The Enigma of the Blond Duck

There are several ways to describe me.


Princess.




Dancing Queen.


Chihuahua Enthusiast.


Normally, you wouldn't think of this.




You think, Blond Duck: cute, whimsical, crazy, blond, pink puppy-loving Texas princess and barbecue and pie loving fool.



You don't think tough paintball warrior.

Yet, on Saturday, that's exactly what I was. For my sister's 20th birthday, she wanted to play paintball. So we played paintball.

Now, I took karate for years. Heck, I was an instructor in karate. I run almost every day. I do kickboxing. I've ridden horses, shot all sorts of guns and jumped off a cliff at the lake.


I can handle getting dirty and a few bruises. But when you have paint balls coming at your face at 240 miles an hour, a bunch of hyper hormonal teenage boys trying to defuse their angst on a old ranch full of "ranges" that look more like movie sets for a movie about nuclear war wiping out humanity--that's not my idea of fun.

At first, I was simply miserable. Two steps in and I was shot in the face (without the mask, I'd be the one-eyed Blond Duck.) Next game, three steps in I was shot in the thigh. The way the game works is everyone runs into game and shoots at each other until there's no one on the other team left. Of course, all the moronic little boys break the rules and basically just shoot at anything that moves. Even if you're already out (you're out first time a paintball hits you) and you're running off the field, you'll get shot five or six times.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Eventually, I basically hid in the dirt behind a tree and talked to earthworms. And shot at little boys when they moved.


Ben got shot six times by a six year old, so at least I fared better than him. He looks like six ring worms attacked his stomach and chest.

But, as the Blond Duck, I'm not just about pink tutus and shooting brats with high-flying paint.


I enjoy creating things.




Isn't my little Halloween wreath cute? I got nothing on the Noble Pig and her collection, but I'm slowly getting there.


So, that's the enigma of the Blond Duck.

One side puppy dogs, sunshine, butterflies, twirling and all things pink:


One side....terrifying.



If I ever have to do paintball again, I want a pink outfit. And a pink gun. And pink paint balls. And my pink bubble to keep me from getting hit but that lets me hit those snot nosed brats. And some pie to munch on while I float around and wait for kids to shoot.

Maybe I'm not such an enigma after all.

The Sweet Tooth

Before we embark on chasing down a Sweet Tooth to pure Pumble, it's time to announce the winner from my Wonderful Life post on Sunday!

And the winner is.......Marjie!

Call me a hopeless romantic, but hearing that she and her husband got married after five weeks and have been married for more than 30 years with 9 children just makes you go gooey inside. That's true love people. True love. That's what fairy tales are made of.

Now, Marjie, you have three wonderful choices to choose your wonderful award from.

Choice 1: You can guest post or request the post of your choice.

Choice 2: You can get a wonderful sussy in the mail.

Choice 3: You can force me to play truth or dare in a post--three truths and three secrets no one knows.

So, as that fellow in Indiana Jones said, choose wisely! And congratulations! It's a wonderful life for knowing people as wonderful as you!

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"This is stupid," Cookies griped as they crept into the play kitchen. The empty cabinets looked ominous and the stove seemed to loom over them. Without Pumble and dozens of cookies cooling on racks, the kitchen looked clinical and...plastic. The normally charming refrigerator looked cheap, the dining room table forlorn.

"It's not stupid," Miss Moose McKinley corrected. "He would do it for you." The seals nodded, narrowing their eyes at Cookies as they hopped in the kitchen.

"No he wouldn't," Cookies scoffed. Hairy would never tell him he agreed.

"Where should we look first?" Hairy asked brightly.

"I'll check the freezer," Miss Moose McKinley said.

"I'll check the oven," Cookies said.

The seals squeaked they would check the cabinets and pantry. Hairy cracked open the the fridge, sighing at the sparse contents. He jiggled the racks and checked the pockets on the door.

"Nothing," he said.

"Nothing," Miss Moose McKinley agreed.

"Nothing," Cookies shouted, crawling out from the oven. He blew soot off his glasses.

The seals squeaked and crawled out from the pantry. They hadn't found anything either.

The animals stared at the empty kitchen.

"Let's see," Hairy thought aloud. "He's not in the sink or on the counters. He's not on the table. He's not in the fridge, the oven, the pantry or the freezer. And we don't have a dishwasher."

"Pumble always complained about that," Miss Moose McKinley said with a nod.

Tapping his head, Hairy tried to think as hard as he could. "Where could a sweet tooth be?"

"Did you check the sugar jar?" Miss Moose McKinley asked the seals. "And the bags of chocolate chips and butterscotch? What about the pudding and cookie boxes?"

The seals nodded and shrugged. They hadn't found a thing.

"I know!" Cookies shouted. "The cookie jar!"

"In the pantry?" Hairy said. "The seals said it was empty."

"Not that jar," Hairy said impatiently. "The secret cookie jar!"

"What are you talking about?" Hairy asked. Cookies flew to the top of the fridge and scuttled to the back by the wall.

"Pull the fridge out a bit!" he shouted. "Just a bit, don't unplug it!"

