Have you Met the Sea Captain Wendell and his Friend Antonia the Mermaid? They are currently for sale on Lemon Poppy Seeds. They met after a typhoon blew Wendel off couse in the Rag Ocean.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Miss Loretta Tilby the Librarian
Miss Loretta Tilby is available on Lemon Poppy Seeds. She is a very KIND Librarian...and encourages us to read...even trash romance novels!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Goblin Light of Prunella Fig-Pink
Meanwhile, in another part of the forest, the light from a Goblin Lamp illuminated a snowy path to Prunella Fig-Pink's cottage. There were blackened sticks that lined the pathway and seemed to beckon like many crooked old fingers. Old bottles clacked together in the night wind that were tied to the leafless tree branches. Their sounds were jagged and warning, and threatening to break in the frosty darkness..
The pie-rats trudged up this path, pulling their burden of the Thread pusher in an old red wagon. They strained and tugged, smoking tiny clouds of misty breaths into the night. It was hard work, even for the biggest Rats, who had powerful legs and claws. Peg-Leg rode on top of the Thread Pusher, yelling encouragement, and at times vituperative remarks to her minions. "Hurry on," she yelled. "Its freezing out here, you idiots."
Big Punzee strained harder. She was beyond speech at this point and longed to be warm, longed to sleep, and longed to turn and tell her mistress to "shut-up."
Prunella Fig-Pink waited inside. She had been waiting a long time and so waiting for her had become second nature. Waiting for what? you might ask yourself. Prunella had been waiting to have her party. She was waiting and had been waiting for over 15 years for her guests to arrive for a Birthday party that would celebrate her 16th year. She was now 31 years old. She remained in the same dress, with the same party hat, and the same underdrawers, with the same makeup that she wore 15 years ago. The crepe paper streamers were drooping but remained secured to the chandalier in the dining room. They were faded and dusty and stretched to a dull pink. The party hats were still waiting for heads to adorn, prizes were wrapped in faded paper and the cake, which was the masterpiece of the celebration, shaped as a castle, remained uncut in the center of the dining room table. Prunella had to spray it at times for bugs. What had been shocking pink frosting was now mossy green. The punch bowl was still on the side board, but the beet juice beverage which Prunella liked to serve at these kinds of festivities had dried to scum in the bottom of the bowl. But Prunella was very excited. Her guests were about to arrive. They were pulling something very heavy down her pathway in a red wagon, and unless Prunella was wrong, it would be a present for her. Her heart sang. Atlast! Atlast I will have my Party, she thought.
More Story. (sorry it was a while in coming.)
There was a fine sweat that gathered at the neckline and scalp of Grace Tenderstitch. The snow fell and she was aware that the rats had scattered. She leaned wearily on the shovel and rested her forehead against her arm, aware that she was cold and damp. In this moment she feared looking around and assessing the damage, fearful that she would find her friends broken and hurt beyond what she could repair. Her anger was spent in the swinging of the shovel, fending off the Pie-rats. Her adrenaline spent.
There was an intrusive and irrelevant thought that came into her mind that she was out of eggs, and would have to borrow a few from the chickens if she was too bake cookies tomorrow. She turned slowly to survey the scene behind her, as the animals rushed up to her.
"Remind me never to make you angry," said Ernie the weasel, as he eyed the flat shovel with a renewed respect.
"Is everyone alright? Can we get a head count ?" This from Grace who looked wearily at the tattered garden that was swiftly being buried as the snow fell.
"Is anyone injured? Hurt? Is everyone ok?" Grace persisted.
Most of her animal friends stood stunned with fatigue, some licked their injuries, some were trembling.
"Where is Tisdale? Where is Myron, Angus? and the others? "
Murray responded, "Everyone seems ok Grace, lets get them inside and tend to wounds."
Murray rounded them up as Grace watched, still attached to the shovel. Into the house they went, some nursing wounds that now were beginning to ache.
Several mice that had once lived in the basement of the Red Cross had set up a triage area, little cots and mats were spread upon the floor to rest upon.
The kitchen table had been turned into a treatment area with iodine and needles threaded with silk for suturing if the need arose. Grace tended their wounds and saw to warming Tisdale whose little body was half frozen with cold. He was placed under the kitchen lamp where the heat from the bulb would gradually warm him.
