Bennet Wimmer watched in horror as Grace Tenderstitch came full speed up the pasture towards him. He was absolutely transfixed, couldn't have moved if he wanted to. His toes tried to curl in his walking shoes around the bottom rung of the gate. He was vaguely aware that he was holding his breath, and part of him thought the best thing to do was to turn around and high tail it. The chin of her face seemed to lead the way, but mostly his eyes were fixed upon her breasts which unbound in her undershirt, bounced like two partially inflated umbrellas upon her chest as she flew up the path.
Grace was in a rage, that was a certainty. All of the anger and despair of the past months gathered themselves with unbelievable force at this perceived intrusion, and Grace felt an energy that she had missed as the adrenaline surged through her brain. Gone were the arthritic movements. Grace was shot like an arrow from a bow of Outrage that hurled her without her good judgement at the Target of Bennet Wimmer. Murray hurried along at her side, saying quietly "Grace wait a minute...wait Grace...wait." He had seen Grace lose her temper before and usually the outcome was ...poor.
She bounced on, breasts bobbing, and slipped on a patch of mud, momentarily doing a wild kind of split. She caught herself and trying to recover some of her dignity, tugged her pajama bottom up, as they had slipped more than what she thought was prudent.
She had almost reached her destination when Bennet hopped backward from the gate, putting that firmly between them. He was not sure of her intentions. He had heard some stories about Grace when growing up, something about her hearing voices. He hadn't paid any attention, he was more interested in remembering the names and places of the trees, then participating in silly rumors about GIRLS. He found that he was smiling vaguely, sheepishly, and that his heart was beating fast in his own chest. (Run,he thought, RUN AWAY)
Grace stopped about six feet from the gate to her pasture. She glanced down and was aware that a few muffin crumbs clung precariously to her undershirt. She brushed then away, then self consciously crossed her arms over her breasts.
"What are you doing? Who are you and what do you mean spying on me like that? " Grace did not give him a chance to answer. "I know all about people like you. Voyeurs aren't you? Isn't that the name of people like you?" Her chest heaved. He started to speak but Grace cut him off. "If I ever see you train that ....monocular on me again I will Have you arrested. Do you understand me?" Grace spat this last part out like it was an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Her face was red. "The nerve of you...stalkers. I will set my dog on you if you dare come round here again." Murray looked at Grace doubtfully and hung his head.
Bennet Wimmer looked at Grace and could not help his smile. It was fixed to his face like he was born that way. He was mortified. Not knowing what else to do, he stuck out his hand and said "Hello, I think you are Grace...do you remember me? I am Bennet Wimmer, your neighbor."
Monday, May 31, 2010
Spying
Bennet Wimmer's scrutiny of the Tenderstitch Farm drew his gaze to the garden gate of the home where Grace lived. As he watched he saw movement there and he fished in his pocket for his Monocular. He liked to think that this single lens spyglass was something left over from playing Pirates as a child, but it came in handy. He trained the glass upon the form of Grace Tenderstitch and adjusted the Focus, upon her face.
Here is what he saw. Grace stood in the garden in the late morning in her pajamas, Murray at her side. Depressed people have a sometimes difficult time getting going in the morning and this was true for Grace. She was at best disheveled. Her hair was mopped above her face and caught in an elastic, from which hanks of gray shot out like ropes that had unraveled. Her mouth drooped at the ends, Curled downward in an expression of dissatisfaction that lined its way over into pouches at her chin line. Her eyes were half mooned underneath with purple, and puffy. A cup of coffee rose to her mouth and she sipped, choked and sputtered. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and Bennet could see that she spoke, but could not hear her words.
Meanwhile above him the bird that he thought was a hawk, but was in truth an Osprey, called again and glided down the pasture to hitch itself up on the Gate post near to Grace. He watched as Grace seemed to speak with the bird, and turned to look up the pasture to where he stood spying on her with his Monocular. He had a full view of her face, now angry, in his glass before he hastily pocketed it in his trousers. Much to his dismay, Grace Tenderstitch started through the gate and took a northward path through the pasture, and toward him.
