Water Lilly Alley

Halos to Flip-Flops

First of all, let me state that what I’m about to embark on is really not Tam’s fault when it comes to dressing. I take full responsibility for our family idiosyncrasies.

Case in point: A few months ago I’m out and about for a haircut; I’m sitting in the chair and get the regular fare of “How would you like your hair cut today?” Well, it’s a little long on top so I reply with. “A #8 clipper cut on the back and sides and take about an inch and a half off the top.” With this information readily at hand the stylist evaluates the entire appeal and backed by her Supercuts’ training and with fourteen dollars and ninety nine cents of concern replies with “If I take an inch and a half off the top your cowlicks will come through.”  In an attempt to ease her dilemma I reply with with. “Madam, it’s 1:00 pm in the afternoon on a Wednesday and if you’ll notice, you will see that I’m wearing house slippers, and so a few cowlicks coming through really won’t cramp my look.  

Well, that about sums up family and dress.

Coco Chanel once said “Elegance does not consist of putting on a new dress.”

I can remember a few years back Tamra was here visiting for the weekend and we decided to go out for morning coffee. As we are standing in line I noticed that she is wearing the very same pj’s that she slept in, her hair is in a scrunchy, and she’s sporting a pair flip-flops, along with her halo. We ordered coffee and that was that. I don’t think either one of us gave it much thought except I was well aware that the flip-flops didn’t match.  

Fast forward to this past weekend: I’m at the her place framing a few photos for Lil. Tam is out running a few errands at the local hardware, looking for tools or feeding the homeless or something. She returns and after a few minutes mentions that most of the time that she was out she felt that people were staring at her and she had no idea why. She did recall brushing her teeth so the thought of bagel chips and almond butter residue was off the apprehension list, yet she said she felt ‘gawked at’

Pulling out my phone I snapped her image and pointed out what may have fazed the Phoenix populace.

Our findings:

Halo: Both of my daughters are equipped with a halo that self-adjusts depending on current moods. The morning in question, her halo was over-bright, most people don’t care for over-bright halos, especially if they don’t have  one: Halos are like new car smells for the soul. New car smell isn’t appealing if you don’t have a new car.

Cap: With a ‘Yay’ logo. I Don’t have a lot to say about that, except ‘Yay’

Tee-Shirt Caption: If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen.  Daughter like father is how that puppy hunts.

Unsightly Stain: Could be just about anything, however I’m pretty sure it’s organic, she’s good that way.

Black Baggy Shorts with cryptic insignia that reads: Be nice to me or my dad will take you out with a plastic baby bottle. However, I’ve tried to talk her out of that reference and instead insisted that we just kick up her halo at notch or two and just flash fry them back to hell. She thought about if for a minute or two and then decided bashing them within in an inch of one’s life with a baby bottle is so much more Shakespearian. Go figure. She can be so cultured at times.

Tie Dyed Shorts: Again what can I say? Personally I think they go great with black baggy.

Unsightly Stain Origin: Still, I haven’t a clue as to what it is but I can bet donuts to dollars that is not a guest towel, guest towels are beige, or… hmmm, I’ll get back to you on that one.  

Don’t get me wrong, I have seen her dressed to the nines, and she can turn heads with the best of them, and like Coco Chanel reminds me… Tamra can be as elegant in a pair of mismatched flip-flops as she is in a Versace evening gown.   

That’s what I’m talk'n about.

Marvin: Part II

Later that month at the old crone’s house at the end of the cul-de-sac we find Marvin and Cynthia the crone inside the wiener factory turned home, discussing the finalizing of The Deal.

As promised, here is your part of the deal Marvin, Cynthia said, as she handed Marvin a rain damaged and musty cardboard box.

What’s this?

What’s what?

This, he said as he pulled a large roll of bubble wrap from the musky cardboard box.

It’s your part of the deal, said the crone, I have the fairy’s head on the garage door and to hold up my part of the bargain, this will help you rid your life of big people, or at least most of them.

But what is it?

You mean to tell me that you know what dagger is and how to use it, but you really don’t know what bubble wrap is? That is amazing, especially for a boy like you with such a grand appetite for creating mischief.

Well what you have there is 12 feet of heavy-duty bubble wrap, the crone said, medium cell, high performance with Barrier Bubble cushioning. Specifically designed for heavy, fragile and/or valuable products with long or unpredictable distribution cycles and it’s clear, not like that crappy foggy stuff that goes for much more. And yet, it has something special.