Shrugging, Hairy and Miss Moose McKinley tugged on the fridge. With a groan, it slid forward a few feet. Hairy dove behind the fridge so only his yellow feet stuck out. The animals heard shuffling and cracking and clanging. When Cookies emerged, he had a glass jar clamped in his beak. The animals gasped.

Inside was a Sweet Tooth, looking incredibly perturbed.

"Hooray!" Hairy cried. "How did you know where to find it?"

Cookies floated down to the ground and bent over. Hairy grabbed the jar from his beak. "I saw him up there hiding cookies once," Cookies said. "The little weirdo dug a hole out of the wall to hide his cookies in. Isn't that mad?"

The seals looked at each other and shrugged. It made good sense to them. They hid their salmon.

Clutching the jar to his chest, Hairy dashed to Pumble's room as the animals trailed after him. "Doctor!" he cried. "Cookies found the Sweet Tooth! Now we can save Pumble!"

The doctor jumped up and took the jar. Unscrewing the lid, he raised the Sweet Tooth from the jar. The Sweet Tooth snarled and growled, struggling in his grasp.

"They certainly don't live up to their name," Miss Moose McKinley muttered. The doctor held the Sweet Tooth up to his eight eyes and blinked.

"Did you ask him for a tear?" he asked Hairy.

"No," Hairy replied, confused. "I don't understand."

"Sweet Tooths are very conniving creatures," the doctor said, holding the fussing Sweet Tooth with two of his legs. "They will only cry tears, which contain the magic elixir, if they are incredibly happy. Normally, there's only one way to do that."

"What's that?" Cookies asked.

"Promise him more sweets than he can eat," the doctor said. "It's a big job. They eat 10 lbs. of sweets a day."

Cookies chortled. "That's more than Pumble eats! We've finally found something that eats more than him."

"But you can't just buy cookies for him," the doctor warned. "He has to have fresh sweets. And he eats every thirty minutes."

"That's impossible!" Hairy cried. "We can't do that. We can barely keep Pumble fed." He hung his head.

Tossing her antlers, Miss Moose McKinley sauntered up to the Sweet Tooth. "Listen here," she said sternly. "I don't know if we can promise you 10 lbs. of sweets a day. But we can offer you a loving home if you stay here." The Sweet Tooth glared at her and snorted.

"Look around," she said, jabbing her hoof in his chest. "We have creatures great and small. We have a bee that does nothing but bake. We have flowers that drip honey and trees that rain down gumdrops like acorns. And we have love, which is a lot better than candy. So please, won't you help our friend? Just once?"

The Sweet Tooth sniffed and nodded. One great tear fell from his eye and landed on Pumble. Everyone held their breath and tears continued to fall from the Sweet Tooth's eyes onto Pumble's chest.

Pumble's eyes fluttered, and he stretched his long black arms. Yawning, he opened his eyes and patted his belly.

"So guys," he said. "What's for lunch? Got any pie?"

Tasty Tuna Croquettes

Here in the Pond, we don't eat a lot of seafood. I wasn't raised eating it, and Ben doesn't like a lot of it. He prefers fresh fish. Since we live 4 hours from the coast, we don't have a lot of fresh fish.


In Alaska, when I wasn't serenading the otters or cooing at the moose, I went crazy over fish. Particularly halibut. I'd never had halibut before, so I tried it for the hal-i-but. Get it? Stop groaning. It was funny. But really, I loved halibut. So flaky, tender...we eat salmon occasionally here, but I couldn't eat it every day. Halibut was fabulous. Fried, grilled, baked...I loved halibut.




Well, we don't have halibut in the Pond. But we do have tuna. Therefore, we decided to make Alton Brown's tuna croquettes.


Actually, I didn't make them. Ben did. But it made them taste even better.

The first thing we (he) did was to mix all the ingredients up into little balls. (Directions below.) There's all sorts of tasty stuff in these babies: tuna, onions, Dijon mustard, panko bread crumbs...


The next thing he did was to roll the little balls in more panko bread crumbs and make little cakes.


Aren't they cute? Yes, of course I did something. I took pictures. And twirled. And played with the Babies.

I was busy.


Next, he dropped them in a frying pan with olive oil to fry them. Excuse me, saute them. Whatever. It's Texas. If it's in a pan and there's oil, it's frying. There ain't no sauteing.


Switch sides.



Don't they look tasty? Next, he had to fry up the last three.



Not only are tuna croquettes cute,but they're perfect for a light supper. While I usually prefer meatier dishes, this was a nice change of pace. Throw it with some couscous and peas, and you've got a tasty meal.



Besides, I can't eat ribs all the time. And if I can't have halibut, then I'm having some tuna croquettes!



Tuna Croquettes by Alton Brown

Ingredients:

• 1 (7-ounce) pouch albacore tuna, drained well and shredded by hand
• 2 green onions, chopped fine
• 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
• 2 large eggs, beaten
• 1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 3/4 cup panko bread crumbs, divided
• olive oil, for sauteing

Directions

Place the tuna, onions, mustard, eggs, lemon juice, salt, pepper and 1/4 cup of the bread crumbs into a medium mixing bowl and stir to combine. Divide the mixture into 8 rounds and set aside on a parchment lined half sheet pan. Allow to rest for 15 minutes. Place the remaining bread crumbs into a pie plate. One at a time, coat each round in the panko on all sides.