Here is what he saw. Grace stood in the garden in the late morning in her pajamas, Murray at her side. Depressed people have a sometimes difficult time getting going in the morning and this was true for Grace. She was at best disheveled. Her hair was mopped above her face and caught in an elastic, from which hanks of gray shot out like ropes that had unraveled. Her mouth drooped at the ends, Curled downward in an expression of dissatisfaction that lined its way over into pouches at her chin line. Her eyes were half mooned underneath with purple, and puffy. A cup of coffee rose to her mouth and she sipped, choked and sputtered. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and Bennet could see that she spoke, but could not hear her words.
Meanwhile above him the bird that he thought was a hawk, but was in truth an Osprey, called again and glided down the pasture to hitch itself up on the Gate post near to Grace. He watched as Grace seemed to speak with the bird, and turned to look up the pasture to where he stood spying on her with his Monocular. He had a full view of her face, now angry, in his glass before he hastily pocketed it in his trousers. Much to his dismay, Grace Tenderstitch started through the gate and took a northward path through the pasture, and toward him.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Visitors
Ok this summer I am hanging out with a few friends, working in the Garden, and drinking fruit Nectar. Grace tenderstitch is going to Fall in Love this Summer and get over her Depression. Nothing like a little Limerence to get the Dopamine going!Sunday, May 23, 2010
Bennet Wimmer
Bennet Wimmer rose early as was his custom. He glanced downward at his wrinkled trousers and made a half hearted attempt to smooth the horizontal lines. He reminded himself that his appearance was not as important as it use to be. He was ambivalent about that as well as the decision he had made to return to his Mother's home, and assist her as her health failed. She was gone now for several weeks and he missed her. He also missed his old life as a professor of Botany at the Mosswood College in Littletwig, Florida.
Bennet stood before the bathroom mirror in his Mother's home and realized that it was his home now. He was not entirely comfortable with his inheritance, and felt like a child who had been given a set of hand me downs, and was expected to be grateful.
That was not exactly true,Bennet thought to himself. He loved it here. Truthfully, the property where he had grown up was almost sacred to him. The inspiration for his vocation had come from climbing in the trees, eating the wild raspberries and pruning the apple trees. There were so many things to be sorted out, not the least of which was the direction of his own life in "Retirement."
Bennet slipped his feet into his walking shoes, and headed out the door to survey his property. It was time to make some decisions about where to begin his new life.
The spring had come and was about to exit into full summer. He climbed the gently sloping yard to the field beyond. It had once been plowed and produced a great deal of garden vegetables; tomatoes, corn, and squash. He made a mental note to check the seed catalog for short season vegetable seeds. A hawk called over head and Bennet looked up. He watched the bird glide to a distant tree and light there, looking down at him. He hiked his long legs across his field in the direction of the trees, and hawk and the fence to his neighbor's property. The hawk called noisily from the tops of a maple, as if to summon him . "I am coming," thought Bennet as he crested the slope. He wondered momentarily at this thought, fanciful as it was. "I remember this place," Bennet said aloud. He climbed the wide gate that joined the ends of an old stone fence. The fence had crumbled in some places but was largely intact. It neatly hemmed an emerald patch of pastureland. The morning sun illuminated the green and it seemed to glow golden. Bennet Wimmer, stood like he did as a child, with his feet on the bottom rung of the gate and looked at the northern pasture of the Tenderstitch farm.
Bennet stood before the bathroom mirror in his Mother's home and realized that it was his home now. He was not entirely comfortable with his inheritance, and felt like a child who had been given a set of hand me downs, and was expected to be grateful.
That was not exactly true,Bennet thought to himself. He loved it here. Truthfully, the property where he had grown up was almost sacred to him. The inspiration for his vocation had come from climbing in the trees, eating the wild raspberries and pruning the apple trees. There were so many things to be sorted out, not the least of which was the direction of his own life in "Retirement."
Bennet slipped his feet into his walking shoes, and headed out the door to survey his property. It was time to make some decisions about where to begin his new life.