Well how in the hell is this supposed to help me with the big people issue?

Look a little closer my little devil and you will notice how each of the bubbles have a little sparkle that dances from side to side.

Yeah, I can see that, said Marvin

Well this is not just your everyday run of the mill bubble wrap. said the crone.

What do you mean? Asked Marvin.

Come here for a moment, said the crone taking Marvin’s hand and walking with him over to the living room window.

See that guy over there, and the crone motioned to a man across the street watering his lawn, his wife planting begonias, while their two little kids were having a water balloon fight?

Yeah, said Marvin.

Ok, look at the man again, and while you have him in your line of sight, pop one of the bubbles, but do it slow and easy. Slow and easy, hear?

Yeah

Unrolling about a foot of the bubble wrap Marvin selects one lone bubble between thumb and sausage like forefinger and gently begins to press on the bubble. Within the time of an extended moment, the bubble begins to expand under the pressure his fingers and Marvin notices that the man across the street has dropped the hose and is clutching at his stomach.

Marvin, slowly presses harder on the bubble cell, the cell stretches outward becoming ever so thin, shinny and taut. The man stumbles backwards, one hand, groping for the lawn chair that is just out of reach and as his wife runs to his side to steady him into the chair, Marvin, little by little… squeezes harder, the cell expanding to a mercury like mirror reflection. And then… ‘POP’ 

The man collapses.

What happened to him? Asks Marvin.

He’s dead, Marvin, you killed him, said the crone, a bit concerned about the smile that was beginning to make its way from behind Marvin’s question.

But how?

You dissolved his intestines, and without intestines, one just can’t continue.

But how?

The sparkle, Cynthia the crone said, you released the sparkle from inside the bubble Marvin. When the sparkle is released quickly, it responds quickly, and at other times, like just now… when released slowly it responds slowly. Whatever happens, all depends on how hard, how quickly you press.

Go ahead, pop another, this time, just snap-pop, quick, as quick as you can.

Marvin slipped the next bubble between thumb and forefinger and without thought heard and felt a ‘POP’ and the woman across the street tending to her once-was husband: Disappeared.

Gone.

~Poof~

Whoosh

WOW, said Marvin.

Happy? Asked the crone.

You bet.

Ok, here is how it works, said the crone. While looking at someone, pop a bubble, quick or slow, the popping intensity should be parallel to how one feels about the individual they are looking at. If it’s a quick snap-pop, then your subject will slip to absolute zero. They will cease to be.

A slow squeeze pop will liquefy something, somewhere internal, could be the brain, the skeletal framework, or perhaps just an organ or two. I once slow popped a lady, her entire skin system liquefied from the inside out. One moment she was sitting at the bar having a cosmopolitan, ‘POP’ and the next moment: blood, muscle, tissue and bones sat on the bar stool in a human like form and a second or two later: SPLAT! A puddle of used-to-be.

That’s it, just squeeze-pop and that’s all? asked Marvin.

Yes but remember, said the crone, you have the only roll of its kind. So use it with discretion.

With what?

Never mind.

Huh?

Nothing, Marvin, nothing.

Looking back out the living window, Marvin stared in awe at the two children as they stood over their once-was dad, both still holding what now looked like tired, worn-out sagging water balloons and Marvin was sure they were wondering why their mother had left in such a hurry. In fact, later on when questioned about what had happened to their mother, the kids would answer with, she left right in the middle of a quick. Of course you would think this a most un-thought out answer but most kids would reply in this manner when circumstances doesn’t allow for what can and cannot be.

Marvin had never known such happiness. Stepping back from the window, smiling, he looks over at Cynthia the crone and ‘POP-POP-POP’. And the crone was no more.

Marvin, much like the crone, was never heard of again. Some say he just popped himself into a quick. The cul-de-sac has since opened up and runs all the way through to Maple Street and where the wiener factory once stood, well, now there sits a Wall-Mart in its place. Funny thing though about that Wal-Mart, the evening greeter is 60 year-old midget. People say that he’s not very friendly and should never have been hired as a greeter in the first place, and that every day, except Tuesdays and Thursdays, he brings his lunch to work in a black cat lunch pail complete with a brass handle. And you know how silly people can be, some even say, that what rattles in his pockets are nothing more than a collection of kid’s teeth. Front teeth, mostly.

