Small and Nasty

From the 'Maybe it was better before we messed with it' file...

It's summer.

And we have mosquitoes.

Have I mentioned that I really don't like mosquitoes?

I'm sure I have.

But
things could be far worse...

“Oh, crap! The mosquitoes are out!” Lucy reached into her beach bag and pulled out a large bottle of bug-repellant. Uncapping it, she looked around at her companions. “Have I mentioned how much I hate mosquitoes?”
“Frequently,” Marie said.
Darius frowned. “Is there a word that means more-than-frequently?”
“How about ‘constantly’?” Frank asked.
“Perfect!”
Lucy made a face at them, then proceeded to rub repellant onto every exposed surface.
There weren’t many. The temperature was in the eighties, but Lucy was kitted out in long-sleeves, long pants, thick wool socks and ankle-high hiking boots.
She put down the bottle and grabbed her beekeeper’s hat. “There.” She adjusted the net. “I’m ready.”
Darius rapped on her hat. “Hello?” he said. “Can Lucy come out to play?”
Everyone, except Lucy, laughed.
“Shuddup!” Lucy folded her arms.
Marie looked around. “Honestly, Luce, they’re not that bad.”
“Believe me, Mare, even one is bad!” Lucy peered out through her screen. “If I could have my way, I would go back to the day the first two mosquitoes appeared and SMASH THEM FLAT!”
Darius laughed. “Stop beating around the bush, Luce, and tell us what you really think!”
Lucy glared at him. “Think of what I would save all of you from! Think of the service it would be to mankind if they never had to contend with those little, evil blood-sucking parasites!”
“When did we start talking about politicians?” Frank asked.
“I hate you all,” Lucy said.
Everyone laughed again.
“But think of all the companies that would fold if mosquitoes were eradicated from our world,” Marie said. “Every company that manufactures repellant in all its myriad shapes and forms.”
Lucy sniffed. “Well, they’d just have to find other things to repel. And sucks to be them.”
Marie laughed. “You’re a hard case, Luce. A hard case.”
“So now that you’ve got me up here as mosquito bait in the wilds, what are you planning to do with me?” Lucy asked.
Frank took a deep breath. “Well, if we could unwrap you, we were planning on a swim in the lake,”
“And maybe a hike and a nice wiener roast around the campfire,” Darius added.
Lucy patted her hat. “Sorry guys. But the wrapping stays on. I’ll just watch.”
Frank looked at Marie and Darius. “Why do we keep on doing this to ourselves?”
Marie laughed. “What is the definition of ‘insane’? When you keep doing the same things expecting a different outcome.”
“I guess we’re all insane,” Darius said.
“Well I am,” Lucy said. “I keep coming out here, expecting a quiet, mosquito-less experience.”
Darius made a face. “Yep. It’s official. We’re all insane.”
* * *
“So how was your weekend?” Jen asked.
“Well, most of us had a great time,” Marie said.
Lucy stuck her tongue out at her friend.
Jen laughed. “Let me guess. You tried to get Lucy-the-mosquito-hater out of her armour.”
Marie sighed volubly. “It was hopeless. Hopeless.”
“Did the rest of you enjoy yourselves?”
Marie smiled and nodded. “Yeah. The lake was warmer than I ever remember it being. The hike was wonderful and the campfire—a great end to a great weekend.” She looked at Lucy. “If we hadn’t had to drag Luce’s sorry butt around all weekend, it would have been perfect!”
“Hey!” Lucy glared at her. “I didn’t ask you to haul me out to ‘mosquito haven’!”
Marie laughed and turned back to Jen. “Really, we had a fun time. I think even Lucy enjoyed herself, once we moved inside.”
Jen shook her head. “Luce, you really have a thing about mosquitoes.”
“I think there is a word for it,” Marie said. “Phobia.”
“A mosquitobia?” Jen asked.
“Or a phobosquito,” Marie suggested.
Both women laughed.
Lucy shook her head and stomped off to her lab.
* * *
“Who’s to pay today, Lare?” she asked.
Her lab assistant, Larry turned to look at her. “Oh, Hello, Boss! Have a good weekend?”
“Why does everyone keep on asking me that?” Lucy muttered.
Larry stared at her. “I guess…because they’re wondering if you had a good time?”
Lucy sighed. “Yes. I had a nice weekend. It would have been better if a few less mosquitoes had showed up, but still, we had a good time.”
Larry shook his head and grinned. “You and your mosquitoes.”
Lucy made a face. “Can we please start our day?”
Larry coloured slightly. “Sorry, Boss.” He turned and picked up a delicate instrument from the cluttered workbench in front of him. “I have been thinking and thinking all weekend. Going over the results of that final test we did on Friday, and I think I’ve figured it out. Initially, everything works. But we always seem to come to grief when we try to increase the power. The damper field erodes, spilling energy and causing the entire process to break down, system by system.”
Lucy nodded.
He went on. “I filmed that last attempt and went over it frame by frame.” He held up the device. “I observed two weak joints in the whole process, here and here.” He indicated. “I have reinforced the shielding in those two places.”
Lucy carefully took the device from Larry’s hands, cradling it gently in her own. “You think it could be that simple?”
