Q -- Quick

Sabrina has finally accepted my complete control of this situation.  She knows I have her password, and can't do a thing about it.  In fact, she sees some advantages to sharing authorship of this blog.  


She's too busy getting ready for a visit from the queen to write today.  She asked me to write down something quick.


Quick is the main thing.


For proper presentation before the queen, Sabrina has to have make-up in the right kinds of shapes over all her exposed skin. She won't be able to see it herself, unless a scorpion hunter comes along with a black light -- but in that case, she's likely to get whacked with a stick or just put into a jar.  Ultraviolet makeup is a delicate art.  Things tend to run when they're not the right temperature, and humans are a lot more warm than fairies.  So, the fairies in this new grove had to mix beeswax with their usual supplies.  I think it's working ok.  When I left the  scene of her make over, she had everything from the soles of her feet up to her knees done.  A very glamorous fairy had arranged Sabrina's hair in a puffier version of what she already has, and two of the best artists were applying makeup to her neck.  She's looking better and better.


I figured out how to put a picture into a blog post.  So, I added some flowers, just for fun.


Hopefully, she'll write how things turned out with the queen.


I've got to post this quick, because I have the honor of painting on the eye makeup.


-- Fresh

P.S.  May your daffodil always delight you.

R -- Raft

The raft I rode today was about the most amazing ride I've ever been on.  Having wings helps.

A big clot of leaves and twigs were jamming up a stream.  A group of about ten fairies -- or nine, with me tagging along -- was sent to clear it.  We sent a few underwater to work from below.  The rest of us jammed our little bare feet into the edges of the clot to see if everything would come loose at once.  Taking apart a natural dam is pretty tedious, I hear, if you have to go leaf by leaf.

Thumbelina showed me where to place my feet to do the most good, and how hard to beat my wings for leverage.  (The muscles are fine now.  I can fly wherever I want without feeling sore.  I just arrived on a major flying day, so I had a lot to get over.)

We got the pile of leaves and twigs loosened up, and then the fairies told me to hop on.  I rode the clot down stream to the first branching where it joined a larger creek.  I figured the job was finished, and I was about to  flit up into the air.

That's when all the other fairies joined me.

They hopped onto the pile of leaves, and started it rocking.  Four on one side would jam their feet downward -- like the times you'll try to compact your recycle trash by squishing it into the can.  Then, the four on the other side would bounce downward.  Thumbelina steered from the back.  I rode in the middle.

We had that raft rocking like it was caught in a typhoon.  It was a pretty warm day, so getting wet was no big deal.  Plus, most of these girls could dissolve in water if they wanted to.

By the time we got to the white water, everyone was drenched and laughing hard.  (Not dangerously hard -- they sounded like normal laughs, and nobody lost control.)  Then the raft started to break apart.  Thumbelina jumped on a smaller chunk with me.  We clung together, and tried to get that little raft to rock.

The other fairies rode parts of the raft for as long as they held together.

This meadow is where I decided to dry off after all the rafting.
Thumbelina, of course, never gets wet.
She just kept me company.

We all came to a waterfall that would have been terrifying without wings.  It was probably twenty feet tall, but since we were all fun size, it looked more like Niagra falls.  Just as the water gushed over the ledge, the leaves I stood on with Thumbelina broke up.  We just flew off into space, along with the other fairies.  There was a quick game of fairy tag all around the spray at the bottom of the waterfall.

Tag in 3-D is about the most exhilarating type I've ever played.

This vacation might not have been such a bad idea after all.

-- Sabrina


Rafting over water falls.  It's a kick.


-- Fresh


PS.  May your carnation crinkle cutely.

S -- Spastic

In retrospect, it was a funny situation.  At the time, it was sort of traumatic.

This morning, Thumbelina said, "I'm not going to worry about whether things are light duty or hard for you.  From today on, I'll just do my work like I usually do, and if you want to give it a try, you can figure things out and do them.  If not, you can watch, or just rest nearby.  How's that for a deal?"

Other than the phrase, "How's that for a deal?" which sounds like a game show host in a cheesy tie, it sounded pretty good to me.

