, and we were impressed by a sandwich and a blimp.
Ben won some tickets at his company, so we got to go. The tickets would let us spend the evening dining in a private suite with catered food and wonderful seats so close we could see the players sweat. After work, we changed close and drove through the pouring rain to get there. I foolishly thought the floods and monsoon-like rains would deter spectactors--but oh no. They came in droves.
After we found our way to the suite, a feast lay out before us. We dined on salad, fruit, fajita meat, fresh tortillas and a huge subway sandwich. Now, this was no ordinary subway sandwich. This sandwich would have made Dagwood proud. It was full of thick, quality deli meat, cheese and some kind of pink sauce that was strangely delicious on thick wheat bread. In order to eat this enourmous sub sandwich, one had to literally vacumn it into it's mouth. Needless to say, it was glorious.
After chatting with a few company co-workers, we made our way to our seats. We watched the game and cooed over the graphics and catchy song clips. Then the true entertainment arrived: the blimp.
The blimp puttered it's way around the cieling directed by an invisible hand. It bobbed slowly up and down lazily through the air. People leaped toward the cieling, squealing in glee. And then, there was Ben.
"OOOOHOHHHHH!" Ben squealed. "I want it!"
Reaching above him, Ben joined the mass of hopping people. "OOOOHHHH!" he shouted, his arm raised in the air. "OOOOHHH!!!"
I simply stared at him.
"I really want one of these!" Ben squealed happily. "Can I have one? Can I can I?"
"Sure," I said. Ben looked excited at the prospect of owning his own blimp. After we left later that evening, he was still talking about it.
"Can I get a blimp?"
"Sure."
"I'm going to fly it all over the neighborhood."
"I'm sure you are."
"That was an awesome blimp."
"That was an awsome sandwich."
"No, I think the blimp was much cooler."
So there you have it. VIP tickets to an NBA basketball game, and we were impressed by a sandwich and a blimp.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Spring Break
The animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed woke up on a grey morning.
"Another boring day," Cookies grumbled, drinking his coffee as he angrily read the comics.
"I do wish the sun would come out," Pumble said, looking annoyed. "If the sun doesn't come out, the flowers won't bloom. If the flowers don't bloom, I can't have fresh pollen. If I don't have fresh pollen, how am I going to make my pollen jam? What is spring without biscuits and pollen jam? That's like toast without honey!"
Even Hairy was starting to feel the effects of the foggy, grey weather. "It's not England," he said, going to the window to draw back the curtains. "At least in England--"
The others waited around the kitchen table, waiting for him to finish. They often sat around the table in the morning and had a tea party. It was nice to travel to the edge of the Land of the Traveling Bed every now and again. Finally, Pumble looked up from his novel. Pumble had a thing for trashy dime-store romance novels.
"What does England have?" he asked. "Well?"
"Have you looked outside?" Hairy gasped when he finally reclaimed his voice.
"Yup," Pumble said, smacking on a cracker. "Utter desolation and bleakness, as usual."
"No!" Hairy cried, shaking his head violently. "There's trees!"
"Trees?!?" Pumble cried. "You're joking!"
"Come see for yourself," Hairy said, pulling the blinds open. Pumble rushed down from the table and over to the window.
"There's trees! There's actually trees out there!"
"And a bush," Hairy added helpfully. The seals hopped to the window and jumped up and down barking and shouting in glee, clapping their arms happily. Cookies rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get down from the table and there's going to be a stick outside, and ya'll are going to think it's a tree. Then you're going to giggle like a bunch of monkeys because you're a bunch of immature ruffians--"
"Well come down and see for yourself," Hairy sniffed.
"I can see perfectly fine from where I am-" Cookies began snidely when his eyes traveled to the window. His jaw dropped open and he sat staring quietly. "Well I declare," he said finally, "There's two trees and a bush out there. And flowers to boot!"
"That's not a bush that's a mountain laurel," Pumble said in a knowledgeable tone.
"And how do you know that?" Cookies challenged.
"I was born next to one," Pumble sniffed, sticking his nose in the air.
The seals barked excitedly and bumped the window with their noses.