“I do,” Larry said. “Who was it who said that the simplest solutions are often the right ones.”
“I don’t know, but I think he – or she – is a genius.” Lucy grinned. “Or an idiot.”
Larry raised his eyebrows. “I’m going to vote for genius. Shall we give it a whirl?”
“Lead on.”
The two of them crossed the lab.
“Oh, I had them replace the door in the booth,” Larry said. “Again.”
Lucy grinned. “We are rather hard on doors.”
“Well, I think replacing a few is a small price to pay.”
“And I agree with you,” Lucy said. “But I don’t know if the powers that be agree with us.”
Larry sighed dramatically. “Lack of vision, Boss. Complete lack of vision.”
Lucy laughed and stood to one side as Larry opened a heavy glass door, then crossed a small inner chamber and pressed a recessed button in a console on the wall. A square panel lowered slowly, revealing intricate and delicate wires and connectors.
Lucy placed the instrument she held into the only clear spot and fastened it carefully while Larry attached several connectors.
Then they both ran through the checklist mentally.
“One more time, and I think we’re ready to try again,” Lucy said.
“I’ll get the list. Let’s do this right.” Larry ran to his workbench and came back with a clipboard.
The two of them checked off each item.
“Well?” Lucy looked at her assistant.
Larry nodded. “Let’s do it!”
“I’ll get the camera,” Lucy said.
Larry followed her from the booth and moved to a console across the room. “Starting the countdown.”
“Give me ten seconds.”
“Right.”
Lucy picked up a small video camera and carried it back into the booth. “How much time should I give it?”
“Oh, I think we need at least thirty seconds.”
“Okay, I’m going to set it for thirty.” Lucy pressed some buttons, then looked at Larry. “We can always increase it later.”
He laughed. “Yeah. If there is a later.”
“Hey! No pessimism allowed!”
“Sorry!”
“Ready?” Lucy set the small camera on a pedestal that she pulled to the centre of the booth. She smiled down at it. “Ready.”
“Okay,” Larry said. He paused. “Maybe you should join me on this side of the glass,” he added.
“Oh. Right.” Lucy stepped out of the booth and carefully closed the door. She took a deep breath. “Here we go again.”
Larry flipped a switch and spoke into a small mike. “July 19. Process 486.2B. Trial 46.” He looked at the large clock on the wall. “Time: 9:49 AM.”
“Do it,” Lucy said.
Larry pressed the large, brown button in the centre of his console. “We’re away!”
Lucy reached out and gripped Larry’s hand as ribbons of orange light began to swirl about the small booth. More and more. Faster and faster.
The booth began to glow.
“This is as far as we’ve come before,” Larry said.
“I know,” Lucy whispered, tensely. “Turn it up.”
Larry reached for a dial on the far right side. “Ready?”
Lucy nodded jerkily, not taking her eyes from the glowing booth in front of her.
Larry slowly began to twist.
The glow brightened. A high-pitched hum began.
And then, with a faint ‘pop’, the camera disappeared.
The glow died suddenly and completely.
Lucy looked at Larry, her eyes wide. “Did it…?”
“I don’t know,” Larry said. He had his eyes on the clock.
For several seconds, both of them watched the sweep of the second hand as it made its way silently around the clock face.
Finally, Larry pushed a second button.
With another ‘pop’ the camera re-appeared. Sitting innocently on its pedestal, looking as though it had never left.
Lucy caught her breath, and gripped Larry’s hand even harder. She started forward.
“Wait,” Larry cautioned, pulling her back. “Let me shut everything down first.” He pressed several buttons and turned a couple of dials. “Okay. That should do it.”
The two of them made their way slowly to the door of the booth.
Lucy reached for the doorknob. She looked at Larry and grinned. “Ready?”
He grinned back. “Ready.”
“And remember, Lare, it’s our secret!”
Larry nodded jerkily, eyes on the door.
She turned the knob.
* * *
“It is with great pleasure that we present this award to the team of Doctors Lucy Snow and
Lawrence McGovern.”
The applause was thunderous as Lucy and Larry made their way to the podium. Breathless and
smiling, they stood there in the spotlight and waved to the crowd.
“Dr. Snow? Dr. McGovern?”
They turned.
“The Scintell Company is proud to present you with this award of astounding achievement,” Dr.
Rogers said, holding out a large, silver plate. “In recognition for your amazing contributions this
year.”
Lucy reached for the heavy trophy. “Thank you, Dr. Rogers,” she said.
“We are honoured,” Larry added.
Dr. Rogers laughed. “It’s so nice to be able to come out from behind the president’s boring desk
once in a while and mix with the people who do the real work in this company.”
He waved for silence and, after several long seconds, got it. “I have one other announcement to
make at this time.” He smiled at Lucy and Larry. “Another rather momentous one, in fact.”
The room was so still, the sound of a green bottle fly buzzing against a window echoed loudly.
Dr. Rogers took a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with a person representing the Nobel
Committee and your work has been recognized as the most significant of this year in your field.”
He looked at his two doctors. “You have been awarded the Nobel Prize for Physics!”
