New Home

In accordance with the precepts of family tradition it is with all due deference to said principles that I perform the rites of “house-warming” in ways unique to one of my predilections.

First I must examine the Feng-Shui as it relates to shapes and colors. If only there was a huge blue sphere that I could juxtapose with rectangles and triangles. . .

Geometry in action

Geometry in action

Once I have acquitted myself of this essential I can then pass on to the next stop in my journey of spiritual cleansing.

Is there a window where a nose can be pressed so as to resemble that of a pig? This search must be meticulous as well as demanding, for no stone can be left unturned.

Eureka!

Eureka!

The necessaries now completed it is established that this residence is fit for habitation.

By the schedule it is decided that next week we shall pick up stakes, as the phrase goes, and descend on the tiny hamlet of Portland, there to make hearth and home. I do so hope that the residents of that berg are prepared for what is coming.

Gee Up!

A horse with no name.

A horse with no name.

The wind rushing past, my flowing locks streaming behind, the sun streaming down as I urge my steed onward into the unknown.

“Forward!”, I cry, “Ride like the wind my friend!”

We ride through the chaparral across the baked lands of the desert. Herds of unicorns and flocks of flying pigs greet us as we pass, on our way to save those in great need. Time is of the essence.

At last we arrive, my horse glistening with sweat. I am coated in the dust of the road, weary from riding for so many miles.

“My name is Finnegan”, I say, “Finnegan Wilde.”

“We welcome you Finnegan,” says a small man with his hat in hand, probably the headman of the village, “We have waited long for your coming. Only you can save us! Come, you must rest and eat, for you have much to do in the morning.”

I gratefully accepted his offer. There was plenty of time to discover the nature of the danger that awaited. Tomorrow can take care of itself, tonight we live like kings!

Perplexity of the Naptime Tradition

For some time I have been given to deferring to tradition in the matter of daytime napping. It has been my position that I should honor the longstanding practice of taking a mid-day siesta, for to not do so would be to question the traditions of my forebears, and so call in to question the very foundations of civil society.

There is a place and a time for honoring tradition, but there is also a place for the questioning of hidebound practices that have lost their practicality in today’s milieu. After careful consideration I have determined that the naptime, as practiced in today’s society, is one such tradition that is no longer of service to the thinking man. As a thinking man myself, for so I imagine my own capacity for perspicacity,¬† I feel that I am not in need of a period of rest in the middle of an otherwise productive day of wakefulness.

To this end I have proffered my intentions and tendered my objections to those in charge of such matters, but to no avail. Given that the powers-that-be have ignored my entreaties insofar as they have understood them I have entered into a period of rebellion, where I am steadfast in my refusal to lie prostrate before all in submission to brutal tyranny.

Rebellion as Celebration

Rebellion as Celebration

My public demonstrations are not dour affairs of bitter venting and gnashing of teeth, but more a celebration of the inalienable rights of Man as imagined during the Enlightenment, a period of our history that I feel speaks most directly to my current situation vis-a-vis the naptime dilemma.

I tell you this in hopes that you might wish to join me in my peaceful remonstrances and help to make enforced slumberage but a memory from a dark and troubling past. My “wake-ins” occur every day at 1pm and involve much laughter, giggling, pounding, and stomping. The throwing of bedding onto the floor is also a frequent occurrence at these demonstrations, although great care is taken to prevent injury to the innocent.

I hope to see you soon on the front lines of this battle for freedom. I cannot type any more as I am currently so sleepy I must needs find my bed and lie thereupon.

Avast ye, thar be treasure in yon chest!

Papa Henry and Nana Pam came to visit the other day, and I, as is my usual wont, prepared to entertain them as warm and as cordially such dear relations could expect of a loving grandson. I say that this was my initial intent, but all of a sudden I was confronted with a glorious object of such grandeur, such majesty that I quite forgot myself. For into the midst of our merry-making a vast chest of smooth wood, gird with magic bonds, and polished by faeries was dropped with sudden ferocity. I was dumbfounded.

Papa Henry demonstrates the properties of the magic chest.

Papa Henry demonstrates the properties of the magic chest.

After my initial awe, I cautiously approached the object, both apprehensive and filled with expectation of hidden delights. As I carefully lifted the lid I could see that something was contained within, something large and mysterious. The cries of the onlookers gave me courage, and I at last flung open the lid releasing the creature within. Up and out it came, flying high over my head, and grinning down at me.