"That's a great idea!" Hairy said, beaming. "Let's go enjoy the day outside! It's Spring Break, after all!"
The animals set up a hammock between the two trees and set up a couple of lawn chairs with some glasses of fruit juice. The sun burst through the clouds and a cool breeze set through the patio.
"This is nice," Hairy said, as he leaned against the chair and shut his eyes. The sun gently warmed his face.
"Very nice," Pumble said, as he ate a bowl of ice cream and rolled over to get sun on his back.
The seals swung back and forth in the hammock, grinning broadly.
"It's all right," Cookie said, trying to tame his smile. "It's a nice Spring Break, after all."
"Another boring day," Cookies grumbled, drinking his coffee as he angrily read the comics.
"I do wish the sun would come out," Pumble said, looking annoyed. "If the sun doesn't come out, the flowers won't bloom. If the flowers don't bloom, I can't have fresh pollen. If I don't have fresh pollen, how am I going to make my pollen jam? What is spring without biscuits and pollen jam? That's like toast without honey!"
Even Hairy was starting to feel the effects of the foggy, grey weather. "It's not England," he said, going to the window to draw back the curtains. "At least in England--"
The others waited around the kitchen table, waiting for him to finish. They often sat around the table in the morning and had a tea party. It was nice to travel to the edge of the Land of the Traveling Bed every now and again. Finally, Pumble looked up from his novel. Pumble had a thing for trashy dime-store romance novels.
"What does England have?" he asked. "Well?"
"Have you looked outside?" Hairy gasped when he finally reclaimed his voice.
"Yup," Pumble said, smacking on a cracker. "Utter desolation and bleakness, as usual."
"No!" Hairy cried, shaking his head violently. "There's trees!"
"Trees?!?" Pumble cried. "You're joking!"
"Come see for yourself," Hairy said, pulling the blinds open. Pumble rushed down from the table and over to the window.
"There's trees! There's actually trees out there!"
"And a bush," Hairy added helpfully. The seals hopped to the window and jumped up and down barking and shouting in glee, clapping their arms happily. Cookies rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get down from the table and there's going to be a stick outside, and ya'll are going to think it's a tree. Then you're going to giggle like a bunch of monkeys because you're a bunch of immature ruffians--"
"Well come down and see for yourself," Hairy sniffed.
"I can see perfectly fine from where I am-" Cookies began snidely when his eyes traveled to the window. His jaw dropped open and he sat staring quietly. "Well I declare," he said finally, "There's two trees and a bush out there. And flowers to boot!"
"That's not a bush that's a mountain laurel," Pumble said in a knowledgeable tone.
"And how do you know that?" Cookies challenged.
"I was born next to one," Pumble sniffed, sticking his nose in the air.
The seals barked excitedly and bumped the window with their noses.
"That's a great idea!" Hairy said, beaming. "Let's go enjoy the day outside! It's Spring Break, after all!"
The animals set up a hammock between the two trees and set up a couple of lawn chairs with some glasses of fruit juice. The sun burst through the clouds and a cool breeze set through the patio.
"This is nice," Hairy said, as he leaned against the chair and shut his eyes. The sun gently warmed his face.
"Very nice," Pumble said, as he ate a bowl of ice cream and rolled over to get sun on his back.
The seals swung back and forth in the hammock, grinning broadly.
"It's all right," Cookie said, trying to tame his smile. "It's a nice Spring Break, after all."
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Guest Commentary
Since Ace the Dog (and Ben's parents) are down visiting for Ben's birthday, he thought he would say a few words. Here is his speech, translated and bark free:
For some reason unbeknownst to me, all my toys were packed up in a car this morning. After investigating the backseat and discovering it was bone free, I settled down for a nap. There wasn't anything to do--no dead birds to sniff, no intruders to bark at and no squirrels to chase.
When the car finally stopped, I was picked up and taken into a strange house. It was filled with all sorts of new smells and new carpet. I couldn't wait too pee and poop on it. I immediately began to tapdance on the couch and loveseat. The backyard smelled like a giant barbecue. Unfortunately, there were no dead birds in there.