The applause and cheering were deafening.
Dr. Rogers put a hand on each doctor’s shoulder. “Thank you both for your achievement,” he
said quietly as the noise went on around them.
Lucy, feeling slightly breathless and more than a trifle faint, said, “Well, Dr. Rogers, we have to
return the thanks. If it weren’t for the support and the faith of this company, even as we carried
on our experiments in absolute secrecy, Dr. McGovern and I would never have been able to
achieve this milestone.” She stepped to the edge of the dais and looked out at the crowd, who
slowly quieted. “And thanks to all of you!” She held up the trophy. “This is for all of us!”
Dr. Rogers was back at the mike. “So, what’s next?” he asked.
“Oh, we have many plans,” Lucy said, her eyes glowing. “Many, many plans.”
* * *
Larry tipped his head to one side. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”
“Lare, this is all about functionality, not fashion,” Lucy said.
“Okay.” Larry grinned. “If you say so.”
“Oh, shuddup and get on with it,” Lucy said, grinning back.
Larry laughed. He twisted a couple of dials. “Okay, I’m ready. Got your scanner?"
Lucy pulled the strap of a small bag over her shoulder and buttoned her heavy, cotton jacket.
“Yep. I'm ready, too.”
“You’re sure you’ve got it right this time?”
“Lare, haven’t we done this enough times that you can stop asking me that?”
Larry shrugged. “You keep looking and looking. And you haven’t found them yet.”
“I’m feeling lucky this time,” Lucy said. “My research was just a trifle off before. I’m sure I’ve
got it right this time.”
“So…how long do you want me to give you?”
“Oh, say…two days?”
“You think you can find them and finish the job in that short amount of time?”
“Lare. I told you. I’ve done my research this time.”
Larry shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
“I am.” Lucy grinned. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Well, I guess we should get on with it.”
“Wish me luck,” Lucy said, stepping into the booth.
“You don’t need it. You’ve got research!”
Lucy stuck her tongue out at him.
“But, good luck!” Larry pushed the brown button.
An orange glow filled the booth. With a slight ‘pop’, Lucy disappeared.
Larry set some controls and glanced at the clock. He pressed a button. “Trial 238, proceeding.
Time: 2:59 PM.” Then he left the room.
* * *
Marie took a bite of her sandwich. “So what have you decided? Are you going to come with us
this weekend?” she asked.
“I can think of nothing I’d like more,” Lucy said.
“Really?” Marie stared at her. “‘Cause you usually don’t like going into the outdoors. You
always complain about how dangerous it is.”
Lucy smiled. “Well, maybe I’ve got a little secret.”
“A secret?” Marie looked at her. “Something that makes it less dangerous?”
Lucy smiled. “Maybe.”
Marie shrugged. “Well, anyway, we’re planning on leaving after work on Friday.”
“Meet you at the front doors?”
“Sounds good!”
* * *
“Oh, I’ve waited all week for this!” Frank said, relaxing back into his chair.
“Just look at that sky!” Marie said. “You simply can’t see a sky like that when you’re stuck in
the city!”
Lucy smiled.
“Lucy! You’re not smothering yourself in repellant!” Darius said.
He handed a bottle to Frank, who squirted some into his hands and started rubbing his head and
arms.
“No need,” Lucy told him.
“What?” Marie stared at her. “This from the girl who bathes in the stuff?”
Lucy’s smile grew wider. “I just happen to know something you don’t.”
“What can that be?” Marie asked. “Frank, hurry up. There are people in line.”
Frank handed her the bottle.
She popped the lid and poured a line down one bare thigh. Then held it up and shook it slowly
from side to side. “Lucy. Last chance. Want some?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, I’m good. I happen to know that no mosquito will ever bite me
again.”
The others stared at her.
“Mosquito?” Marie asked, rubbing her thigh absently. “What is that?”
Lucy laughed. “Of course you don’t know,” she said. “I killed the first one. Snuffed the entire
species out before they even got a toe hold.” She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Best
moment of my life.”
Marie blinked, then shrugged. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said. She pushed
the top back on the bottle and dropped it under her chair.
Lucy was watching her. She frowned suddenly. “Wait. Why are you…? Marie, hand me that
bottle.”
Marie picked it up and tossed it to her.
Lucy turned the bottle and stared at it. There was a picture of the lizard on the front.
“T-spray? T-Spray!” she looked at her friends. “What is this?!”
They stared at her.
“This from the woman who has been basting in the stuff for the past how many years?” Frank
asked.
Darius pointed to the picture. “I assume that the person who discovered time travel and has spent
the past year trotting through the eons can read?”
Lucy glared at him. “Of course I can read,” she snapped.
Darius pointed to the words under the picture.
Lucy frowned and drew the bottle closer. Repels tyrannosaurs and most species of carnivore.
Not effective on water beasts.
Just then, a loud roar split the silence.
“Oh, crap,” Marie said. “The tyrannosaurs are out.”