The spring had come and was about to exit into full summer. He climbed the gently sloping yard to the field beyond. It had once been plowed and produced a great deal of garden vegetables; tomatoes, corn, and squash. He made a mental note to check the seed catalog for short season vegetable seeds. A hawk called over head and Bennet looked up. He watched the bird glide to a distant tree and light there, looking down at him. He hiked his long legs across his field in the direction of the trees, and hawk and the fence to his neighbor's property. The hawk called noisily from the tops of a maple, as if to summon him . "I am coming," thought Bennet as he crested the slope. He wondered momentarily at this thought, fanciful as it was. "I remember this place," Bennet said aloud. He climbed the wide gate that joined the ends of an old stone fence. The fence had crumbled in some places but was largely intact. It neatly hemmed an emerald patch of pastureland. The morning sun illuminated the green and it seemed to glow golden. Bennet Wimmer, stood like he did as a child, with his feet on the bottom rung of the gate and looked at the northern pasture of the Tenderstitch farm.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sale on MY ETSY
Sale on My Etsy. Althea and Willa are greatly reduced! See my Etsy on the LEFT. Have a lovely DAY!!!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
THE WINNER IS.....
Blueberries in the Field
is the WINNER. YAH!!!!!
Happy Mother's Day to everyone!
Friday, May 7, 2010
GRACE'S DREAM
"Moths do Not sting?" thought Grace as she stumbled back into the house. "That was supposed to make me feel Better? How about if I take a flyswatter to her overconfident little wings?...ManMOTH? Hmmph!"
Grace wanted to sulk. Maude had hurt her feelings that was certainly true, but there was something that Maude had said that had let a thought flutter loose in her head. It wandered just out of touch, ahead of her grasp somehow. Grace tried to calm herself enough to review the words that Maude had uttered. "Martyr" echoed down the halls of her self esteem. Well, I don't think so, thought Grace...but then again...she considered.Grace retreated from the thought and felt her own cheek, hot with anger.
Anger. real and right there at the surface. Maude's remarks and careless retorts had made her feel angry, or had she been angry before then? Angry. She had been so angry. And Anger realized made her feel Frightened and Anxious. Like she was going to take a ride on a wild beast, romp about and destroy the Garden. That night Grace had a dream. It was dark and there was something dripping on her head. She realized that she was covered by leaves and lay at the bottom of a large and suffocating Pile. The earth was gathered round close to her, pressed to shoulders with its rich loamy odor. At first, she panicked and tried to sit bolt upright, struggling for a bit of air. The leaves were gentle hands that pressed her down , down , down until she was sure she lay in a cave. All the while, there was something that dripped and dribbled on her head. Squinting she looked up to catch bits and pieces of her exchange with Maude, dribbling down through the ceiling of leaves above her. "Martyr" was the last thing that dripped through the mass, splashing coldly across her forehead, before she slept.
Grace wanted to sulk. Maude had hurt her feelings that was certainly true, but there was something that Maude had said that had let a thought flutter loose in her head. It wandered just out of touch, ahead of her grasp somehow. Grace tried to calm herself enough to review the words that Maude had uttered. "Martyr" echoed down the halls of her self esteem. Well, I don't think so, thought Grace...but then again...she considered.Grace retreated from the thought and felt her own cheek, hot with anger.
Anger. real and right there at the surface. Maude's remarks and careless retorts had made her feel angry, or had she been angry before then? Angry. She had been so angry. And Anger realized made her feel Frightened and Anxious. Like she was going to take a ride on a wild beast, romp about and destroy the Garden. That night Grace had a dream. It was dark and there was something dripping on her head. She realized that she was covered by leaves and lay at the bottom of a large and suffocating Pile. The earth was gathered round close to her, pressed to shoulders with its rich loamy odor. At first, she panicked and tried to sit bolt upright, struggling for a bit of air. The leaves were gentle hands that pressed her down , down , down until she was sure she lay in a cave. All the while, there was something that dripped and dribbled on her head. Squinting she looked up to catch bits and pieces of her exchange with Maude, dribbling down through the ceiling of leaves above her. "Martyr" was the last thing that dripped through the mass, splashing coldly across her forehead, before she slept.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
GRACE SPEAKS
"What is depression," began Grace. "What is it? I wish I could define it singularly, sum it up in a word, but its Bigger than a word, more invasive than a word and has ugly roots in the corners of my Being..."