Of course, the first thing I had to do was to investigate the perimeter. I made sure there were no other dogs there to compete with. After I cleared out the competition, I sniffed about for bones or ailing squirrels. Since the two trees were kind of scrawny, that eliminated that. After doing my business, I made sure to bark loudly to all the neighbors to announce my presence. I knew they had been waiting to see me. They were dutifully impressed.
After Mama K gave me a bone, I had a whole new landscape to hide it from. I went from the corner to the loveseat to the T.V. stand. I hid it in the couch cushions, but later moved it. Tell you where it is? Now that's just dumb. How dumb do you think I am!
Eventually, my servant Miranda came home. She was very excited to see me. She must have been bored during my absence. There was a bit of a crisis when the people got lost for an hour. However, my barks lead them home. It's exhausting to wrangle these people. They don't listen well.
Hold on- yup, that's food! They're fixing my favorite cereal! And they're acting like I can't even have any! These dumb humans--when will they learn who's boss?
Yours always,
Ace the Chihuahua
For some reason unbeknownst to me, all my toys were packed up in a car this morning. After investigating the backseat and discovering it was bone free, I settled down for a nap. There wasn't anything to do--no dead birds to sniff, no intruders to bark at and no squirrels to chase.
When the car finally stopped, I was picked up and taken into a strange house. It was filled with all sorts of new smells and new carpet. I couldn't wait too pee and poop on it. I immediately began to tapdance on the couch and loveseat. The backyard smelled like a giant barbecue. Unfortunately, there were no dead birds in there.
Of course, the first thing I had to do was to investigate the perimeter. I made sure there were no other dogs there to compete with. After I cleared out the competition, I sniffed about for bones or ailing squirrels. Since the two trees were kind of scrawny, that eliminated that. After doing my business, I made sure to bark loudly to all the neighbors to announce my presence. I knew they had been waiting to see me. They were dutifully impressed.
After Mama K gave me a bone, I had a whole new landscape to hide it from. I went from the corner to the loveseat to the T.V. stand. I hid it in the couch cushions, but later moved it. Tell you where it is? Now that's just dumb. How dumb do you think I am!
Eventually, my servant Miranda came home. She was very excited to see me. She must have been bored during my absence. There was a bit of a crisis when the people got lost for an hour. However, my barks lead them home. It's exhausting to wrangle these people. They don't listen well.
Hold on- yup, that's food! They're fixing my favorite cereal! And they're acting like I can't even have any! These dumb humans--when will they learn who's boss?
Yours always,
Ace the Chihuahua
Monday, March 05, 2007
Happy Birthday Ben!
Instead of presenting Ben with a large, beautifully wrapped gift, with a decorated house, cake, streamers and more--I gave him snot and a 102 fever.
After a weekend consisting of a broken windshield, jury duty, having to cancel the fun weekend with his friends because he was exhausted, the gun show being cancelled, the gun shops being closed, and me giving out while re-painting the garage leaving him to finish up 2 hours of work while I shivered in a bath, he never said a word.
He didn't get his cake--he wanted me to wait to bake it until his family came down.
He didn't get the decorations--I was too busy shivering on the couch and whining about not feeling good.
He didn't even get his birthday dinner-- instead he ate pre-packaged soup and crackers while he rubbed my head.
So rather than get a cake, decorations, a dinner out, a weekend with his best buddies and a cool new gun, he got snot, a hacking cough, a half-painted garage and a high fever.
And he never said a word about it. Instead of griping about how his day had been overlooked and I was getting all the attention, he just soothed my head. Instead of being bitter about his bad luck, he wiped me down with cold cloths at 4 a.m. He even took off work of most of the morning to make sure my fever wasn't too high.
So even though this was his crappiest birthday in our four years together (even crappier than the first one where he bought my hamburger, his hamburger, and John half the menu), I just wanted him to know I appreciate it. His generosity and compassion were the two biggest reasons I fell in love with him, and he continues to amaze me even to this day.
Happy Birthday darling! I love you!
After a weekend consisting of a broken windshield, jury duty, having to cancel the fun weekend with his friends because he was exhausted, the gun show being cancelled, the gun shops being closed, and me giving out while re-painting the garage leaving him to finish up 2 hours of work while I shivered in a bath, he never said a word.