It's 'Fly' time!
The best day of the month!
When my sister bloggers and I share with you what is happening in our lives, minds and hearts.
This month, my focus was on those winged blood-suckers 

(as opposed to the suit-wearing kind...)
Now go and see what my sisters have created.
You'll be glad you did!
Karen at Baking In A Tornado
Marcia at Menopausal Mother

A Confusion of Cats

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,

How many were going to St. Ives?

Okay, mathematical geniuses (or Genii, if you really are a mathematical geni…never mind.)

8 people plus 343 cats plus 2401 Kits = ???

You have to know that, when Daddy first hit me with this little ditty, I spent the better part of my morning playtime working out that solution.

Just to realize I was wrong.

Wrong—o. Wrongity—wrong.

Dead wrong…

Less right?

Better.

Now, I want to say, here, that I had learned to question Daddy’s…questions. Usually there was a prank in there somewhere.

True story.

So crafty little me wasn’t going to be fooled by this one.

I had an answer!

And it was the right answer, too!

2,752 , Daddy! Take that! Hah!

Have any of you ever felt that heart-dropping sensation when your beloved dad tells you that your answer to the problem—that problem you’ve been working on ALL MORNING—isn’t right?

Sigh.

Let’s try again, shall we?

Piece by deceptive piece…

As I was walking to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives.

Okay, there are many peoples throughout the world who have practiced polygyny. Even the church I belong to practiced it for a time. (Ending in 1890.)

Sooo…not unheard of.

Just…scary.

I could accept that.

Each wife had seven sacks.

Now I have been shopping with my Mom (and more recently, my husby)—avid shoppers, both —and having seven sacks would be considered by either of them a worthwhile afternoon.

Ahem…

So wives and sacks.

Again. Okay.

So far, so good.

Each sack had seven cats.

Cats in sacks?! Seven of them?! Together?!

I can’t even imagine trying to transport seven cats together in a cattle-liner…

Each cat had seven kits.

Now we’re stuffing 49 (count ‘em!) 49 kittens in with the 7 cats?!

Sooo 56 felines of various ages and temperaments in an itty-bitty travelling space?

Has the SPCW (Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to—Whatever) been informed of this?