Murray waited patiently while Grace saw to the others before bringing her attention to the arrows stuck in his shoulders and ears like little darts.
She did all that she could, but some had savage rat bites that would require the administration of an antibiotic and she had none. She would contact the vet in the morning to get his help.
After what seemed a long while, Grace retired to bed. Her thoughts were scattered, racing and uneasy. Something was very wrong, and out of habit she got up and went into the studio to refocus her mind on something positve, a distraction. She switched on the light, and shielding her eyes from the brightness, looked up to see that the Thread Pusher was gone.
There was an intrusive and irrelevant thought that came into her mind that she was out of eggs, and would have to borrow a few from the chickens if she was too bake cookies tomorrow. She turned slowly to survey the scene behind her, as the animals rushed up to her.
"Remind me never to make you angry," said Ernie the weasel, as he eyed the flat shovel with a renewed respect.
"Is everyone alright? Can we get a head count ?" This from Grace who looked wearily at the tattered garden that was swiftly being buried as the snow fell.
"Is anyone injured? Hurt? Is everyone ok?" Grace persisted.
Most of her animal friends stood stunned with fatigue, some licked their injuries, some were trembling.
"Where is Tisdale? Where is Myron, Angus? and the others? "
Murray responded, "Everyone seems ok Grace, lets get them inside and tend to wounds."
Murray rounded them up as Grace watched, still attached to the shovel. Into the house they went, some nursing wounds that now were beginning to ache.
Several mice that had once lived in the basement of the Red Cross had set up a triage area, little cots and mats were spread upon the floor to rest upon.
The kitchen table had been turned into a treatment area with iodine and needles threaded with silk for suturing if the need arose. Grace tended their wounds and saw to warming Tisdale whose little body was half frozen with cold. He was placed under the kitchen lamp where the heat from the bulb would gradually warm him.
Murray waited patiently while Grace saw to the others before bringing her attention to the arrows stuck in his shoulders and ears like little darts.
She did all that she could, but some had savage rat bites that would require the administration of an antibiotic and she had none. She would contact the vet in the morning to get his help.
After what seemed a long while, Grace retired to bed. Her thoughts were scattered, racing and uneasy. Something was very wrong, and out of habit she got up and went into the studio to refocus her mind on something positve, a distraction. She switched on the light, and shielding her eyes from the brightness, looked up to see that the Thread Pusher was gone.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Some more New Folks
This is Bertha Ledbetter. you can find her for sale on the Lemon Poppy Seeds site. She is holding a Chicken. 
This is Sunny. A dove on a vintage Spool. I am not sure where she will be posted yet.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
New Folks
This is Clara, she is inspired by the geese on my friend Debra's blog Sparrowgrass.
This is Pricilla Mooney, she's from the Blue Lagoony.
This is Willa. I am hoping to have her on Lemon Poppy seeds. That is if I ever get on Lemon Poppy Seeds. I am working on it. I like her teeth.Saturday, March 7, 2009
War
In the Kitchen of the Baggaraggs, everyone was talking at once. There were suggestions about what to do, how to fight, and bits and pieces of past glories that were offered to substantiate battle plans. Grace Tenderstitch tried to patiently listen to every suggestion, but inside her self there was a battle raging that was as real as the one that was about to be fought at the Garden Gate. She looked at all of her sweet companions and felt that she would give up any of her possessions in order to keep them safe. She would not sacrifice any of them for a sewing machine.
Murray looked up at his mistress' face and saw the consternation written there. "What are you thinking Grace?" he said.
"I am thinking that they can have the Thread Pusher...I don't care, I can get another one. I would not like to lose any of you in a Battle over a simple sewing Machine."
"And than what Grace?" asked Murray. "And then what do they take from you?"
"Already they have invaded our woods, and have harmed you and Murray," added Swain.
"Will we allow them to Live here in the Baggaraggs? You know they will try to take our home, and drive us out...filthy rats." This from Ernie the Weasel.
"No Grace, we cannot turn back now...this thing is decided for us," Murray finished.
Grace Tenderstitch Paused and looked around. Her heart was beating very fast, she swallowed to still it, as she said "I will go and try to talk to them."
"There is no talking Grace, they did not come here to ask for help. They did not come to find out what could be done to assist their People. They did not come to open a Bakery, Pie-rats or no. They came to take our Thread Pusher and to inhabit our lands. I think they have come for the very Baggaraggs itself," said Murray angrily.