He didn't get his cake--he wanted me to wait to bake it until his family came down.
He didn't get the decorations--I was too busy shivering on the couch and whining about not feeling good.
He didn't even get his birthday dinner-- instead he ate pre-packaged soup and crackers while he rubbed my head.
So rather than get a cake, decorations, a dinner out, a weekend with his best buddies and a cool new gun, he got snot, a hacking cough, a half-painted garage and a high fever.
And he never said a word about it. Instead of griping about how his day had been overlooked and I was getting all the attention, he just soothed my head. Instead of being bitter about his bad luck, he wiped me down with cold cloths at 4 a.m. He even took off work of most of the morning to make sure my fever wasn't too high.
So even though this was his crappiest birthday in our four years together (even crappier than the first one where he bought my hamburger, his hamburger, and John half the menu), I just wanted him to know I appreciate it. His generosity and compassion were the two biggest reasons I fell in love with him, and he continues to amaze me even to this day.
Happy Birthday darling! I love you!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
The Second Act
They had spent days preparing. Cookies had swathed himself in black and gone around talking to himself, then scribbling down on a piece of paper, then talking to himself again. Every few hours, he would let out a blood-curdling wail and tear the papers into shreds, throwing himself down on the ground as the floating bits settled around him. Then he would stand up and start it all over again.
Pumble on the other hand, glued himself to the T.V. He ordered in three extra-large pizzas and latched onto the remote like it was his own child. If the seals tried to watch animal planet, he snarled at them and threw empty pizza boxes at their heads. "I'm trying to create, people!" he would shout, cheese stuck to his chin. "I can't create if you pester me! Back off! Just back off!"
So, Hairy and the seals had spent the past few days living in the spa with the ducks. The ducks had been thrilled for the company. The only person that usually came to visit them was the skunk. The skunk hadn't been around in a few days, because he had been working in his clover garden. He did enjoy the sunny weather.
"What do you think the plays will be?" the first duck asked Hairy.
"Do you think they will be awful?" the second duck asked conspiratorially.
"I'm sure they'll be nice," the third duck whispered hopefully. The seals nodded in agreement and began to swim laps in the bathtub.
"I'm not sure," Hairy said. He was ready for the plays to begin. He wanted to return to his normal routine. "I'm sure that Cookies will do a drama and Pumble will do a comedy. It suits their personalities."
"I hope they both do comedies," said the first duck.
"I hope they do mystery-dramas," said the second duck.
"Will there be popcorn?" the third duck ventured.
Just then, Cookies strode into the spa arrogantly. "We are ready for you," he sniffed, beckoning to them with his feathers. He strode on his heel and strode toward the stage. The seals dried themselves by rolling on a towel back and forth. The ducks carefully dried their feet on a rug and toddled into the make-shift theater.
Cookies and Pumble had strung a blanket across the closet. They had folded blankets to create seating. Hairy and the seals sat on one blanket, and the ducks sat behind them.
"I can't wait to see what they've done," the first duck said.
"I wonder what the costumes will be like," the second duck wondered.
"Are there refreshments anywhere?" the third duck asked hopefully.
The lights awkwardly flicked on and off. Cookies's voice boomed from behind the curtain.
"Good evening. There will be no photography or food or drink. Please respect the actors. There will be a brief intermission between acts, then the judging will occur. Our first act is the wonderful, the fabulous, the terrific, the stupendous, the handsome, the darling--"
"Get on with it!" Pumble hissed audibly.
"Owlroifico!" Cookies finished. Hairy and the seals applauded politely. The ducks stomped their feet and flapped their wings.
The curtain swung open, and Cookies dramatically stepped forward. He had pulled on one of the girl's black turtleneck, and was hobbling forward in a pair of black shoes.
The seals looked at Hairy in concern. The ducks quaked alarmingly.
"He looks ridiculous!" the first duck said.
"He must be confused!" the second duck said.
"I think he looks dramatic," the third duck argued.
"I was born in a large barn," Cookies cried, falling to his knees. "I fought my way through the egg, cracking it's gentle shell." Cookies burst from the floor, making cracking noises. "I am born! I am alive! I am, I am Owlorifico!"
