Archive for July, 2012

Hey ho.  Seamus here for Miss Cynthia.  She asked me to speak on her behalf, as she is recuperating.  There has been a long list of events that you would hardly believe if I were to share them.  Miss Cynthia made me pinky-swear not to say a thing about them.

But there was that whole tea and tranquility and threats about litigation in blogland thing that threw her for a loop.  She was compelled to change the name of her blog.  She is still seeing spots over that one.  Red spots.  Just came out of no where — the invisible ethernet, she says.

I said, “Magic?”

She said, “Hardly.”

I said, “Black magic?”

She said,  “Something like that.”

I said, “VooDoo?”

She said, “Exactly.”

Well, then I knew what she was talking about and I did feel a mite guilty.  But what is a gnome to do?  We are nothing if not a wee bit mischievous.

I thought back to the Galveston trip and remembered that odd fellow we met in the gift shop…

Miss Cynthia snatched us away in just a few seconds, but not before Finn and this character exchanged a few quick words.  It was all mumbo jumbo to me.  I did, however, catch snippets like, “tea, poison, not tranquil, blog, Miss Cyn___, mean, darkness,…”

Finn is versed in many avenues of magic and I assure you, it has nothing to do with “Bippity Boppity Boo.”

Miss Cynthia whisked us away to a brighter spot and said to be good little gnomes and if we would stay out of trouble, she would buy us our very own sand castle.

Finn said that was ridiculous.  He wanted a real castle.  One like we had seen earlier in our tour of the city.  He said there would be plenty of room there for his friends and a much larger still.

He pitched a king-sized hissy fit and disappeared for several hours.

This is where I found him.

When I explained to Miss Cynthia that he refused to leave his new-found friends, she gasped. “Sharks?  Finn’s new best friends are sharks?”

I tried to explain to her that Finn saw no harm in it.  He was not likely to be devoured by them.  He comes from a long line of shark whisperers.

Miss Cynthia counted to ten and said that Finn must find some new friends immediately, that friends with sharp teeth and beady black eyes were not friends at all.  They would just as likely bite him in the behind as not.

She picked him up by the top of his hat and strode down the aisle mumbling something about how she should have known better.

Finn kicked his little black boots and hollered at the top of his voice, “I’ve known sharks with kinder personalities than you and some of your so-called friends.”

Then Miss Cynthia deposited Finn and me here:

Seriously.  Next to a hermit crab painted with a likeness of Sponge Bob Square-pants.

Not a good move.  I believe you have a saying here that is something along the lines of “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Well.  They haven’t met Finn.

I’m surprised Miss Cynthia allowed our return to her garden at all.  She said that she could hardly imagine Finn’s shenanigans unleashed upon the unsuspecting population of Galveston.

Finn has pouted ever since.  And practiced his own sort of magic around the clock.

Finn has quite the amazing connections with nature.

Since we have spoken last, Miss Cynthia has experienced a horse-fly bite that made her ill for a week.  Then a flying-ant stung her in the eye and made her ill again.  She has encountered eight tarantulas within a few hours time.  Her gardens are experiencing a grasshopper invasion of Egyptian proportions.  The fire-ants are everywhere that a grasshopper isn’t.  The days are an endless chain of 100 degree temperatures.  She keeps wandering about with her eyes glazed over, but seems to have no clue that Finn might be responsible.  She says that summers on the plains just keep getting more difficult.

And that is saying nothing of the additional guests.

Additional guests, you say?  Yes.  Quite.  Uninvited by Miss Cynthia. She said that she is strongly considering finding a mountain cave and becoming a hermit herself.

Finn just whistles and rolls his eyes when confronted with that situation.

Miss Cynthia said that her blog friend, Scriptor Senex, was right.  He made a comment about worrying that her home might become over-run if she made us too comfy.

She truly had no idea.

Stay tuned for photos and an update on the inundation of Miss Cynthia’s home, courtesy of Finn P.  McOrnery.


Seamus  and Snickers

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