Heat enough olive oil to cover the bottom of a 12-inch saute pan over medium heat until shimmering. Add the croquettes and cook 2 to 3 minutes on each side or until golden brown. Remove to a cooling rack set over a half sheet pan lined with paper towels. Allow to cool for 2 to 3 minutes before serving.

Tomorrow, the second part to the Land of the Flowered Bed! Also, the winner of my "wonderful life" post from Sunday! If you haven't read it, leave a comment and you'll be in the running for a wonderful surprise!

Sway

Vivi had never laughed so much in her life. Round and round they went around the dance floor, twirling and stepping and waltzing to the strains of a fiddle that pierced the night. The air was smoky and the neon lights twinkled like stars. The people's faces blurred around her as stared into Wade's soft blue eyes.

He was a good dancer, she thought to herself as he spun her around the wooden boards smoothed by generations of waltzing boots. Her cheeks flushed as he wrapped a strong arm around her back and dipped her so low to the ground she could see the boots of the singer on the stage.

She giggled, her eyes flying over the bemused faces watching them. He pulled her upright with a flourish and into another dance as the steel guitar and fiddles eased into a slow song. They swayed back and forth, her head so close to his shoulder she could feel the heat from it, smell the cologne on his shirt. His large rough hand covered her small one as they stepped across the floor.

"I'm glad you came," he said, his voice so low she could barely hear it over the band.

"I am too," she said, smiling. "This is much more fun than my ballet classes."

Wade twirled her around, whipping her around the floor before pulling her back into a waltz. "I can tell you're a dancer."

She snorted and tossed her reddish-blond girls. "I've been dancing all my life," she said wryly, a edge to her voice. "I've had to." He said nothing, but she could feel the words building at the edge of her teeth. They tumbled out, wrapping around them as they swayed to the music. "My mother was a dancer when she was young, and my father was born into the ballet world. My grandfather was one of the best ballet dancers in Russia. I've been dancing as long as I can remember. But you know"--

She knew she was babbling now, but she couldn't stop herself. She had never been relaxed, this content. The more they swayed, the more the words poured out of her. "I always thought dancing was work, you know? I thought it took discipline, character, work. Girls in my classes don't smile when they twirl. They worry about how their feet look, how their arms were, if they had the right turnout. And when I watched the people here dance--they looked so happy. So free." He twirled her again. "Do you know what I mean?"

He stayed silent for a moment. Then his blue eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. "I'm not a very cultured fellow," he said in his thick drawl. "But darling, there ain't no point in doing what doesn't make you happy. Sure, we all work. But if you're not dancing because you want to, then why dance at all?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For all the books and therapists she had been to over the years, no one had explained it as perfectly as he had. She glanced down and saw the neon light flickering on the face of her watch. When she saw the number on the face, she gasped.

"Oh no!" she cried, jerking out of his arms. "I've got to go! It's past eleven. And it's a school night! Oh God, my parents are going to kill me." She ran her fingers through her curls and bit her lip. Trying not to smile, Wade walked her off the dance floor. He grabbed her bag from the man he had tossed it from and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the crowded bar.

"Do you need some dinner?" the large, pigtailed woman Wade had called Hilda bellowed from behind the bar. "Honey, I can get you some fried chicken and macaroni. Wade, you want anything?"

He looked at her questioningly. She shook her head, knowing her ballet teacher could spot a fried chicken leg a mile away. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. "No thanks," she said.

Wade winked at Hilda. "Just pack up some of that pecan pie for me, and I'll be back for a burger," he said. "I'm walking Vivi to her car."

"Good boy," Hilda said approvingly. She scuttled back to the kitchen, hollering orders and bellowing curses about one-eyed snakes and the cooks being dumber than a turkey in the rain.

Outside, the night air was cool. The streets were silent, lit only by the stars overhead. Away from the calm of the dance hall, Vivi felt embarrassed.

"You don't have to walk me home," she said. Wade snorted.

"Darling, what makes you think I'll let you run around here at night with a bunch of drunks coming out of a dance hall?" he asked, draping his arm around her shoulders. "Besides, I get a few more minutes with you this way."

She blushed. "Do you always hang out here?" she asked, trying to think of something to say.

Wade nodded. "Yup," he said. "You could say it's the family business."

Vivi pointed to a white car in the parking lot. "That's my car," she said. Her eyes widened and she jerked his hand. Dashing over behind the dance building, she tugged Wade over the sidewalk and plastered herself to the cement building.

"Is this a new dance?" he asked, trying not to smile.

"My dad's in the parking lot," Vivi hissed. "Looking for me. If he sees me, I can never dance with you again." Her face flamed red. Why did she say that? He probably danced with a different girl every week.

He nodded. "Well, that's a problem," Wade said. "And I know how to fix it."

to be continued....

The Sound

We hear a sound.


Sounds in the kitchen mean food. It means delicious treats for us. We must proceed quickly.



Is it a delicious chunk of beef from a previous dinner? Oh, we love beef. Especially barbecue beef.



No, it's not beef. Baroo. Le Sigh.