"Oh Lord," Hairy said, clapping his hand to his head. The seals buried their heads in the towel. For the next hour, Cookies flopped and bellowed on stage as he told his life story.
"Now, as the grandest performer in the land, I beseech thee judges," Cookies said, falling to his knees again. "Choose wisely. Choose the true performer of the theatre."
With that, he backed out slowly and the curtain fell. Hairy and the seals clapped uncertainly. The ducks stomped their feet.
"Our next performer is Pumble!" Cookies yelled, as Pumble strode on stage.
"Some introduction!" Pumble called over his shoulder. "You went on for three hours about yourself!" Pumble turned and faced his audience. His face was a mask of concentration.
"What is he doing?" the first duck asked.
"Did he forget his lines?" the second duck questioned.
"I think he's going too-" the third duck started. Pumble opened his mouth and belched. He belched again, and again. Soon he started tapping his foot as he belched.
"He's belching Jingle Bells!" Hairy said, half in horror and half in a amusement. The seals clapped in delight and barked along.
After his song, Pumble bowed and walked off without another word. Hairy and the seals bowed their heads and whispered for several minutes. Nodding, Hairy raised his head. "We made a decision!" he cried. Cookies and Pumbles came running from the stage.
"We thought about this long and hard," Hairy said. The seals nodded. "We decided that there was not a single winner."
"Oh not this crap," Pumble grumbled. "You're both so good--"
"Well you were," Hairy said. "We decided Cookies wins the prize for dramatic actor. Pumble, you win the prize for comedian!"
"I'm a true thespian!" Cookies cried, clutching his chest dramatically.
"I like comedy," Pumble said. "At least everyone knows how funny I am!"
The seals applauded happily and jumped up and down.
"Wonderful!" the first duck cried.
"Fabulous!" the second duck yelled.
"I'm so proud of both of you!" the third duck smiled.
And with that, the animals set off to the Cafe for a celebration. After all, it wasn't every day you had a thespian and comedian in your midst!
Pumble on the other hand, glued himself to the T.V. He ordered in three extra-large pizzas and latched onto the remote like it was his own child. If the seals tried to watch animal planet, he snarled at them and threw empty pizza boxes at their heads. "I'm trying to create, people!" he would shout, cheese stuck to his chin. "I can't create if you pester me! Back off! Just back off!"
So, Hairy and the seals had spent the past few days living in the spa with the ducks. The ducks had been thrilled for the company. The only person that usually came to visit them was the skunk. The skunk hadn't been around in a few days, because he had been working in his clover garden. He did enjoy the sunny weather.
"What do you think the plays will be?" the first duck asked Hairy.
"Do you think they will be awful?" the second duck asked conspiratorially.
"I'm sure they'll be nice," the third duck whispered hopefully. The seals nodded in agreement and began to swim laps in the bathtub.
"I'm not sure," Hairy said. He was ready for the plays to begin. He wanted to return to his normal routine. "I'm sure that Cookies will do a drama and Pumble will do a comedy. It suits their personalities."
"I hope they both do comedies," said the first duck.
"I hope they do mystery-dramas," said the second duck.
"Will there be popcorn?" the third duck ventured.
Just then, Cookies strode into the spa arrogantly. "We are ready for you," he sniffed, beckoning to them with his feathers. He strode on his heel and strode toward the stage. The seals dried themselves by rolling on a towel back and forth. The ducks carefully dried their feet on a rug and toddled into the make-shift theater.
Cookies and Pumble had strung a blanket across the closet. They had folded blankets to create seating. Hairy and the seals sat on one blanket, and the ducks sat behind them.
"I can't wait to see what they've done," the first duck said.
"I wonder what the costumes will be like," the second duck wondered.
"Are there refreshments anywhere?" the third duck asked hopefully.
The lights awkwardly flicked on and off. Cookies's voice boomed from behind the curtain.
"Good evening. There will be no photography or food or drink. Please respect the actors. There will be a brief intermission between acts, then the judging will occur. Our first act is the wonderful, the fabulous, the terrific, the stupendous, the handsome, the darling--"
"Get on with it!" Pumble hissed audibly.