"It is a Bad feeling. Complicated and malignant. Its like a sucker fish that travels unwelcome right upon the back of any good mood you have. Leeching the very light or Joy out of moments that are meant to be happy. Depression is sadness, Maude. It is grief, doubt, and anger suck in your gut, tunneled down deep. It is anger at yourself for Not doing something about the things that you can do SOMETHING about. It makes all the world look flat and the colors look faded. It makes all ideas seem either too big to actualize, or too trite to try or to stupid to begin. Its negativity Maude. Self defeating Negativity. It makes pain worse, and sleep a nightmare."
Maude looked up at Grace and said simply "Go on Grace."
"What is worse is I am not sure why I feel this way."
"Well, I hear there have been some goings on around here Grace. Something about an attack of the pie-rats and Prunella Fig-Pink melting into the floorboards of your own Bedroom? Is it true she wanted the Baggaraggs for herself?"
Grace thought for a minute and replied "Yes, I guess that's all so, but I think that's not what is really bothering me Maude.."
"Well, what the hell is it THEN???" Insisted Maude, who was not a patient Therapist.
"I am Tired. Tired of ..." Grace thought a minute. "I am just tired." She finished resigned to leave the end undiscovered. She knew what she was tired of but saying it would make it even uglier, like exposing a terrible and shameful wound.
"I think you'd better out with it Grace," said Maude. "Otherwise we will be here all NIGHT !"
Grace drew an imaginary line in her palm with her forefinger, and let out a sigh. "Jeez Maude, ...you are coming up a bit short on the sympathy."
"You don't need Sympathy Grace, you need a can opener from what I can see."
"I take care of everyone. " Grace said at last. "I am tired, and no one takes care of Me."
Maude rubbed her antennae together and smiled. "That's because you never let anyone take care of you Grace. I am going out to get myself taken care of right this Minute, find myself a nice big Mothman." Maude giggled and added "See ya tomorrow night and you'd better look up Martyr in the dictionary because your picture is right there next to it. Hahahaha" Maude Fluttered off Leaving Grace with her mouth hanging open.
"It is a Bad feeling. Complicated and malignant. Its like a sucker fish that travels unwelcome right upon the back of any good mood you have. Leeching the very light or Joy out of moments that are meant to be happy. Depression is sadness, Maude. It is grief, doubt, and anger suck in your gut, tunneled down deep. It is anger at yourself for Not doing something about the things that you can do SOMETHING about. It makes all the world look flat and the colors look faded. It makes all ideas seem either too big to actualize, or too trite to try or to stupid to begin. Its negativity Maude. Self defeating Negativity. It makes pain worse, and sleep a nightmare."
Maude looked up at Grace and said simply "Go on Grace."
"What is worse is I am not sure why I feel this way."
"Well, I hear there have been some goings on around here Grace. Something about an attack of the pie-rats and Prunella Fig-Pink melting into the floorboards of your own Bedroom? Is it true she wanted the Baggaraggs for herself?"
Grace thought for a minute and replied "Yes, I guess that's all so, but I think that's not what is really bothering me Maude.."
"Well, what the hell is it THEN???" Insisted Maude, who was not a patient Therapist.
"I am Tired. Tired of ..." Grace thought a minute. "I am just tired." She finished resigned to leave the end undiscovered. She knew what she was tired of but saying it would make it even uglier, like exposing a terrible and shameful wound.
"I think you'd better out with it Grace," said Maude. "Otherwise we will be here all NIGHT !"
Grace drew an imaginary line in her palm with her forefinger, and let out a sigh. "Jeez Maude, ...you are coming up a bit short on the sympathy."
"You don't need Sympathy Grace, you need a can opener from what I can see."
"I take care of everyone. " Grace said at last. "I am tired, and no one takes care of Me."
Maude rubbed her antennae together and smiled. "That's because you never let anyone take care of you Grace. I am going out to get myself taken care of right this Minute, find myself a nice big Mothman." Maude giggled and added "See ya tomorrow night and you'd better look up Martyr in the dictionary because your picture is right there next to it. Hahahaha" Maude Fluttered off Leaving Grace with her mouth hanging open.
Monday, May 3, 2010
BAGGARAGGS GIVEAWAY
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