Out it came!

Out it came!

Even my feline companion Hamlet, the Dane, could scarce believe his eyes, as the creature floated in the air above our heads. What magic is this? Could it be that the faeries had found me again? (See my life as a Gnome below).

Faster than time and space!

Faster than time and space!

I found that I had the power to command the creature by application of force to the string located in my grasp. The creature bobbed to and fro, speeding through the air at a velocity greater than all velocities combined of all things past, present, and future. Or possibly faster, I can not say.

The magical chest I now know to have been fashioned not by faerie folk of the woods, but by my Papa Henry who is obviously a great wizard and very learned in the arts of wood magic. I shall treasure my new chest always, and strive to keep it filled with only the most deserving of magical treasures.

Taking Animal Form

I roam the wilderness in beast form, leaping from tree to tree.

This is the way to my lair

This is the way to my lair

The cold wind blows through my mane of tangled fur as I pursue the elk herd through the forest. My wild blood pumps in my animal veins, my senses alive with my heightened powers.

Name is Wilde, Finnegan Wilde.

Name is Wilde, Finnegan Wilde.

None can tame me, for I am the wild man of the woods, loose in the world and free of all fetters.

Upward and into the sky!

Upward and into the sky!

And soon I shall shed this earth-bound animal form and take the form of the eagle, and I shall soar high above the clouds and there meet with my brothers, Sun and Moon.

Decorating Me.

I beg of you madame, do not decorate that silly tree, at least not until you have decorated me.

I am the new Christmas tree.

I am the new Christmas tree.

My second Christmas was most enjoyable as well as highly rewarding. In addition to the many lights and other decorations filling our house there was a tree with many brightly wrapped presents underneath. At first I was unaware of the prohibitions to opening the packages before the actual day of Christmas, but Father set me straight on this point, although not after some wrapping paper had been torn.

The most important part of Christmas is the lighting. Every morning I have to point to the tree and the lights over the archway to remind my forgetful parents that there is much work yet to be done. The lights are not lit! Hop to it! And so, with my guidance, the lights are plugged in and shine forth with the glow of a million million suns filling the air with magic and happiness. At least that is how I perceive it, and it frequently causes me to clap my hands and dance a caper or two.

The next important thing about Christmas is the meeting with family. I made my first entry into polite society by going to restaurant and behaving with such dignity and bravery that all were amazed. My aunt Louella and uncle Johnny were there, as were my aunt Maggie and my grandmother Pat. It was quite the to-do. Because of the great success of this venture I was taken to yet another restaurant a few days later, and there I had my first taste of crab meat. It is divine.

The final thing about Christmas is the presents. Of these I should mention my Roby, an inflatable Italian steed that I ride great distances to far off lands in search of adventure. I also now have a small workshop with a drill press and vise that I use to help the elves repair shoes when the cobbler needs secret night-time assistance. I finally have a place to vent my creative urges with a new Aquadoodle set, where I write with pens filled with water. For some reason my parents think that water is better than crayon for writing on floors, walls and furniture. I must disagree, for the crayon marks last so much longer.

I am not entirely done with Christmas, for we are scheduled to visit with my nana Pam and papa Henry on New Year’s Day, where I am told there may indeed be more presents.

To everyone on this planet and any other planets out there, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

A Gnome’s Triumph

I have been most tardy in relating to my reading public the incredible circumstances of my having won the accolades of a nearby locality. Such a failing on my part, although not excusable in the least, can, I think, be at least explained, for I have been so engrossed in my duties of running, dancing, climbing, and pointing that I have all but forgotten my duties as they pertain to this blog. For this please accept my deepest apologies.

And now that the niceties have been attended to let me tell you the tale of an adventure I think unparalleled in the annals of humankind. It all began with Mother and her crafty ways, for she had set her mind to fashioning a costume that I was to wear in honor of the Halloween season. For this purpose she obtained materials sufficient to create the attire of a woodland gnome, and then so dressed me as to defy the observer to perceive me as being any other than such a mythical creature.

Who is that gnome?

Who is that gnome?