"Owlroifico!" Cookies finished. Hairy and the seals applauded politely. The ducks stomped their feet and flapped their wings.
The curtain swung open, and Cookies dramatically stepped forward. He had pulled on one of the girl's black turtleneck, and was hobbling forward in a pair of black shoes.
The seals looked at Hairy in concern. The ducks quaked alarmingly.
"He looks ridiculous!" the first duck said.
"He must be confused!" the second duck said.
"I think he looks dramatic," the third duck argued.
"I was born in a large barn," Cookies cried, falling to his knees. "I fought my way through the egg, cracking it's gentle shell." Cookies burst from the floor, making cracking noises. "I am born! I am alive! I am, I am Owlorifico!"
"Oh Lord," Hairy said, clapping his hand to his head. The seals buried their heads in the towel. For the next hour, Cookies flopped and bellowed on stage as he told his life story.
"Now, as the grandest performer in the land, I beseech thee judges," Cookies said, falling to his knees again. "Choose wisely. Choose the true performer of the theatre."
With that, he backed out slowly and the curtain fell. Hairy and the seals clapped uncertainly. The ducks stomped their feet.
"Our next performer is Pumble!" Cookies yelled, as Pumble strode on stage.
"Some introduction!" Pumble called over his shoulder. "You went on for three hours about yourself!" Pumble turned and faced his audience. His face was a mask of concentration.
"What is he doing?" the first duck asked.
"Did he forget his lines?" the second duck questioned.
"I think he's going too-" the third duck started. Pumble opened his mouth and belched. He belched again, and again. Soon he started tapping his foot as he belched.
"He's belching Jingle Bells!" Hairy said, half in horror and half in a amusement. The seals clapped in delight and barked along.
After his song, Pumble bowed and walked off without another word. Hairy and the seals bowed their heads and whispered for several minutes. Nodding, Hairy raised his head. "We made a decision!" he cried. Cookies and Pumbles came running from the stage.
"We thought about this long and hard," Hairy said. The seals nodded. "We decided that there was not a single winner."
"Oh not this crap," Pumble grumbled. "You're both so good--"
"Well you were," Hairy said. "We decided Cookies wins the prize for dramatic actor. Pumble, you win the prize for comedian!"
"I'm a true thespian!" Cookies cried, clutching his chest dramatically.
"I like comedy," Pumble said. "At least everyone knows how funny I am!"
The seals applauded happily and jumped up and down.
"Wonderful!" the first duck cried.
"Fabulous!" the second duck yelled.
"I'm so proud of both of you!" the third duck smiled.
And with that, the animals set off to the Cafe for a celebration. After all, it wasn't every day you had a thespian and comedian in your midst!
The Zees
They come in clouds, in the late afternoon and after dinner. Rotund with plump bellies and contented smiles, they float gently through the late sunshine coming through the windows. They tiptoe into offices, school buildings and nurseries with nursing toddlers and infants. They are the Zees.
As they float along the lazy afternoon breezes, they have one mission in mind. The Zees are innately curious about humans, you see. They are fascinated by our every move and what we do during our daily lives. At birth, they select a human to attach to, and visit them every day.
They set the scene by starting a symphony of droning silence. The white noise, whether caused by droning computers, monotone teachers or the humming of an air conditioner sets the scene. Your eyes begin to droop, your breathing slows. The pencil you're clutching begins to run off the paper, the computer in front of your eyes blurs into white. The Zees have come to visit.
They settle into your eye lids, using your eyelashes as an ottoman. The heat from their plush bodies drives you deeper into your sleep. Your conscious fights, recognizing the Zees and shouting, "Not again! We must fight! We must fight! We must fight...wemustfight...wemustfight...wemustfigh....". The battle has been won. The Zees sit comfortably as your head hits the desk. As you sleep, they braid your hair and turn on a hose in your throat so drool comes pouring out of your mouth. Fascinated, they listen to the teacher or run across the computer keyboard. They want to write a sonnet for you, but aren't quite sure what the letters mean. The Zees love to tickle your nose with feathers, just to hear you snort. It makes them giggle.
After an half an hour, before the angry boss or disgruntled teacher raps on your desk, they wake you gently. They tug on your fingers to tickle your nerves and gently push your eye lids open. Just in time, you awake. It takes awhile before you quit feeling that you've been drowning.