We did the usual flower blooming synchronization (which I'm getting pretty good at, I'm happy to report.)  Then, we moved on to something more complex:  the ant census.

I wandered through the tunnels, as Thumbelina made her way to the queen's chamber.  Even if I had a trail of bread crumbs to help me get out of there, what good would it have done?  Ants love bread crumbs, right?  I just toddled behind Thumbelina making ant jokes.

"What's black and white and red all over?"  -- a skunk taking a nap on the trail of a red ant colony.

"Teacher!  Teacher! Pick me!  I know the ANTswer."

"Why do ants never get a divorce?"  -- they don't want to be ANTagonistic.

Ok.  I know.  Don't quit the day job.  It kept me busy.  What can I say?  Plus, Thumbelina would chuckle.  sometimes when she laughs, it sounds like a hiccup, and that kind of cracks me up.

So, Thumbelina had finished her count of the eggs and larvae.  The numbers were good.  It looked like the ants were just fine on food, too.  Really, there was no need for the fairies to step in with extra support in the near future, and Thumbelina actually expected to find things just this way.  On the way out, I told a few more jokes.

Just when we were getting to the entrance hole, and looking forward to growing back to fun-size again, I told one I though was pretty stupid.

"What did the fire ant say to the leaf cutter ant?"  -- I can't LEAF my post.  They'd FIRE me.

Thumbelina started to shake.  Then, her laughing turned into a full blown case of the hiccups.  As she grew to fun size, she'd hiccup, and her entire body, wings included, would make a spastic jolt.  Sort of like she had been electrocuted.  She laughed like that for the next hour.  After just a few minutes, we got a following of other fairies.  They were all grinning.

One of them asked me, "What did you say to her?"

I repeated my lame ant joke.

The tunnel into the ant hole is just on the
other side of these roots.  Thumbelina had
her ROTFFL moment in the patch of grass.

Like a blast from a volcano flattening trees, I watched the entire group of fairies go though the same process Thumbelina had.  They giggled, then started hiccups, then flew about like drunken sailors in a bad cartoon.  I soon learned that this spastic form of laughter is their version of ROTFL (Rolling on the floor laughing.)  If I abbreviated it, though, it would be FWSJOH (Flying with spastic jolts of hiccups.)

"Are you ok?" I shouted to the group of them.

Thumbelina answered, "That's the funniest joke I've heard in years."

She zipped up into the air and turned some pretty impressive loops.

"So, you're ok?"

"Oh, yes.  Thanks for the recharge.  I can work for weeks on a good laugh like that."

"Um. . .  you're welcome?"

By that time, most of the fairies were either air born and acrobatic or crowding around me to say thanks.

Apparently spasmodic laughter isn't that common, but it's really valuable around here.  Go figure.  Just when you think you're useless and a little pathetic, someone comes along to change your mind.  Sometimes even fifty people come along to change your mind.  The fairies think I'm funnier than frog spit (which, as we all know, is one of the funniest things in the natural world.)  So, for the midsummer festival practices, I'll be telling a few lame ant jokes to the gals psyched.  Thumbelina says it's too bad I won't be here for the big celebration..

Nobody was able to explain what was so funny about that joke because it has to do with a cross-over connection between languages.  Since I can hear all the fairy sounds in their language, and can't really even pronounce most of the words I've tried, I'll have to just sit and wonder what made me so brilliant today.

My other ant jokes caused normal giggles, and the fairies liked them at practice this evening, but the said to save that extra funny one to tell again in a few days.

You can only handle so much hilarity.

-- Sabrina

A good laugh like that helps flowers bloom fifty percent more freshly.  It makes dew form in bigger drops, and sunlight stream more brightly through the tree canopy.  When fairies are refreshed with a truly funny joke, you'll see the results in nature within minutes.  So, Sabrina's quite the celebrity today.  We  can't wait to listen to her at more midsummer practices.


May your dandelion dip delightedly.


--Fresh

T -- Thumbelina

Thumbelina.  The story from centuries ago.