Once dressed in this way a strange thing then occurred, for no sooner had I adopted the fashion of the gnome than I truly became such a creature. It is difficult for me to explain how such a thing could happen, but so indeed it did. I can assure you that I was most  assiduous in my gnome-ly duties, for I took to carousing the woods about our house with much gusto, and did also step into many a fairy ring of mushrooms. As you may have been told, stepping inside of a fairy ring is fraught with peril as the person doing so may be transported to the land of the fairies, and there meet with much confusion as to their location and circumstances. But as a true gnome I was at liberty to make use of these fairy rings for the purpose of transportation, and I did so use them, traveling many thousands of miles to lands far away to make contact with the dwarfs of Norway and the leprechauns of Ireland, but most especially with the ancient gnomes of Siberia, where my people have long dwelt.

My duties also included regular pranking of the “Big People” as we refer to humans, and I did my share of pumpkin placement and doorbell ringing.

What fun to leave pumpkins on doorsteps!

What fun to leave pumpkins on doorsteps!

So I passed my time during these heady days of wonder and whimsy. I and my fellow gnomes did great wonders of cavorting and even many a gambol about the fairy lands. But then something happened that broke the spell, for I was captured from my state of wildness by hunters from the human lands. These fearsome trackers had tricked me by placing my favorite treats out for me to take, and then they snatched me up and trundled me into a waiting vehicle.

How long I was in this vehicle I know not, but when arrived at our destination I found that I was to be entered into a costume contest in Rainier Oregon. I then won the contest, and in the ensuing joyful celebration I scarcely noticed my transformation back into a young human child who but merely dressed as a woodland gnome.

In the days since I have often wondered at my life as a gnome and my friends of the fairy lands. I can now say that I am glad that Mother and Father rescued me from a life of pumpkins and pranks as there was always something missing from that life. I now see that it was the warm embrace of my family that was lacking during that time, and when the fey folk come to ask me to return to their lands I will decline.

However, if I ever find myself in need of travel I will certainly make use of the excellent system of transport by fairy ring. It is superior to common air travel in every particular.

Snowy Joys 2010

It has been my opinion for many a year that all this talk of snow is a most decidedly preposterous supposition on the part of silly persons frittering away otherwise profitable hours.

And then there was snow. . .

All that they say is true!

All that they say is true!

Here I stand chastened. I am aggrieved as I recall my uncharitable comments made in my ignorance heretofore. What could I know of such delights, having never truly beheld them in their fulsome bounty?

All that they said about the joys of “winter wonderlands” and “snow-clad vistas” scarcely did justice to the majesty of this icy confection that sifts from the sky to frost the land as if it were one big birthday cake. Pardon my slip into loquaciousness, but such beauty brings out the poetry in my soul.

Speed is of the essence!

Speed is of the essence!

And so it came to pass that I found myself perched on a bright red steed of unimaginable speed and regal bearing. Off she leaped, into the white landscape, taking hillocks and hummocks at a bound! Through the wilderness we galloped, so fast that all became a blur white tinged with joy, and the peels of laughter that only later would I realize were my own.

At some later point, how much later I cannot say, I found that I was once again sitting quietly in the lodge, nestled in front of a roaring fire. The bite of the cold in my toes and fingers melting away, and the buzz of so much adventure still thrumming in my bright red ears.

Gifts from friends are the best!

Two of my best friends are Devina and Orion. Whenever we meet there is always lots of fun and games.

Devina, Orion, and I

Devina, Orion, and I

But the best thing of all is that Devina decided that I needed a hat. Not just any hat, but a fabulous hat that she made herself.

This is the hat!

This is the hat!

The hat arrived in the mail only days after she told me she was working on it. I immediately put it to good use. As you can see it is very handy when outside picking blackberries.

Dont you just love this hat!

Don't you just love this hat!

When I wear my new hat from Devina it reminds me of how much fun I have when she and her brother Orion play with me. I can’t wait until we get together again.

Why Can I Not Destroy?

I think it is common knowledge, is it not, that anything that I decide to do I must be allowed to follow through. Yes?

For example: Mother refused to allow me to finish destroying the television remote. It had long been my goal to vanquish this enemy of freedom, and I had finally succeeded in dashing it’s plastic brains out on the floor, when Mother took the pieces up and would not give them to me to crush and smash into oblivion.

The injustice of it!

The picture below captures my righteous indignation at this violation of my inalienable rights.

This is undeard of! Do you know who I am?

This is undeard of! Do you know who I am?

Now we have a new “Universal” remote, and I have not been allowed near it. Do not worry, friends, for it is only a matter of time before I get my paws on this new remote.

“Universal” ?? Will I be able to wreak havoc throughout the cosmos? Do we really need Mars?