Cause even reading this ditty could constitute cruelty. (Certainly it was cruel to me!)

Not sure who is the most as risk, though…the cats or the people.

Moving on…

Kits, cats, sacks and wives…

Can anyone say a cattery menagerie? -snicker-

How many were going to St. Ives?

Trust me, the person narrating was definitely heading in the opposite (ie. correct) direction.

The Wild Bunch had just left.

Oh…wait. The Narrator was walking to St. Ives. And he met them, which means they were travelling in the opposite direction!

Thusly (is that a word?) they were travelling away from St. Ives.

Hey, I get it now!

The answer is 1! One! Uno! Une! Un! Eins! Um! Bir! Eén! Ett! En! Yksi! Jeden! Jedna! Egy!

etcetera…

So, Daddy. You’re telling me that all this time I spent pencil chewing and multiplying and adding has been a useless workout?

-grumble-

I should probably point out that I understand Daddy’s glee a little more now.

When one has a boisterous and over-achieving little girl, such an exercise is good for a couple of peaceful hours…

Just sayin’.

Each month about this time, my blogging sisters and I post...something. And reveal what's been going on in our hearts and minds and lives this month.

You've read mine.

Now hop over and see what my sisters have created!

You'll be glad you did!

Karen at Baking In A Tornado                                

Marcia at Menopausal Mother                                 

Sarah at Crazy Mama Llama

Baby Safety Time

 

Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top,

When the wind blows the cradle will rock,

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,

And down will come baby, cradle and all. 

Let’s tackle this little conundrum, shall we…?

The first line starts out well…

I mean, the ‘rocking-the-baby’ part.

I freely admit, I may have rocked a baby or two in my lifetime. 

It’s soothing.

For both baby and me.

It’s that tree top that rather sticks in my craw, so to speak.

This just sounds dangerous on so many levels.

How do we get the baby with said cradle into the treetop? Hmmm?

I’m picturing a ladder.

Iffy steps up.

Reaching from.

And somehow fastening at the same time?

This sounds like a job for several strong persons with proper safety equipment...

Employing modern methods of upping and fastening.

A lift complete with security rails.

Hardhats.

Safety vests.

Okay, those last probably aren’t necessary. But I like safety vests.

Bright colours.

Enhanced noticeability.

Go with me on this…

So we’ve raised the lift.

Now how do we ensure said cradle with baby stays where it will be put.

Hey. I’ve watched trees in the wind.

They get rather…boisterous and enthusiastic.

Like small children let out for recess.

But I digress…

That basket has to be fastened securely.

Bolts.

And maybe a steel beam or two?

Now the cradle is safely rocking in the wind.

Okay. I’ll accept that.

Ahhh…

Could we just stop the poem there?

With the baby happily—and safely—rocking in the wind.

You have to know the next lines are—needless to say…disturbing…

Because the poet (poetess?) blithely informs us that when the bough breaks…not if, but when…that sucker is going to fall?

BABY AND CRADLE AND PART OF THE TREE?!

FALL?! What the heck???!!!

And what idiot chose that bough?

Excuse me while I speak to my safety crew…

I’m going to have to re-do…

Rock-a-bye baby, safe on the ground (Can’t you just picture his little hard hat with safety vest?)

When the wind blows, it doesn’t matter because he’s inside being, you know, safe.

When the bough breaks no cradle will fall…because it’s outside, being a tree, and our baby is inside being a baby.

And down will come the bough, but sans baby and cradle (see above) because we’re not stoop-id.

I think it’s better…

And now, my Dad’s take on the whole strange tale of baby, cradle, bough, wind and tree…

My Dad had a speech impediment.

Sometimes, he said things backwards.

Oh, he could control it.

He just chose not to.

An odd trait for someone who was such a stickler for proper pronunciation at all other times.

And don't try to tell me that doesn't have any effect on a young child learning to talk.

For years, I thought the song, Rock-a-Bye Baby went like this:

Rock a bay bybee

On the tee trop.

When the blind woes,

The radle will crock.

When the brough bakes,

The fadle will crawl.

And down will bum caby

Adle and crawl.

You’re right. That’s not even English. But that’s how I thought it went.

And Dad said it made just as much sense his way.

I heard some kids singing it the right way and totally confronted them. 

Our conversation was as follows:

Me: What are you singing?

Them: Rock-a-Bye Baby.