Perhaps it is in the treat box.




Maybe, if it's in the treat box, we'll get a cardboard paper towel tube! We love those! We love to chew them and mash them into the carpet and rip them to shreds.



Oh wait. We had one of those already. Whoops.



Maybe it's a chip! A potato or tortilla chip! Oh please say it's a chip! We love chips! They're so crunchy and salty and num num num......


No, no chips.


Wait a minute, Bear. Do you smell what I smell?


Could it be peanut butter?




Oh, if it only was peanut butter! That creamy, salty and sweet paste that haunts our puppy dreams. We crave it, we want it, we need it!



It is, it is peanut butter! Hooray! Oh, she's dipping the knife in. Look at that chunk. Look at that glob. Oh I can hardly wait!


As the Queen, Bitty demands first lick, much to Bear's dismay. Wuffle.



Num num num. Excuse him. He's in a peanut butter daze.


Wait.


Hold on.


Everyone freeze.


We hear another sound.

Miss Pickles likes to fire kids up

To read the tale before this, go here.


Mason stared at the flame headed pixies that landed in front of him. Up close, the beauty of the Fireflies was even more terrifying. With incandescent skin and scarlet glowing eyes, they looked as though they had been sculpted of glass. The heat from their blazing heads made sweat run down his face in thick droplets, sizzling the second it dropped from his face into the air.

"They're hot," Ralph commented, edging his backpack away from them protectively.

Beatrice snorted. "Just like a boy," she muttered, glaring at the Fireflies.

"I didn't mean it like that," Ralph stuttered, continuing to push his bursting backpack as far from the Fireflies as he could. "I meant they were hot. The chocolate is melting inside my backpack, see?" He pointed to the large brown stain on the top of his bag.

Don rolled his eyes. Jasper sidled up to one of the dragons and fingered one of the thick green scales with this scythe-like hands. "Remarkable," he breathed. "As hard as glass and as malleable as leather, depending on how you move it." He tapped his foot against the dragon's toe, ignoring the dragon's irritated grumble. "And claws as thick as stone but as sharp as a sword." He stared at his reflection in the dragon's jade scales, gaping as tiny clicks filled the air as the dragon exhaled. "Fascinating! The scales move like dominoes but remain as thick as chain mail!"

"Yes," a voice boomed from behind them. "They are wonderful creatures. A pity they no longer visit your world."

Mason whirled around and felt his heart jump into his throat. A enormous lantern lay on top of glass stairs. Floating in the center was the most remarkable Firefly of them all. Her flame was pure blue, so intense the tips were white edged with pink. She wore a blood-red dress that sizzled at the bottom of her feet. Steam curled from her ears and fire burned in her eyes.

"Why, Smoky, is that you?"

The Fireflies gasped. Whoever this person was, she was apparently very important. The dragons snarled and smoke streamed from their nostrils.

"Who dare use my childhood nickname?" the Firefly ordered as flame erupted from the top of the lantern. "Who indeed? I am the Empress of Flame, the Ruler of Fire, the Queen of Blaze. Who dare speak to me in such a insolent tone?"

Miss Pickles giggled as she landed next to Mason. Folding her pink parasol, she pointed the tip at the Firefly. "Now don't tell me you've forgotten?"

"Oh, Miss Pickles," the Firefly's voice filled with amusement. "I should have known you wouldn't have forgotten."

"I never forget anything, duckie," Miss Pickles said jauntily, twirling her parasol in the air. "How's the husband?"

"Traveling to the center of the Earth," the Firefly scorned. "Again. Sometimes I get so mad at him--I wish we had an ocean nearby. I would dunk him into it."

"Well, some are good, some are not," Miss Pickles grinned with a shrug.

"Miss Pickles," Mason whispered, tugging at her sleeve. "Miss Pickles..."

"Oh, right." Sweeping her arm out, Miss Pickles pointed to the huddled group of children.

"Smoky, let me introduce you to the class of Ordinary Elementary. We went on an adventure and I fear I got a little too carried away. Any way you might be able to help us back?"

The grand Firefly tapped her chin, sending sparks chiming in the lantern. "The next volcano is scheduled to erupt in a few hours," she mused. "But it's in Hawaii.

You'd have to find someone to fly you back. What time do the children have to be back?"

"By three," Miss Pickles said.

"Well, that's a bit of a problem," the Firefly murmured. She tapped her chin and furrowed her brow. "I can't think of anything," she said finally. "I'm afraid we can't do anything."

Miss Pickles smiled, but Mason could tell she was getting worried. "That's all right duckie," she said. "Maybe next time."

"But your Flame, they have chocolate!" a tiny Firefly cried, running towards Smoky. The adult Fireflies gasped in fear and clutched at her, trying to silence her. "They have chocolate, ma'am!" she cried. "I've seen it with that boy there!"

She pointed at Ralph. Ralph squeaked and draped himself over his backpack.

"Chocolate?" Smoky licked her red lips. Greed filled her eyes. "Really? This changes things."

"That fat boy there has it!" the little Firefly called as Ralph howled in agony. "I've seen it."

"Bring it to me." The Firefly was drooling, the drops bursting into smoke as soon as they dropped from her lips.