Myself, I don’t put much stock in such childish tales. But one thing I do know is that over the last 50 years a lot of parents have gone missing after tucking their kids in for the night. Or at least that is the last time they are known to be. The kids, sad to say, are then usually shipped off to foster homes or to some child care institution.

The End

Ok kids, that’s it, the tale of Marvin and The Old Crone, all wrapped up in and ready to be put away to be pulled out for another night. Sweet dreams my angels and don’t let the bed bugs bite.

Poppi, can you leave the hall light on?

Yes, I can, but the two of you off to sleep now, ok?
I’m going to watch The Late Show with your mom and dad and then I’m off to sleep myself.

OK, Poppi, night.

Night sweeties.

About ten minutes later…

POP.
POP.
POP.

What was that?

I don’t know.

Poppi?

MOMMIE?
DADDY?
POPPI?

Marvin: Part I

-      Poppi, Poppi, tell us a bed time story

-      Ok, wash up, brush your teeth, and into your pjs

-      Scary or not scary.

-      Scary.

-      But remember, we don’t talk about these tales to mom or dad, ok?

-      Of course.

-      Ok, then, into your pj’s.

Once upon a time in the far, far away lived a little boy named Marvin. Some said he was a smart lad. Others said smarter than a tub of alphabets. And yet others thought that with a little ambition and a good amount of work that someday he would be able to outwit a box of rocks. However, one thing that everyone agreed on was that Marvin was an ornery little bugger: Mean as can be and wouldn’t do a thing he was asked. How one can think that being ornery is being smart I’ll never know, but that’s what I’m told?

Marvin hated grown-up’s more that getting out of the bed in the morning, plain and simple. They were the rule makers in his world. They had the power to send a kid to bed in the middle of the afternoon. They cooked green stuff. They insisted on all kids going to school, to church and to birthday parties, and most of all, he hated grown-ups because they were tall: Much taller than himself.

So one day, Marvin heard of an old woman that lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in an old abandoned wiener factory about three blocks from his house.  He also heard that the old crone could make things happen that normally would not happen in a reasonable somewhat perfect world. And this made Marvin very, very happy because in his world, grown-ups were less than zero when it came to being perfect.

Skipping his advanced macaroni and paper plate face making class, Marvin decided to stop off at the old crone’s house on his way home and see if he could cut a deal to do something about the big people.

Cynthia, a fairly reasonable old crone when it came to chubby little boys was more than willing to help Marvin out with his little dream of ridding the neighborhood of adults, but as with most deals, there is a price to pay.

You see Marvin, had to bring her the head of the tooth fairy. The old crone hated the tooth fairy about as much as Marvin hated grown-ups. Word on the cul-de-sac was that before the new tooth fairy was nominated, Cynthia the crone was in charge of gathering teeth from all the little boys and girls in town and not just in Marvin’s town. Some say her duties took her all the way out to the four neighboring counties. However, about May of last year, Sandra McMillan was elected Regional Tooth Fairy: She became quite popular with a complete new tooth collecting strategy: She would slip just outside of a child's dream, take the tooth from under the child’s pillow and leave a quarter for each and every tooth. This collection method was very unlike the old crone’s way of doing things.

The old crone, when she was in office was all about being proactive, she was a real go-getter. During the day she would go over her list of kids and see who was about to lose a tooth. Then when that little boy or girl was in school the old crone would slip into the little boy’s or girl’s bedroom and hide under the bed. With time on her hands she would double check the tools that she had brought with her in a little black bag that had once been a little black cat that someone had scooped its insides out and attached a shiny brass handle to its little black cat's back. In that cat turned bag was a little tooth hammer, a pair of pliers and a roll of duct tape.

After the child was asleep and the entire house was quiet, settling and creaking as old houses do. The crone would spring from under the bed, jump on top of the little boy or girl, duct tape their head to the bed and take out her little tooth hammer, bang on a few teeth, then use her pliers to yank the loose teeth out. No quarters. No siree.

It was no wonder that the new tooth fairy was voted in and Cynthia given the boot to slither off to her cul-de-sac of resentments.

But that was then, and today with Marvin, she had a shot at retribution and a chance of getting her old job back as soon as the tooth fairy was out of commission. And now she would be.

Now I must go back a bit and tell you that the old crone would have loved to have taken out the tooth fairy herself but right after the May elections last year, a clause was added to the union books. Rule 62: No fairy tale person, man or woman, beast or fish may take the life of another fairy tale person, man or woman, beast or fish.