Me: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

Them: Let’s play somewhere else.

As years went by, I realized that we really didn’t put the dirty dishes in the washdisher.

Or that salt didn’t come out of a shakesalter.

And that my favourite ice cream wasn’t scutterbotch.

I said it anyway…

What did you think?

Today is Fly on the Wall time!

Where my blogging sisters, 

Karen and Marcia and I reveal 

what's been going on in our hearts, 

lives and/or minds this month!

You've read mine...

Now go and see what they've been doing!

You'll be glad you did!

Baking In A Tornado 

Menopausal Mother

Really Thumbthing!

Scott Gustavson

Sometimes, dreams are answered and then prove to be anything but what the dreamer was expecting.

With me so far?

Maybe I should explain…

Many years ago, a hardworking farm couple were visited by none other than Merlin, the magician.

Yes. THAT Merlin.

The couple, not suspecting that they were entertaining royalty, welcomed the man warmly and gave him food and conversation.

Culminating in a very pleasant afternoon.

At the end of his visit, Merlin made a rather personal inquiry.

Apparently, despite the fact that the couple was generous and thoughtful and infinitely kind, he could see that, deep down, both were sad.

When he inquired, they finally confessed that their greatest wish—to have a baby—had never been granted.

The woman exclaimed that, even if she could have a child no larger than her husband’s thumb, she would be happy.

Okay, I just want to say here that I've always been afraid of getting a small dog for fear of stepping on it or, heaven forbid, sitting on it.

So I'm thinking this definitely wouldn't be MY wish.

Who's with me?

Ahem...

The idea tickled Merlin somewhat.

Okay, a lot.

And his next stop was to visit with the Queen of the Fairies to arrange it.

Because, of course he knew the Queen of the Fairies.

The two of them put their heads together and…erm…arranged.

Okay, I admit I have no idea how a Human Magician and an Elven Fairy Queen could possibly grant this wish.

That part is rather fuzzy in the details.

Regardless, a few months later, the good farm folk were blessed with a perfect little son, no larger than his papa’s thumb.

The Queen came to his christening and he was duly named, Tom Thumb.

For obvious reasons.

Okay, imagination only goes so far in these stories…

Moving on…

He was dressed in the finest, from a spider silk shirt to mouse skin shoes.

And treated with the kindness and love that only two thought-they-could-never-have-a-child-and-now-have-realized-their-greatest-wish parents could muster.

And he thrived.

Sort of.

I mean, there was that time he fell into his mother’s bowl and ended up almost being cooked with her pudding.

And the day he went with his mother to milk the cows and ended up being eaten by one of the aforementioned bovines.

What was a rare treat.

Oh, and the time he went to ‘help’ (I use this word hesitantly) his father plow the fields and got swooped up by an eagle, dropped on the head of a giant, eaten by said giant before being spit out because—let’s face it, no one wants to try to swallow something that fights back—and swallowed by a fish.

Did you ever have one of those days?

Fortunately, the fish was caught almost immediately and taken to the kitchens of the palace to be served to the King for his dinner.

And out popped Tom.

I’ve always wondered about that. I mean, how much air do you suppose there is inside a fish?

That brings up the whole Jonah and the whale story.

Or Pinocchio.

But we’ll save those for another time…

Where was I?

Oh yes. Tom. Fish. Palace kitchen.

Tom immediately captivated both the staff and the royals and quickly became a court favourite. In fact, the King was so taken with the little lad that he carried Tom around in the pocket of his waistcoat whenever he was out riding.

How’s that for a little favouritism?

Plus the fact that there are generally no puddings, cows, eagles, giants or fish in a King’s pocket, so Tom was infinitely safer.

Tom did go and visit his parents, who were always tearfully glad to see him, but his home now was with the King and court, so his visits were relatively short.

All was well.

Except for that day when he and the King had a misunderstanding and Tom, to escape what he thought was the King’s wrath, leaped onto the back of a butterfly and took off.

Of course you know he would fall off.

And land in a watering pot.

Where he nearly drowned.

But was saved at the last minute by a gardener’s child.

Whew.

The king was so relieved, he completely forgot he’d been upset with the little lad and made much of him instead, by ordering the royal tailors to make a new wardrobe (size 0000000000) and the royal harness maker to craft a tiny saddle, bridle and accoutrements to fit a Tom-sized steed—a

mouse, of course— and welcomed him into his Round Table of Knights.

