Frodoll Journal, Part 3
Author: Nilramiel@aol.com aka RosieCotton
Disclaimers: This tale is true. I make no money from this story and I own no trademarked names or characters.
Author's note: In response to Acorngirl's question: He is a 10 – inch doll with rooted hair. ( I do have two Frodo action figures as well.
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Part 3
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Today Rosie took me to a place she called "work." I found this a little odd, since in middle-earth, work is something you do, not somewhere you go. But apparently things are different here. Anyway, she took me in the car, and this time I rode upon the steering wheel. That was exciting! Most of the time I sat nestled in the curve of the wheel, tipping gently from side to side; but every once in a while, she would pick me up and hold me while she turned the wheel completely around in one direction or the other. I'm awfully glad she did, too, or I would have been in for quite a tumble.
"Work," as it turns out, it a large building where children are educated. Strange custom. In the Shire, the elder educate the younger, and there is no need for buildings. But as I have said, things here are different. I spent most of the day sitting atop Rosie's desk. She came and went throughout the day, doing something called "inventory," but I was not lonely, because to my surprise she had a Strider on her desk already!
This Strider is an action figure, not a doll, so he is very stiff and cannot be posed or moved around like I can. He is about my height, but he is stuck in one pose - wielding his sword - which looks very uncomfortable to me. He insisted that it wasn't, as his limbs are made much more stiffly than mine, but I for one am glad that all of my joints are functional! We talked off and on throughout the day, and it helped to pass the time, but Aragorn never was the most talkative chap, even in middle-earth, and this action figure, though not rude, was not one to spend great amounts of time in idle chatter.
*sigh* I really hope they make a Samdoll.
After work, Rosie drove me back home, and we took a nap, which she seemed in dire need of. Her bed is every bit as soft as my featherbeds back at Bag End, and her hole is cozy and full of welcoming clutter. She tucked me up close to herself and, though she's no hobbit, I was as warm and comfortable as I have ever been.
After the nap, Rosie set me atop her computer so that we could talk while she "surfed." All was well until there came a knock at her door. (I should mention that her door is one of those large cornered ones, like the big people use, not a nice round door, and it is white, not green). As soon as she heard the knock, Rosie snatched me off the computer and ran to the bed. She pushed me under a pillow. "Stay quiet, Frodo," she whispered, and then went to the door.
I don't know how long I was under that pillow, but it was as dark and stuffy as a cave, and it seemed a great long time before she at last came and retrieved me. She was very apologetic, and proceeded to explain to me that some visitors could not be trusted, as far as I was concerned. This particular visitor had been her mother, and it surprised and saddened me to learn that I may never meet her.
"Frodo, she doesn't understand about middle-earth," she explained, with sorrow crinkling her features. "She would be alarmed if she saw you, and if she heard me speaking to you, she would consider me mad."
I thought this both very sad and very puzzling, but I agreed to cooperate whenever such discretion was needed. Poor Rosie! Being an adult in her world seems quite complicated.
~*~*~*~*~
To be continued
Author: Nilramiel@aol.com aka RosieCotton
Disclaimers: This tale is true. I make no money from this story and I own no trademarked names or characters.
Author's note: In response to Acorngirl's question: He is a 10 – inch doll with rooted hair. ( I do have two Frodo action figures as well.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Part 3
~*~*~*~*~*~
Today Rosie took me to a place she called "work." I found this a little odd, since in middle-earth, work is something you do, not somewhere you go. But apparently things are different here. Anyway, she took me in the car, and this time I rode upon the steering wheel. That was exciting! Most of the time I sat nestled in the curve of the wheel, tipping gently from side to side; but every once in a while, she would pick me up and hold me while she turned the wheel completely around in one direction or the other. I'm awfully glad she did, too, or I would have been in for quite a tumble.
"Work," as it turns out, it a large building where children are educated. Strange custom. In the Shire, the elder educate the younger, and there is no need for buildings. But as I have said, things here are different. I spent most of the day sitting atop Rosie's desk. She came and went throughout the day, doing something called "inventory," but I was not lonely, because to my surprise she had a Strider on her desk already!
This Strider is an action figure, not a doll, so he is very stiff and cannot be posed or moved around like I can. He is about my height, but he is stuck in one pose - wielding his sword - which looks very uncomfortable to me. He insisted that it wasn't, as his limbs are made much more stiffly than mine, but I for one am glad that all of my joints are functional! We talked off and on throughout the day, and it helped to pass the time, but Aragorn never was the most talkative chap, even in middle-earth, and this action figure, though not rude, was not one to spend great amounts of time in idle chatter.
*sigh* I really hope they make a Samdoll.
After work, Rosie drove me back home, and we took a nap, which she seemed in dire need of. Her bed is every bit as soft as my featherbeds back at Bag End, and her hole is cozy and full of welcoming clutter. She tucked me up close to herself and, though she's no hobbit, I was as warm and comfortable as I have ever been.
After the nap, Rosie set me atop her computer so that we could talk while she "surfed." All was well until there came a knock at her door. (I should mention that her door is one of those large cornered ones, like the big people use, not a nice round door, and it is white, not green). As soon as she heard the knock, Rosie snatched me off the computer and ran to the bed. She pushed me under a pillow. "Stay quiet, Frodo," she whispered, and then went to the door.
I don't know how long I was under that pillow, but it was as dark and stuffy as a cave, and it seemed a great long time before she at last came and retrieved me. She was very apologetic, and proceeded to explain to me that some visitors could not be trusted, as far as I was concerned. This particular visitor had been her mother, and it surprised and saddened me to learn that I may never meet her.
"Frodo, she doesn't understand about middle-earth," she explained, with sorrow crinkling her features. "She would be alarmed if she saw you, and if she heard me speaking to you, she would consider me mad."
I thought this both very sad and very puzzling, but I agreed to cooperate whenever such discretion was needed. Poor Rosie! Being an adult in her world seems quite complicated.
~*~*~*~*~
To be continued