As the Zees float back into the breeze, they wave good bye. They'll be back, don't worry. They'll come to visit after dinner, to dance on your full tummy.
As they float along the lazy afternoon breezes, they have one mission in mind. The Zees are innately curious about humans, you see. They are fascinated by our every move and what we do during our daily lives. At birth, they select a human to attach to, and visit them every day.
They set the scene by starting a symphony of droning silence. The white noise, whether caused by droning computers, monotone teachers or the humming of an air conditioner sets the scene. Your eyes begin to droop, your breathing slows. The pencil you're clutching begins to run off the paper, the computer in front of your eyes blurs into white. The Zees have come to visit.
They settle into your eye lids, using your eyelashes as an ottoman. The heat from their plush bodies drives you deeper into your sleep. Your conscious fights, recognizing the Zees and shouting, "Not again! We must fight! We must fight! We must fight...wemustfight...wemustfight...wemustfigh....". The battle has been won. The Zees sit comfortably as your head hits the desk. As you sleep, they braid your hair and turn on a hose in your throat so drool comes pouring out of your mouth. Fascinated, they listen to the teacher or run across the computer keyboard. They want to write a sonnet for you, but aren't quite sure what the letters mean. The Zees love to tickle your nose with feathers, just to hear you snort. It makes them giggle.
After an half an hour, before the angry boss or disgruntled teacher raps on your desk, they wake you gently. They tug on your fingers to tickle your nerves and gently push your eye lids open. Just in time, you awake. It takes awhile before you quit feeling that you've been drowning.
As the Zees float back into the breeze, they wave good bye. They'll be back, don't worry. They'll come to visit after dinner, to dance on your full tummy.
To my Invisible Friends
Dear Invisible Friends,
It's not my fault. Really, it isn't. The Internet has been out for two days, and the Internet fixer who usually fixes it when I start squealing in horror that I'm not instantly connected was out of town. So regardless, I was not able to continue the tale of the animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed. However, tonight you shall get that post, as well as one about the Zees! Who are the Zees? Well, I guess you'll have to wait to find out! I'm off to be constrained for 7 hours for classes. If only it wasn't downtown.....sigh.
Hurriedly and apologetically yours,
The Blonde Duck
It's not my fault. Really, it isn't. The Internet has been out for two days, and the Internet fixer who usually fixes it when I start squealing in horror that I'm not instantly connected was out of town. So regardless, I was not able to continue the tale of the animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed. However, tonight you shall get that post, as well as one about the Zees! Who are the Zees? Well, I guess you'll have to wait to find out! I'm off to be constrained for 7 hours for classes. If only it wasn't downtown.....sigh.
Hurriedly and apologetically yours,
The Blonde Duck
Saturday, February 24, 2007
The theatre, the theatre, what's happened to the theatre?
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Cookies bellowed, sweeping his imaginary top hat in front of him. "Boys and Girls! I present to you, the one, the only, Owlorfico!" Cookies disappeared behind the blanket he had hung between the spa doorway.
The seals applauded enthusiastically. Hairy applauded politely. Pumble clapped once and yawned.
"I delayed snacktime for this?" he muttered. "Be polite," Hairy admonished. "He's worked hard on this all weekend."
The blanket rose, and Cookies strode dramatically into the room. He looked beyond his audience, squinting into the horizon.
"Hawk, who goes there?" he yelled in a loud voice. "But it is a raven. For if a rose had any other name, it would be as sweet. Out, out damned spot! Be gone from my sight for eternity. Boil, boil, toil and trouble. If thoust were to simply whisper, nay utter they name, it would forever linger on my lips, sweeter than the ripest peach--"
"What is this?" Pumble asked in horror. "He's gone and mixed up half a dozen Shakespearean plays."
"Shhhh," Hairy hushed him, as he tried to figure out what the devil Cookies was doing.
"To be or not to be!" Cookies bellowed in an attempt at a deep baritone. "O Romeo, Romeo, where for art thy Romeo? This above all, to thy own self be true! The lady doth protest too much, me thinks. All the world is a stage, the men and women merely players. The fool doth think he wise, but a wise man know himself to be a fool."