And just so you know, our little Tom Thumb, he of the humble farmer/pudding/cow/eagle/giant/fish/butterfly/flowerpot upbringing became one of the best loved of King Arthur’s knights.

Proving once and for all that greatness isn’t always measured in size.

It's Fly time again!

That day when Karen, Marcia and I reveal what's been happening in our homes, minds and hearts this month.

Thank you for joining us!

I hope you enjoyed my contribution.

Now hurry over and read theirs.

You'll be glad you did!

Karen at Baking In A Tornado 

Marcia at Menopausal Mother   

And while I've got you here...
My book, Tom, Becoming, has been nominated for the Author of the Year award.
Could you...would you pleeease go and vote for me? Just click Here!
I'll love you forever!

Gardens by Mary

First of all, it will come as no surprise to many, because I may have mentioned it a few (dozen) times, but my mother was a major gardener.

We’re talking two acres of straight, weedless rows of amazing deliciousness.

From peas to pumpkins, corn to carrots to cauliflower, they were there. And grew due to my mother’s—and often my siblings’—extensive efforts.

You notice how I left me out of all of that.

That’s because most often Diane could be found under a tree at the edge of the garden.

Planting her own stuff…

Maybe I’d better just get to the poem:

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells,

And pretty maids all in a row.

First of all, who was Mary?

Queen?

Horticulturist?

Avid gardener next door?

Whoever she was, she was obviously a bit…cantankerous. Thus the whole ‘contrary’ moniker.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be known by another characteristic.

‘Sweet’ or ‘kind’ come instantly to mind. But I’d take ‘agreeable’. Or even non-threatening’.

But then we’d find ourselves in difficulties with the rhyme.

All I could come up with to rhyme with Sweet was Pete.

And though there were many words that rhymed with Kind: blind, find, re-find (snicker) but none of them were names I was familiar with.

And just try finding a name to pair with Agreeable. Or Non-threatening!

Yikes.

So Mary it is.

You know, now that I think about it, we could change Mary’s descriptors with little problem. Dairy, fairy, hairy (shudder), nary, scary…even very.

Just putting that out there…

So Contrary Mary (CM for short) had a garden.

And the writer wants to know how her garden grows.

Now, to me, this would suggest gardening tips.

You know, watering, ph balance, nutrition, drainage.

But obviously this writer was interested, not in the ‘how’, but in the ‘what’.

And CM had an answer:

Silver bells, for one.

Now the term ‘silver bells’ conjures up a few lovely things for me.

None of them eat-able.

In the real world, they are either a “broadleaf evergreen perennial or a deciduous plant”.

Both recognized for their ornamental value and unique 

characteristics.

But not their eat-ability.

Ha! See? I was right! Non-eat-able.

So, obviously, CM wasn’t intent merely on esculent cultivation.

But was in search of something pretty and see-worthy.

And now on to the ‘Cockle Shells’.

???

Definitely not plants!

These are exclusively marine bi-valves.

Found in the…marine.

Certainly not in a garden in the…non-marine.

Trim, maybe. But not plants. So probably not ‘growing’ at all.

I’m beginning to think that CM’s garden is more of a ‘stroll-around-and-see-stuff’ place than a ‘let’s-raid-the-garden-and-eat-stuff!’ place.

I mean, both have their…erm…place.

Moving on…

Lastly we have the ‘Pretty Maids’.

Again…flowers. (“Perennials known for their airy clouds of white, pink striated flowers” to quote Gardener’s Weekly.)

Not veggies.

I’m beginning to think Mary’s garden isn’t what I imagined at all.

Okay, yes. Walking around a garden is peaceable and enjoyable and lots of other ‘-ables’.

But when one is hungry?

That one is heading for the picnic basket or to the food truck parked on or near the premises.

Am I right?

So I’m thinking our Contrary Mary is needing a bit of a re-do…

Scary Mary, very hairy

What does your garden grow?

There’s peas and beans.

And other greens,

So come and eat them…row by row!

I like mine better.

At last it's time for our Fly-on-the-Wall group to reveal what's been going on in our hearts, minds and/or homes this month!

You've read mine.

Now go and see what my Sister Bloggers, Karen and Marcia have to say!

You'll be glad you did!

Karen at Baking In A Tornado

Marcia at Menopausal Mother