Ok.  The story is this tiny little girl got found and raised by humans.  Truth is that fairies are almost undetectable unless they want to be seen.  Even to each other.  That's why they spend so much time doing their pretty little fairy dances -- they have to know who is in the area each night.  So, in the story, when Thumbelina went missing, it was just part of life.  Fairies aren't really missing from their clans unless they go a full year without showing up for a dance.  Problem is that learning to speak a human language at such a young age must have messed with Thumbelina's memory.  She didn't remember the fairy rules about coming to the dance -- then it was too late.

When Thumbelina actually became united with real fairies, her early memories never came back, but she built enough new ones to convince herself she was among her own kind.

My modern-day Thumbelina finally told me most of the story from the fairy point of view.  It seems plausable.  No wonder they all feel guilty about that.  Nobody should misplace a child for years and years.

I bet she left out a lot of the story.

I vow never to be surprised by these fairies again.

--Sabrina

Yeah right.  We surprise her with even the smallest morph.  


-- Fresh


P.S.  May your geranium always grow gloriously

U -- Underwater

I chose "underwater" because it's the only thing starting with U that's descriptive of the day.  Only it should be typed in sixty point font with flashing twinkly things all over.  I learned another kind of vanishing act fairies can do.  When Thumbelina had chores to complete in a tiny stream, I watched her actually dissolve under the water.

Me?  I'm still human.  I just got wet.  I had to swim around the best I could, and untangle the little water plants -- they need to flow easily past each other or something bad happens, but I can't remember how bad or in what way.  I had to do it all by hand.

Thumbelina's perfectly groomed water plants. 

Thumbelina looked things over in the section she had to do.  She swam a little up stream, and then just disintegrated.  I would have screamed or hyperventilated.  Or both.  Only, like I said before, I was under water.  She completely broke apart and moved through the patch of water plants.  Magically, they straightened themselves out.  It was the freakiest thing I ever watched.  It was a lot like Sandman flowing down stream in the Spiderman movie.  Only more style.

I kicked my way to the surface -- only about a foot to swim, really, but I was still fun sized at the time.

I called for help.  A couple of fairies nearby just looked at my like I was nuts.  When I told them my guide was gone, they just pointed at a blank patch of water and claimed they could see her there.

Then it was time to hyperventilate.

I didn't get any chores done in that stream.  Just slogged up onto the bank and freaked out loudly.

Thumbelina rose from the water, and calmed me down.

"It's just a different ability.  We aren't made of exactly the same kind of stuff as you humans, so we can do different things.  Don't be scared."

She was so soothing, I almost calmed down.

Then she got back to work.  In the water.  I had to cover my mouth and nose with two hands just because of my hyperventilation -- I saw that trick in a movie.  Works most of the time.

So, that's why I didn't write yesterday.  I was still adjusting to this idea of different compositions of fairy matter.   That may explain something about the radar not picking up on gigantic fairies orbiting the planet -- or at least I'm assuming it didn't pick anything up, since we didn't see any missiles.

I couldn't fit an Advil in my itty bitty mouth even if I tried, but man, I need one right now.

-- Sabrina

I kept telling the elders it was a mistake to choose Sabrina for the tourist job.  They thought since she's a writer, she'd be a nice ambassador to the humans -- particularly children.  Not so.  The girl freaks out too easily.  I watched her a few days before they offered her the vacation contract, and I knew exactly what we were in for.  What's she going to do when I morph into another shape?  Probably need something stronger than Advil.


Don't worry.  She's recovering ok.  She might even get caught up on the letter for the day, which is supposed to be T.


May your water lilly be wonderfully lush.


-- Fresh

V -- Vanish

There are fairies just about everywhere in this grove.  Have you been wondering why you never see them?

I know that answer.

Pick me.  Really.  I'm holding my hand way WAY up in the air.  I'm waving it around.  I can tell you.

Humans are really easy to avoid.  We smell.  We make noises.  We also have a magnetic field that fairies pick up on at several hundred yards.  In their usual state -- thumb-sized, puffy haired, and barefoot -- flying around doing their little fairy jobs to make sure plants grow right, they don't really have to even think about avoiding us.  They just shrink down to ant size or bee size or even pebble size, and blend.  Changing size is easy.  When humans have left the area, they unfurl and uncurl.  They go about their business as if nothing happened.