Deep inside Grace there came a realization. The thought opened itself like a curtain pulled back to reveal a bright morning. And the thought was this: There are some things that cannot be appeased. There would be no making this right, there would be no negotiating, no peace. The moment was hugely uncomfortable for her. There were no words that would fix this, no actions to repair it. This was something ugly that could not be made even a tiny bit beautiful. She feared the outcome for all of them.
There was the sound of a cry at the Garden Gate followed by "Attack, Attack!"
There was the call of Tisdales Shell, as Grace Tenderstitch rushed forward to the door and out into the Garden. She hastily grabbed a flat shovel as she went. Her companions scrambled to her aid and Murray charged ahead, growling and barking furiously.
"Get back, Get back," she cried as the rats swarmed toward her and her companions. The weasels and the badgers were fighting hand to hand , as the Pie-rats tried to gain the inner garden.
Grace rushed the Gate with her shovel swinging wildly, Sweeping rats into an arc in the air, as she went. She was yelling at times almost incoherently, but mostly what she screamed was "Get out Get out." She was smashing and swinging the shovel with a horrible force, so that all around her gave her a wide birth, so as not to be tossed high into the air with a smack of the shovel.
Swain the Cat, fought a group of rats who could danced warily around the end of his deadly skewer. Murray's teeth found a home in the backs of some who were fool hearty enough to try him.
And in the Darkness overhead, there came a scream of warning, as Windslow swept down with Maybell upon his back. Down he came with others of his kind, bringing Talons of Death. Grabbing, snatching, clutching, their silent wings cupping and covering their deadly business, as the rats screamed and tried to flee.
Murray looked up at his mistress' face and saw the consternation written there. "What are you thinking Grace?" he said.
"I am thinking that they can have the Thread Pusher...I don't care, I can get another one. I would not like to lose any of you in a Battle over a simple sewing Machine."
"And than what Grace?" asked Murray. "And then what do they take from you?"
"Already they have invaded our woods, and have harmed you and Murray," added Swain.
"Will we allow them to Live here in the Baggaraggs? You know they will try to take our home, and drive us out...filthy rats." This from Ernie the Weasel.
"No Grace, we cannot turn back now...this thing is decided for us," Murray finished.
Grace Tenderstitch Paused and looked around. Her heart was beating very fast, she swallowed to still it, as she said "I will go and try to talk to them."
"There is no talking Grace, they did not come here to ask for help. They did not come to find out what could be done to assist their People. They did not come to open a Bakery, Pie-rats or no. They came to take our Thread Pusher and to inhabit our lands. I think they have come for the very Baggaraggs itself," said Murray angrily.
Deep inside Grace there came a realization. The thought opened itself like a curtain pulled back to reveal a bright morning. And the thought was this: There are some things that cannot be appeased. There would be no making this right, there would be no negotiating, no peace. The moment was hugely uncomfortable for her. There were no words that would fix this, no actions to repair it. This was something ugly that could not be made even a tiny bit beautiful. She feared the outcome for all of them.
There was the sound of a cry at the Garden Gate followed by "Attack, Attack!"
There was the call of Tisdales Shell, as Grace Tenderstitch rushed forward to the door and out into the Garden. She hastily grabbed a flat shovel as she went. Her companions scrambled to her aid and Murray charged ahead, growling and barking furiously.
"Get back, Get back," she cried as the rats swarmed toward her and her companions. The weasels and the badgers were fighting hand to hand , as the Pie-rats tried to gain the inner garden.
Grace rushed the Gate with her shovel swinging wildly, Sweeping rats into an arc in the air, as she went. She was yelling at times almost incoherently, but mostly what she screamed was "Get out Get out." She was smashing and swinging the shovel with a horrible force, so that all around her gave her a wide birth, so as not to be tossed high into the air with a smack of the shovel.
Swain the Cat, fought a group of rats who could danced warily around the end of his deadly skewer. Murray's teeth found a home in the backs of some who were fool hearty enough to try him.
And in the Darkness overhead, there came a scream of warning, as Windslow swept down with Maybell upon his back. Down he came with others of his kind, bringing Talons of Death. Grabbing, snatching, clutching, their silent wings cupping and covering their deadly business, as the rats screamed and tried to flee.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)