Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns The Lord of the Rings. Peter Jackson owns
the movies. But I successfully haggled with Elijah over the rights to
Frodo. Yes indeed, sexual favors were involved.
Day Seven:
Ruthie's still here because a storm came up last night that was quite ferocious. It's still raining so there's nothing to do. Well, Lucy would tell me there's plenty of housework to do, but really, on such a day as this, who cares if one's hole is tidy or not. The three of us have spent most of the day noshing on cold chicken, potatoes, and nut cake..And omelets. I made the omelets. That is my one great culinary skill. I'd venture to say that if Hobbiton held an omelet-making (and perhaps -eating) contest, I would easily prevail over all other contenders.
Ugh. Alas, my omelet-making skills are no longer in demand since neither Lucy nor Ruthie nor myself can possibly eat anymore..and it's raining. Raining raining raining..
Oh yes! I had forgotten all about Ruthie and her admiration for Mr. Baggins! How funny it was when she told me of said admiration so covertly yesterday! "Haven't you ever noticed his eyes?" she gushed.
"I've noticed they're too big for his head," I laughed.
"But they're so blue!"
"Freakishly so," I agreed. And he has a gap between his front teeth- "
"Which is cute!" Ruthie protested.
"And he's altogether too.." I paused, searching for the right word. "..Pretty or angelic or something." At this point we had arrived back at Periwinkle Slope (so named by my great-grandfather for the abundance of periwinkles that bloom on the hill we live under) and Lucy heard us talking from the kitchen where I was putting away my purchases.
"Who's angelic?" she inquired. When we told her, she nodded soberly. "Anyone who could do what he did would have to be tremendously pure of heart," she said. I suppose that is true. Pureness of heart is a far more admirable quality than huge eyes.
Day Eight:
Lucy went for a walk tonight with Gus Drury! At sunset! I can just imagine them standing hand in hand on the edge of the lake, looking dreamily into each other's eyes. The lake was surely catching the last flecks of sunlight coming in over the pines...Ha! I can't help but laugh at the image of Lucy and Gus in such a romantic setting. Gus' roly-poly form silhouetted against the flaming horizon, his clammy hand holding Lucy's...Ewww. I don't think Lucy can possibly be as interested in him as he is in her, but the very possibility of it disturbs me. Supposing Lucy marries him? Would I have to live on my own? Would I have to learn how to tolerate Gus?
Nat and I were talking today. I didn't tell him about the flower but somehow he knew about it anyway, which means either he was the one who sent it or people are talking about it. Honestly, I think I would prefer the latter explanation. Anyway, he asked me if I knew who the sender was, and I said I still had no idea. He sounded quite irate and quickly changed the subject to a rather unfair assessment of the various faults of one Judd Bracegirdle's character. According to Nat, Judd punched little Brandy Winkle yesterday over some dare to vandalize Bag End or some such nonsense. Nat didn't have many details to relate and so I suspect him of having made up the story so he could have something nasty to say about Judd. I think he knows I like Judd better than him. Well, that's not exactly true since I know him better than I know Judd. Ah well, enough speculation about boys for today.
Day Nine:
Writing is the last thing I should be doing right now as I've a terrible headache due to straining my eyes from reading all day long. Lucy ran the shop while I attended to our correspondence which has really been piling up the last few weeks as both Lucy and I are quite lazy when it comes to answering letters. But Lucy said this morning that as I have taken to spending a good deal of my idle time in scribbling, that I might as well scribble to some purpose by responding to some of our orders from all over the Shire. We've piles of requests for tulip bulbs of all varieties, amaryllis, roses (which have a waiting list for spring), peonies, bleeding-hearts, dahlias, and the list goes on indefinitely. Every day there are more. As autumn nears, I suppose people want to keep their homes full of the fragrances and colors of summer for as long as possible.
After I had written and sent replies to all of our customers, friends, and relations, I flipped through Lucy's book that Mr. Baggins gave to her at his birthday party last week. It is a book of poetry authored by him and his uncle Bilbo. The poems are really quite good, and some I recognize as lyrics set to music in tunes sung throughout Hobbiton and perhaps the entirety of the Shire. But other poems are so beautiful that they might be considered songs even when they are only spoken. I have found many that refuse to be read silently, rather demanding to be spoken aloud, with words and phrases that must be rolled over the tongue and tasted to be savored fully.
I cannot think what the world would be without words like these which are as nourishing to my soul as food is to my body. I should die if I could never say "melody," "wisp," "hollyhock," "bubble," "sheen," "pout," and so many others. Without words, I would be so very alone.
Now I must leave words alone though, lest my head explodes, or worse, Lucy makes me drink that evil dandelion tea of hers which she claims does me so much good.