"NOOO!" Ralph bellowed, clutching onto his backpack. "Not my pies! Not my candy! Not my eclairs!"

"Get up and show them the chocolate," Don muttered nudging Ralph.

"You idiot, we can go home," Beatrice snapped, kicking at his backside. "It's not like you can never see another pie again."

Ralph shook his head back and forth, clamping his lips so tightly his cheeks turned purple.

"Don't worry, duckie, we'll get you another pie," Miss Pickles said. "Would you mind sharing?"

"MINE!" Ralph howled. "They are my pies! My mother made them for me!" He looked desperately at Mason. "Tell them!"

Mason shook his head. "That's your pies, not mine," he pointed out. "It's your
decision."

"It's for the adventure," Miss Pickles added encouragingly.

Ralph stared at Mason and whimpered. He looked at Don, then Beatrice, then the rest of the children. He gave Jasper a pleading look, then fixed his watery eyes on Miss Pickles.

"You'll buy me more pie?" he asked accusingly.

"All the pie you can eat, duckie," she assured him.

"You'll go broke," Don muttered.

"And you'll buy me some chocolate bars," Ralph asked, his voice quivering. He ignored Don's exaggerated sigh. "And some cookies too, perhaps? Maybe some chocolate ice cream?"

"We'll have a sugarfest," Miss Pickles promised. "You have my word." Ralph stared at her with his reddened eyes, tears streaming down his face. He cast one last look towards his backpack.

"Ok," he murmured, climbing off his backpack. "You can have it." A giant chocolate stain remained on his shirt, and he held it to his face and licked it mournfully.

The Fireflies descended on his backpack, ripping it in shreds as they each grabbed handfuls of sweets. The chocolate cream pie was taken to Smoky, who devoured it in one bite.

"Mmm," the Firefly breathed, licking her fingers. "I love chocolate."
Ralph chocked back a sob, watching as she licked each finger slowly.

"Now," she said, fixing her eyes on Miss Pickles. Her mouth curved into a smile. "There may be something I can do..."

Picture by Marie Rayner

It's a wonderful life

I don't know about ya'll, but I'm in the mood for the holidays already.

It may be because I'm tired of it being 100 degrees.

It may be because I work three months ahead being a magazine editor. When you write articles about the Nutcracker and get e-mails for events about wassailing, you get in the mood for Christmas songs.

And it may be just because I love Christmas. It's one of my favorite times of the year. There's some brand new decorations in the back of my guest room closet and I'm itching to display them.

As I started on my Christmas shopping this weekend (ya'll know I'm crazy), I started thinking about how wonderful life was. Sure, the economy is failing. Sure, folks are losing their jobs left and right. Sure, I might never get a book published.

But there's so much good in my life.

Even though they chewed out of their fence earlier this week, proceeded to rip a box needed for shipping apart and sprinkled the remnants on the carpet, then peed and puked on the carpet, sending my husband into a crazed, Cajun-accent speaking frenzy; the Babies really light up my life.


Ever since that night in February that I blew off my neighbor's lingerie party and raced across town to get them in the dark of night, they've held my heart in their little paws.



I can still remember how tiny they were and how I could barely believe they were mine. Really mine.



Even though he hates all things glittery, pink and leopard print, has to be coerced to dance and doesn't share my obsession for meat and pie; Ben is one of the best things in my life.





He supports my writing, is patient with the puppies, still makes my eyes twinkle with glee and makes me laugh out loud.

We caught snowmen! Ha ha ha!

If that wasn't enough, I have a two great families, wonderful friends and a cute house.

But after a week where you spend every day panicking, obsessing and plotting new options; you don't think of these things. You fret and you worry and you scream every time you pick up a newspaper or turn on the radio.



Like George Bailey, I realized there were more important things. I can't control entire industries. I can't control my future. And I can't control how other people respond to me.

But, I can appreciate the things I have and be thankful for them.

Excuse me. I've got to go watch A Muppet Christmas Carol now.

First, I want to hear what's wonderful in your life, Invisible Friends. Whoever comes up with the best comment will get something wonderful!

I'm waiting....

**Stay tuned this week for exciting adventures in the Pond! We've got Miss Pickles tomorrow, the end of our Land of the Flowered Bed saga, tuna croquettes coming up, another installment of our dancehall romance and more fun!

Pumble suffers from a sweet tooth

*For more about the Land of the Flowered Bed, go here.



Pumble hadn't left his bed in three days. He lay tangled in his sheets, moaning and clutching his stomach. The other animals were terrified. They stood in play kitchen normally filled with cupcakes, pies, cookies and cream eclairs. Now, all that remained was a single banana.

"What are we going to do?" Hairy fretted, pacing around the empty kitchen. "It's been three days!"

"Did you call the doctor?" Cookies asked. For once, there was sarcasm missing from his tone.

"The doctor!" Hairy smacked his hand to his forehead. "Of course! Someone call the doctor immediately!"

The ducks in the Spa began thrashing about. They loved a good drama, being addicted to the soaps.

"Call the doctor!" the first duck cried.

"Pumble is in desperate need of a doctor!" the second seal cried.