Thumbelina showed me how to do this today.  If I could keep my fairy powers, I'd end my vacation and immediately apply for a job with the FBI.  I'd make the best spy ever.

Tomorrow, I'm going to ask her about all that walking around at human size looking like me, getting official documents notarized at my bank.  She was certainly in plain sight.  Didn't anyone notice the wings?

-- Sabrina

There's a lot I really don't want to tell Sabrina.  She loves to ask questions.  Usually, I just hum until she gets tired of pestering me.  I keep working.  Eventually, she joins back in.


May petunias perfume your patio.


-- Fresh

W -- Warble and Wobble

It's hard enough being a human among fairies no matter how much they've tried to make me look like one of them.  I enjoy the swishyness of my green skirt.  I like the wings -- too bad I can't keep them when I'm back to reality -- these babies are marvels of nature.  I also like the fluffy hairdo.  Most of us in the grove look like dandelion puffs, and Thumbelina says it's been the style since about the year I was born.  I also like the psychedelic makeup.  Even though it's done in ultraviolet, and none of my friends would be able to see it, I'd look awesome under a black light.  Nice thing about the "limited fairy abilities" clause of my tourist contract is that I get to see ultraviolet, infrared, and a few other parts of the light spectrum -- I think it goes all the way to x-rays on one side, and I don't know about the other, because that end was never very clear, and I'm out of wi-fi range for my itty bitty laptop (it shrunk along with me.)

Ok.  I've said lots of positive things, right?

Well, now I have to tell you why the fairies made me cry.  Everyone's practicing for the midsummer night's extravaganza next month.  I offered to sing a song in their program.  "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" seemed sort of fitting -- a lot about nature, a lot about hope, bright colors and such.  I can't help thinking of ruby slippers when I sing it.

On a side note:  I could use some ruby slippers about now.  The one down side about fairy life is the bare feet.  Since they fly most places, they don't need shoes.  But me?  I get all worn out from flying.  My wing muscles haven't recovered from The Zoom a few days ago.  Considering that wing muscles are kind of a temporary add-on for my physiology, I'm leery about over using them in this condition.  So, I could use a good pair of shoes.  Ruby slippers would be smashing.  Heck, even a pair of flip flops from the dollar store would do.  Only fairy clothing shrinks or grows along with the fairy herself.  There's no such thing as a fairy shoemaker, either.  So, I either wobble through the air on sore wings, looking like I've sustained an injury from a passing eagle, or I have to walk on bare feet through who knows what -- bird poop or little burs -- you name it.

But that's not what made me cry.

I got up to sing my a capella version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and among karaoke fans, I'm about two notches shy of heading for American Idol.  So, I put my whole soul into this song.  Lots of facial expressions, and emotion in the long notes.  I even stayed in the air the whole time because that's how I hear they do things in a fairy concert.  At the end, there was no twinkling for me (that's what fairies do instead of clapping.)  There was outright giggling.  The giggling turned to gales of laughter.  I flew out of the practice meadow before it turned into ROTFL.  I just curled up in the knot hole and cried.  I cried a whole thimbleful of water -- and for a girl who is currently about as big as a salt shaker, that's saying something.

Thumbelina found me halfway through my cry.  She said, "They've just never heard someone warble like that."

It didn't help.

I cried so much, the inside of the knot hole got humid, and my laptop started to seize up with the moisture.

On the way home from practice one of Thumbelina's nasty friends called out in my direction.  "I love the way you swing it, baby."  Then she busted up laughing again.  All five of her twittering friends hushed her, but they all giggled until they were out of sight.

I had just about dried up.  That started me again -- which is how I cried the second half of my thimbleful of tears.

Thumbelina suggested we move out of this grove for the rest of my vacation.  I shouldn't have offered to sing.  I won't be here for midsummer night anyway.  Now, Thumbelina has to miss all the the practices with her pals.

Miserable day.  I'm sleeping in a nook below a rock.  It will be a miserable night, too.

--Sabrina

Home, Miserable Home

PS -- If Thumbelina writes anything here, I'm going to smash a beetle on her head so hard, she'll have to wear its carapace as a hat for the rest of her life.