Thank you for the support from those who have reviewed so far!
Day Seven:
Ruthie's still here because a storm came up last night that was quite ferocious. It's still raining so there's nothing to do. Well, Lucy would tell me there's plenty of housework to do, but really, on such a day as this, who cares if one's hole is tidy or not. The three of us have spent most of the day noshing on cold chicken, potatoes, and nut cake..And omelets. I made the omelets. That is my one great culinary skill. I'd venture to say that if Hobbiton held an omelet-making (and perhaps -eating) contest, I would easily prevail over all other contenders.
Ugh. Alas, my omelet-making skills are no longer in demand since neither Lucy nor Ruthie nor myself can possibly eat anymore..and it's raining. Raining raining raining..
Oh yes! I had forgotten all about Ruthie and her admiration for Mr. Baggins! How funny it was when she told me of said admiration so covertly yesterday! "Haven't you ever noticed his eyes?" she gushed.
"I've noticed they're too big for his head," I laughed.
"But they're so blue!"
"Freakishly so," I agreed. And he has a gap between his front teeth- "
"Which is cute!" Ruthie protested.
"And he's altogether too.." I paused, searching for the right word. "..Pretty or angelic or something." At this point we had arrived back at Periwinkle Slope (so named by my great-grandfather for the abundance of periwinkles that bloom on the hill we live under) and Lucy heard us talking from the kitchen where I was putting away my purchases.
"Who's angelic?" she inquired. When we told her, she nodded soberly. "Anyone who could do what he did would have to be tremendously pure of heart," she said. I suppose that is true. Pureness of heart is a far more admirable quality than huge eyes.
Day Eight:
Lucy went for a walk tonight with Gus Drury! At sunset! I can just imagine them standing hand in hand on the edge of the lake, looking dreamily into each other's eyes. The lake was surely catching the last flecks of sunlight coming in over the pines...Ha! I can't help but laugh at the image of Lucy and Gus in such a romantic setting. Gus' roly-poly form silhouetted against the flaming horizon, his clammy hand holding Lucy's...Ewww. I don't think Lucy can possibly be as interested in him as he is in her, but the very possibility of it disturbs me. Supposing Lucy marries him? Would I have to live on my own? Would I have to learn how to tolerate Gus?
Nat and I were talking today. I didn't tell him about the flower but somehow he knew about it anyway, which means either he was the one who sent it or people are talking about it. Honestly, I think I would prefer the latter explanation. Anyway, he asked me if I knew who the sender was, and I said I still had no idea. He sounded quite irate and quickly changed the subject to a rather unfair assessment of the various faults of one Judd Bracegirdle's character. According to Nat, Judd punched little Brandy Winkle yesterday over some dare to vandalize Bag End or some such nonsense. Nat didn't have many details to relate and so I suspect him of having made up the story so he could have something nasty to say about Judd. I think he knows I like Judd better than him. Well, that's not exactly true since I know him better than I know Judd. Ah well, enough speculation about boys for today.
Day Nine:
Writing is the last thing I should be doing right now as I've a terrible headache due to straining my eyes from reading all day long. Lucy ran the shop while I attended to our correspondence which has really been piling up the last few weeks as both Lucy and I are quite lazy when it comes to answering letters. But Lucy said this morning that as I have taken to spending a good deal of my idle time in scribbling, that I might as well scribble to some purpose by responding to some of our orders from all over the Shire. We've piles of requests for tulip bulbs of all varieties, amaryllis, roses (which have a waiting list for spring), peonies, bleeding-hearts, dahlias, and the list goes on indefinitely. Every day there are more. As autumn nears, I suppose people want to keep their homes full of the fragrances and colors of summer for as long as possible.
After I had written and sent replies to all of our customers, friends, and relations, I flipped through Lucy's book that Mr. Baggins gave to her at his birthday party last week. It is a book of poetry authored by him and his uncle Bilbo. The poems are really quite good, and some I recognize as lyrics set to music in tunes sung throughout Hobbiton and perhaps the entirety of the Shire. But other poems are so beautiful that they might be considered songs even when they are only spoken. I have found many that refuse to be read silently, rather demanding to be spoken aloud, with words and phrases that must be rolled over the tongue and tasted to be savored fully.
I cannot think what the world would be without words like these which are as nourishing to my soul as food is to my body. I should die if I could never say "melody," "wisp," "hollyhock," "bubble," "sheen," "pout," and so many others. Without words, I would be so very alone.
Now I must leave words alone though, lest my head explodes, or worse, Lucy makes me drink that evil dandelion tea of hers which she claims does me so much good.
Thank you for the support from those who have reviewed so far!