"Would you mind running and getting him?" the third duck said kindly, pointing to the seals. Nodding, they hopped on their bellies as fast as they could to where the doctor lived. Deep in a corner past the trunk at the foot of the Blond Duck's bed, tucked away so high that not even the dust mites could reach it, lived the Doctor in his enormous web.

By the time the seals had reached him and brought the tiny doctor back riding on their backs as fast as they could belly surf across the carpet, Pumble's skin had faded from a pale gold to the faintest yellow.

"Oh Doctor!" Hairy cried, rushing towards him. "You have to hurry! Something is terribly wrong with Pumble!"

When Cookies refrained from making a snide remark, the seals whimpered and trembled. The doctor scuttled over the Pumble's bedside, his eight legs fluttering across the carpet. He reached into his tiny black bag and pulled out a stethoscope he used to listen to Pumble's chest. Keeping his face completely neutral, he checked Pumble's mouth, peeled open his eyelids and looked in his antennae.

"Well, Doctor?" Pumble asked faintly. "How am I?"

The Doctor plastered a smile on his face and patted his shoulder. "Don't you worry, Pumble!" he murmured. "I'll take the others outside and give them your medicine schedule."

"Can I have pie?" Pumble asked, a dreamy look coming over his face. "I've been begging for pie, but they won't let me have any." He scowled.

"We'll see," the Doctor said, smiling when Pumble's scowl grew deeper. He scurried into the kitchen with Hairy, Cookies, the seals and Miss Moose McKinley right behind him.

"So how is he?" Miss Moose McKinley asked.

"What's wrong with him?" Hairy asked at the same time.

"Is he dying?" the first duck shouted, so eager to hear the diagnosis he was hanging to the edge of the bathtub by his webbed toes.

"Is he going to the loony bin?" the second duck shouted, peering around the edge of the door.

"I'm sorry for the interruption," the third duck apologized, herding her brothers into the bathtub.

The Doctor shook his head and blinked his large eyes. "I'm afraid your friend has been attacked by a Sweet Tooth."

The animals stared at him in confusion.

"Of course he's got a sweet tooth!" Cookies bellowed. "He's enormous! He's the size of the Taj Mahal. All the bee does is eat pie and cookies. You went to medical school and that's all you can figure out?"

The seals looked annoyed. They had carpet burn for nothing.

"No, no, no," the Doctor said, shaking his head. "You misunderstand me. A Sweet Tooth is an actual creature. He has bitten Pumble, who is now suffering from a sugar delirium. All he wants is sugar. All his body wants is sugar. Without sugar, he will die. But with too much sugar, he will die as well since his body can't process it."

The seals whimpered and curled into small balls. This wasn't worth carpet burn either.

"What does a Sweet Tooth look like?" Miss Moose McKinley said, looking around nervously. "And how does one get bit?"

"They're nasty little creatures," the Doctor said, rubbing all eight lenses of his glasses. "But they look quite cute. They're very tiny, about the size of a small chocolate chip. They are coated in white sugary fur that is so gentle it looks like spun cotton candy. Sweet Tooths are very round and dense and bounce along large feet made of cookie dough. They have tiny little black eyes, but extremely large front teeth. If you didn't know any better, you'd think they were a big fat deformed rabbit."

"They sound adorable," Miss Moose McKinley cooed, clapping her hooves together. Cookies rolled his eyes and clapped his forehead to his head.

"They may sound adorable," the Doctor said sternly, placing his glasses back on his tiny face, "But they're not. They hide in cakes and pies and cookies--anything sweet. They like to roll themselves up in sprinkles and swim in icing. When the unsuspecting person takes a bite out of the sweet they're on, they hop into his mouth and bite his tongue. After that moment, all the person wants is sugar. It's all they can think about or eat."

"That's terrible," Hairy said. The seals nodded, vowing never to eat another cupcake again.

"That's terrifying!" the first duck shouted, ducking under the water.

"That's horrifying!" the second duck shouted, hiding under the bathroom rug.

"For once, I must agree with my brothers," the third duck admitted.

"Of all diseases for that hedonistic bee to get, this one is perfect," Cookies mumbled.

"So what do we do now?" Hairy asked the Doctor.

"You have to find the Sweet Tooth and capture it," the Doctor said. "Once captured, all the Sweet Tooth has to do is drop a single drop of their magic elixir on the patients tongue. But they're very tricky to find. They can fly and they hide in the kitchens.

Everyone turned and looked at Pumble's empty play kitchen. Hairy gulped.

"Let's go find a Sweet Tooth," he said.

To be continued...

Artichoke cheese dip and a little pink dress

Before we start talking about the goodness of cheesy artichoke dip, I have an announcement to make. Ya'll remember my friend Libby, don't you?




My dear, sweet, favorite buddy Libby who loves sweets and barbecue as much as I do? Well, Libby has a blog now!



And this isn't any blog. It's a blog about a pink dress, a ladies' bet and heading down the road to fabulousness. It's really fun, I promise. I know you'll love her as much as I do!

So go visit her at www.fabulouslittlepinkdress.blogspot.com !

Now, let's talk artichokes. And cheese.