Cookies than staggered dramatically across the stage, holding a broken doll and speaking lovingly to it. "It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight until it be the morrow."
With that, Cookies bowed his head and the curtain fell.
Uncertainly, the seals clapped their flippers. Politely, Hairy clapped. Pumble looked at the stage in confusion.
"What the devil kind of play was that?" he yelled. "I have no idea what it was."
Huffily, Cookies strode through the closed curtain, throwing his cloak to the side dramatically.
"That was true theatre!" he bellowed.
"That was crap!"
"That was true theatre and culture!" Cookies retorted. "You wouldn't know culture if it bit you in the face."
"That was a mish-mash of quotes!"
"That was the brilliance of Shakespeare!" Cookies flung his arms out dramatically. "So sorry it wasn't printed on the side of a cereal box for your understanding."
"I could do a better play than that!" Pumble bragged. "I could do better than a bunch of quotes."
"You want to bet on that?" Cookies said angrily.
"Yea, I do!" Pumble said. "Winner is declared a true actor! An authentic member of the theatre!"
"You're on!" Cookies said, narrowing his eyes. "Hairy and the seals will judge."
"Fine!" Pumble snapped, stalking off the other direction.
"Fine!" Cookies said, not to be outdone. He stalked off the other direction.
Hairy and the seals remained in their seats, looking at each other. Hairy sighed. "The theatre, the theatre," he said, shaking his head. "What's happening to the theatre?"
The seals applauded enthusiastically. Hairy applauded politely. Pumble clapped once and yawned.
"I delayed snacktime for this?" he muttered. "Be polite," Hairy admonished. "He's worked hard on this all weekend."
The blanket rose, and Cookies strode dramatically into the room. He looked beyond his audience, squinting into the horizon.
"Hawk, who goes there?" he yelled in a loud voice. "But it is a raven. For if a rose had any other name, it would be as sweet. Out, out damned spot! Be gone from my sight for eternity. Boil, boil, toil and trouble. If thoust were to simply whisper, nay utter they name, it would forever linger on my lips, sweeter than the ripest peach--"
"What is this?" Pumble asked in horror. "He's gone and mixed up half a dozen Shakespearean plays."
"Shhhh," Hairy hushed him, as he tried to figure out what the devil Cookies was doing.
"To be or not to be!" Cookies bellowed in an attempt at a deep baritone. "O Romeo, Romeo, where for art thy Romeo? This above all, to thy own self be true! The lady doth protest too much, me thinks. All the world is a stage, the men and women merely players. The fool doth think he wise, but a wise man know himself to be a fool."
Cookies than staggered dramatically across the stage, holding a broken doll and speaking lovingly to it. "It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight until it be the morrow."
With that, Cookies bowed his head and the curtain fell.
Uncertainly, the seals clapped their flippers. Politely, Hairy clapped. Pumble looked at the stage in confusion.
"What the devil kind of play was that?" he yelled. "I have no idea what it was."
Huffily, Cookies strode through the closed curtain, throwing his cloak to the side dramatically.
"That was true theatre!" he bellowed.
"That was crap!"
"That was true theatre and culture!" Cookies retorted. "You wouldn't know culture if it bit you in the face."
"That was a mish-mash of quotes!"
"That was the brilliance of Shakespeare!" Cookies flung his arms out dramatically. "So sorry it wasn't printed on the side of a cereal box for your understanding."
"I could do a better play than that!" Pumble bragged. "I could do better than a bunch of quotes."
"You want to bet on that?" Cookies said angrily.
"Yea, I do!" Pumble said. "Winner is declared a true actor! An authentic member of the theatre!"
"You're on!" Cookies said, narrowing his eyes. "Hairy and the seals will judge."
"Fine!" Pumble snapped, stalking off the other direction.
"Fine!" Cookies said, not to be outdone. He stalked off the other direction.
Hairy and the seals remained in their seats, looking at each other. Hairy sighed. "The theatre, the theatre," he said, shaking his head. "What's happening to the theatre?"
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Back in the flowers again
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 **********
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 **********
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.
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