But they could hire out.

The Deal.

For the head of the tooth fairy, Marvin would be gifted with a plan to rid the county of half of all grown-ups.

The Plan.

The old crone would give Marvin a list of all the kids that would be tucking a tooth under their pillow for the tooth fairy. And selecting someone from the list that lived in the neighborhood Marvin would slip into their bedroom and hide under the bed – much like the very bed you’re all snuggled up in now – and lay in wait for the tooth fairy.

Once the tooth fairy arrived, Marvin would wait for her to slightly bend over as she was known to do when retrieving a tooth. At that moment, Marvin would hop up from under the bed and with a dagger that he had previously removed from his black cat bag that he had borrowed from the crone, Marvin would jump on the tooth fairy’s back, pull her head in a backwards direction, reach around and slip the cold steel tip of the dagger into the soft underside of the tooth fairy’s belly. Once the dagger was in, he was pull the blade all the way to her neck so that she would bleed out quietly and quickly. Marvin would then remove the head and place it on a stick for easy transport back to the old crone’s hideout.

Marvin spent almost two weeks going over the procedure; morning, noon and night, and even went to sleep at night thinking of his conquest. It was just last week, Tuesday in fact –that he carried out The Plan, and as you know, most plans have a way of going awry. However, nothing went wrong with this plan because the old crone was very determined to have her old job back. Marvin was very determined to have a go at the grown-up's.

People say that if you go down to the end of the cul-de-dac you can see the head of the tooth fairy nailed squarely onto the garage door of the wiener factory.

And Marvin now has his gift on how to rid the neighborhood of grown-ups...

-      But that is all for tonight kids, tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep I will tell you how this tale ends.

-      Kisses

-      Sleep tight my little angels.

-      Poppi.

-      Yes?

-      Can you leave the hallway light on?

-      Yes.

-      Poppi.

-      My tooth is a little loose.

-      We’ll have a look at it in the morning.

-      But what if you’re not here in the morning.

-      Don’t be silly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feel free to leave a comment if you want to know how this turns out. It’s rather interesting, at least I think so.
Love and lollies.
alvin

Photo compiled of things I had laying around the house and an old radio that my mother used to listen to when she was with us: that my sister gave me. It sits on my desk now next to a frog and gargoyle. Mom, thanks for letting me be Marvin at times, wherever you are.

Transmission Recieved

The following correspondence took place October 13, 2010 in reply to a message sent to me from a relative somewhere northeast of Los Angeles, California. Everything you are about to read is true.

From Vanessa
Domain: Benedict - Del Rio Formation.
Location: Sector IX Facebook.
Rank: Farm Command Sergeant Major (FCSM)
Transmission: Electronic File Transfer
Date sent: October 13, 2010
Time Sent: 1400 hours

 

Alvin! Evil forces have joined against me in a hostile Farmville take over. I am therefore fleeing my fb, leaving it to the occupying forces. This will become my stepdaughter’s page: Commander Scarlet Del Rio. I will be taking refugee under the new Vanessa Benedict-Del Rio page. A friend request will soon follow.

Signed
Vanessa Benedict-Del Rio

------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Alvin
Domain: Valles-Del Rio Empire
Rank: Online Transport Renegade (OTR)
Location: Sector IV Facebook.
Transmission: Electronic File Transfer
Date sent: October 14, 2010
Time Sent: 0100 hours

Dearest Vanessa,

I offer my deepest condolences on your self-imposed exile from Farmville and the neighboring avenues of FB. It is at this time that I gladly avail myself of the present opportunity to share my views on the dark forces that have slowly evolved into the lowly overlords of Facebook and who are now attempting to overthrow the farming communities. I am not certain that I will have a chance of sending this, word has just arrived that the dark overlords are now in a flight path over our current location.

 

 

As I read your transmission I am sitting inside my cabin listening to the recorded gentle electric song of cicadas, it began to warm early this morning and is still at it. I will write in a few days if I get a chance but for the time being as soon as the heat pulls back we will begin loading corn, wheat and beans along with what livestock we can salvage and will be moving them into three of the four Mercury Starcrafts that are still in operation. I fear that that we won’t be able to take as much of the livestock as first anticipated that we make more room for the elderly and the simple minded. No one will be left behind except for an elite group of special op’s that have trained for the last two years which has led to this moment:  to fight off and distract the overloads so that we (the community) may build up enough energy to eject a one way star-jump to the nearest galaxy. My prayers are that they too will be able to make that jump when the time comes. If not, they will not have died in vain.