Normally I'm not a fan of artichokes. The whole ripping leaves and dipping in butter to scrape stuff off on your teeth just doesn't appeal to me. If I'm going to go to all that work ripping and scraping, you can bet it will be a barbecued beef rib.

However, I do like artichoke hearts when they are mixed into tasty dishes like this one. I wouldn't eat them straight out of the can, but I love them in a dip.



I know what you're thinking. "Excuse me, Blond Duck, this looks like a big pile of yellow goo. It looks like paste for the side of the house or something."

Looks can be deceiving. This dip is so tasty that I'll use it as a spread on sandwiches or toast. It's dangerously delicious. I ate so much of it on Saturday I thought artichokes would dangle from my ears.

The original recipe is different than the one I used (of course), so I'll add my modifications in pink. It contains spinach and Libby was bringing spinach dip, so I didn't want to double up. The original also includes Romano cheese, which I was too lazy to figure out how to get it out of it's little packaging and grate without a greater.

I never said I was a culinary artist. I just like food.

Without further ado....



Hot artichoke cheese (and spinach) dip

1 (8 oz.) package of cream cheese
1/4 cup of mayo (I dumped in probably half a cup of fat free mayo.)
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese (Shredded and 1/2 of a Kraft bag of it.)
1/4 cup grated Romano cheese (No grater + lazy Blond Duck+ complicated packaging= no Romano cheese)
1 clove of garlic, peeled and minced (I used garlic powder.)
1/2 tsp. dried basil
1/4 tsp. garlic salt
salt and pepper to taste
1 (14 oz.) can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped (Since I wasn't using spinach, I added an additional 7 oz. can. I might do this even if you use the spinach. I also swirled these up in a blender.)
1/2 cup of frozen spinach, thawed and drained
1/4 cup shredded mozzarella cheese (I probably used half a bag of the shredded Kraft stuff. I love cheese.)

1)Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease a small baking dish.

2) In a medium bowl, mix together cream cheese, mayonnaise, Parmesan cheese, Romano cheese, mozzarella cheese, garlic salt, pepper. Stir in artichoke hearts and spinach.

3) Top mixture with more mozzarella cheese after transferring to baking dish. (I forgot to top it.) Bake for 25 minutes until bubbly and lightly browned.

(Original recipe from allrecipes.com.)


Enjoy ya'll. And go see Libby!

Tomorrow--a new Land of the Flowered Bed!

Twirl

The old dancehall was empty and dark for the middle of the afternoon. She pushed the creaky wooden door open, sunlight glaring across the worn floorboards.

"Hello?" she called in a timid voice, stepping across the threshold. She couldn't help but smile at how ridiculous her sneakers and tights looked next to a saloon bar. There was even a bullet slug in the counter. And she was standing here in a leotard and ballet skirt, her hair twisted in a bun.

"Hello?" she called again, creeping closer to the stage. She knew she shouldn't be here. She should be driving home, filling out college applications and doing her chemistry homework.

But the dancehall looked so sad, empty after all the summer tourists had piled back into their trucks and driven back down the highway. While she fluttered across wooden floors in toe shoes on hot summer nights, she had watched the lights at the dance hall flicker and wink at her. Everyone always looked happy going in, and people always stumbled out laughing. Sometimes they left the door open, and she could sneak a peek inside as she did her plies at the bar. While her every step was measured and controlled, the girls at the dancehall did fun kicks and shuffled across the floor in the arms of cowboys wearing tight Wranglers with skoal rings. They wore mini skirts and boots and sang loudly to bad country songs.

Deciding the dancehall was closed on Mondays, she set down her dance bag. Walking to the center of the floor, she held up her arms to an imaginary partner.

"One, two, three, four," she counted, shuffling her sneakers across the floor like she had seen the dancers do. "Five, six, seven, eight." She held up her hand and let her pretend partner twirl her, then bent her spine back in a dip. As she lowered her head, she saw a pair of scuffed up boots.

"You're doing it wrong."

Snapping upright, she whirled around. Deep in the shadows of the bar stood a boy her age, wearing faded jeans and worn brown boots. Lines crinkled around his eyes and his lips were curled in a smile.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I know I shouldn't be in here. I just watched from my dance class and just wanted to--I'm sorry. I'll leave." She fled to her bag, her cheeks erupting in red flames.

"Just wanted to what?" His voice was quiet and amused.

Clutching her black bag to her thin leotard, she looked down and murmured, "I just wanted to learn how to dance."

"Seems like you know how to dance," he said, nodding to her leotard and tights. "Probably better than we do."

She shook her head, a few wisps of hair escaping from her tight bun. "No, I mean really dance," she said. He stayed quiet. The words poured out of her in a rush.

"You see, I've been doing ballet all my life," she burst out. "All I've done is pirouette and leap and arabesque. I mean sure, it's great, and sure I've got offerings from a dance company. But I've watched you all summer, and the people that dance here have more fun than I've ever had on stage. You all seem so happy--so free. You shuffle and you kick and you--well, you twirl! I want to twirl!" As soon as the words left her mouth, she clapped her hand over it. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I don't know what's wrong with me." She rushed across the room, her pink ballet skirt fluttering in the dark wooden room.

"Can you be here tomorrow at eight?"

In the old doorway, she turned. "Tomorrow? Eight?"

He nodded, his blue eyes twinkling. "I'll see you here then. My name's Wade. And oh, darling?" he added as she turned to flee.

"Yes?" She froze, clutching the doorway so hard splinters stabbed her skin.

"If you want to dance right, you need some boots and jeans," he said, one side of his lips stretching into a grin. "You got any of those?"

Her head bobbed up and down. She tried to breathe.

"See you tomorrow," he said, turning back to the bar. She rushed across the street, leaping to her car in the dance studio parking lot.

It wasn't until she was almost home she realized she had never told him her name.


The next night, she slipped out of ballet class early and exchanged her tights for her jeans. Sneaking out of the back door, she pulled a black tight shirt over her leotard and shook her curls free from the bun.

The dancehall was busy tonight. Cars stuffed the parking lot and people loitered in the doorway and parking lot with beers. She ducked her head as she hurried inside. The room smelled of tobacco and fried chicken. A woman at the bar with two pigtails and a hoop through her nose shouted, "Honey, who are you here with?"

She had barely cracked her mouth open when Wade appeared next to her. "I got it, Helen," he called. The woman shrugged and turned back to her customers. The next thing she knew, Wade had taken her hand and was pulling her through the tables to the dancehall.

"I forgot to tell you," she shouted over the music. "My name is Vivi."

He just smiled. Tossing her dance bag to another man, he pulled her onto the crowded floor. They were immediately swept into the continuous swirl of dancers circling the floor. Some couples shuffled, some two stepped, other waltzed. Vivi tried to watch as Wade took her right hand in his and placed a warm hand on her back.

"This is all very different," she murmured to Wade as they hopped and stepped in a grapevine pattern. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"That's the point," Wade said with a grin. "Just have fun." The slow song turned quick, and the dancers whooped with glee. Vivi found herself swirling around the dance floor in Wade's strong arms. She laughed as he lifted her in the air and expertly guided her with his quick steps. Her legs were racing across the floor and her chest was so full of joy she thought she could burst.

"Ready?" he asked. Without letting her answer, he pulled her hand up and twirled her around and around and around. She twirled and twirled and twirled.

All she ever had wanted to do was twirl.

A new season

They were everywhere. They floated over the highway and danced in the clouds. They fluttered in the trees and floated over the sidewalk. They were in the Walgreen's parking lot and sunbathing on the flowers in my front yard. No matter where I went or where I looked, all I saw was butterflies for days.

As I walked down the sidewalk, a familiar friend brushed against my cheek.

"Where did they all come from?" I asked immediately.

"We could ask the same about you," he teased, clutching onto the strands of my pale hair. He wove the strands around his tiny hands, fluttering his wings gently.

"Why are they here?" I tried again.

"It is fall." His voice was warm and full of joy. His bright orange and gold wings fluttered against the soft gold of my hair; his fall next to my summer. "It is a new season, a time for new beginnings. You're fresh on a new beginning yourself."

"How did you know?" My mouth dropped open.

"We always know," he reminded me. "But this beginning will be different than all the others."

"Because I only have a year?" I let the words tumble over my tongue. For the first time, I really tasted them. I had a year. Only a year to achieve the goals I set for myself at 19. One tiny year.

The butterfly fluttered his wings as if he sensed my thoughts. "A year is a long time," he said gently. "But it also is only an instant."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, the fear and uncertainty beginning to freeze my thoughts. "It's just so frustrating," I murmured, letting him slide down my hair and nestle on my neck. "No many how many hours I have, I never can quite get everything done."

"And you never will," the butterfly replied, his voice pure honestly. There were no excuses, no whines or whimpers in his words. "But that is not what is different about this beginning. You're what is different."

"How so?" I asked. I had only been a year older for a day now.

"You are not afraid," he whispered, the words grazing my ear like a silky ribbon. "Even while facing nothing but uncertainty, you know what will happen. You are confident in yourself and your abilities. You are no longer depending on anyone for comfort."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," I grinned. "I'm still pretty crazy."

The butterfly's antennae twitched. "That will never change," he replied dryly. I giggled, my shoulders bouncing as the butterfly leaped to my neck in alarm.

"So what does it mean?" I asked as we rounded the corner.

"You know what it means," the butterfly said, his tone stern. "It means you're open to options, for possibilities. You no longer have the comfort of never ending stability."

"And that's bad," I said sharply. "I don't like change. I don't like the idea that everything will be upside down. I don't like the idea of not knowing."

"But that's what makes it so grand," the butterfly whispered, his wings tickling my cheek. "That's what makes this beginning so different."

"I don't understand." My voice haltered. The butterfly flew to the tip of my nose. His wings opened and closed slowly as he stared into my eyes.

"When one doesn't know the road ahead, one can go anywhere," he replied simply. "And you will. You have the strength to trust yourself now. You have the heart to do it." And with that, he fluttered into the breeze. His orange wings blended in with the dozens of other butterflies, flapping in the bright sky until I could no longer see him. Smiling, I brushed a tree as I passed toward the door. A few leaves tumbled on my shoulder and I caught them in my palm.

It was a new season.