 

I just came off docks and found the boys and gals all writing and prepping their hopefully, not last letters, to family and lovers. If it were not for these young men and women, (special op’s) I think we would not have lasted as long as we have and would have been forced as yourself, to seek self-exile back when most of the neighboring farms quit sending FB pokes or started offering concrete fence posts and walls instead of orphaned hens, cows and peacocks.

 

You do remember FB Star Jumper Mack Jackson? Well he left the unit day before last to return to his family and farm and in doing so he let me have his stuff: A waterproof pack, gun, poncho, four Look candy bars, a shaving kit, three bottles of water, a goat, a dozen clothes hangers, an ice pick and several mafia rings. Two cosmopolitans, a salty dog, a gin and tonic, a rewrite of The Lord’s Prayer, a toy helicopter and a vintage 8-track tape player. Also in his belongings he left a dozen toothpicks, a, flock of seagulls, a Facebook button collection, a canvas tarp in the shape of Vermont, a pair of jeans (size 44) an etch-a-sketch without the gray powder and three hermetically sealed Jack in The Box tacos.  A scuba diving suit and a baseball cap.  As much as I would like to keep all this stuff I have no room for the Tarp. However, I must move on to more pressing issues.

 

We captured a good many prisoners in a fight last month and killed a good many more. We went up as high as Morrison Town 8 or 10 miles above Cape Sanders to get a foothold in a battle to save most of the outlaying farms that were not yet taken over. We fought nearly all day at the Cape and were barely able to hold our own before retreating.

 

Sunday, two weeks ago today we boarded the prisoners on a lunar life raft and programmed it to the nearest retention satellite center and now that the threat of a prisoner coup to rebel has been squashed and after stabilizing matters both here at camp and the nearby farms, time finds me here writing you this evening.

 

The prisoners boasted that we would never get back to our farms but they were badly mistaken, for we have been back now for nearly three days and have sustained a very light loss, we never lost a man out of our company and only one or two out of the entire unit. I wish I had time to give you a full description the battle. It would be very interesting to you to know that your exile has not gone unheeded and yet I’m sorry to say, but you will have to kindly accept this little scrawl for the present.

We will remain in this vicinity in support of Commander Scarlet Del Rio and her troops, and shall position ourselves somewhere in the hills overlooking the Vanessa Benedict Farmville Compound: A name that I believe Commander SDR will fly proudly alongside her flag.

 We should reach the hills by morning, we would have arrived as of the 10^th of October but we needed time to recruit our horses. Our horses are sadly broken. We found plenty to feed our horses in a little town west of Flickr, (a photo site associated with Facebook) where we had to put up with some of the most horrendous photos known to mankind, and even then we hardly had time to eat or rest ourselves as we traveled almost incessantly night and day.

Many of the men have been craving bacon for the last fortnight and so night before last we ‘Friended’ three sites that “Liked’ bacon and raided them soon thereafter. There was not much of a fight for many of the occupants at the site were comatose from constantly jumping wall to wall in an attempt to leave witty comments and notes of concern. This wall meandering seems to be nothing more than a sallied attempt to compensate for a lack of self-worth in real life.

It saddens me to say we raided the bacon camps much like the very people that we’re trying to stop, the bottom line being that my men needed bacon. In a frail attempt to justify my actions I try to believe that it would have been just a matter of time until the leagues that have forced you out of your home would soon control the entire pork industry as well as the remainder of Farmville. I hope to redeem myself in future battles lest I become like the darkness that has overcome most of the land.

I must close for fear that we experience another solar blast that should take down the remainder of our communications satellites. Write when time and thought allows, I will get them at one time or another, unless, Grace forbid, that I am imprisoned and for then I fear, letters will be the least of offerings from my captors. I will write every chance, do not be uneasy when you do not get letters, for when we are scouting around the hills of your former compound it may be impossible to write or to send them off if I did write.

Give my love to my sister and be well.

Post Script: As you know, I have electronically dispatched my thoughts and feelings off to you via file transfer mode, however, I have also posted much of our correspondence on my Facebook page in hope that what revolutionaries are left in the realm, may contact our battalion to accompany us on our star-jump.  For we will need as many men and women as possible and once we are well armed and logistically sound we will return and take back what is rightfully ours.

May Grace be with you.