tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86584937021833045722024-02-06T23:05:41.250-05:00Accidental Rememberingsfrom the mind of sueThe Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-61892927716674302282011-05-11T12:16:00.000-04:002011-05-13T16:41:12.222-04:00what can a summer hold?<div>I can tell it's early before I open my eyes. Did the light wake me? The birds? Perhaps it was the fresh air from the open window. Does it even matter? I think about rolling over and nestling into the warmth of Grant's side, but I am fully rested, so I slowly get up to start my day. The second day of summer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Walking into my hall, I see the light warming half of the carpet in my living room. I know the air is still cool, but as my coffee is brewing, I slip into a tank top and roll up my jeans. A quick braid in my hair and I'm on the balcony with a warm cup and a book. </div><div><br /></div><div>I silently greet my fledgling herbs as I make my way to my lovely purple chair, already full of the cushions I daringly left out all night, having been little chance of rain. They are already warm in the morning sun.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/hStTHToNc5U6Rle9RVXmotVUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG-rTAK777Tzse_SSJmeYfco5Na1r7K8_KKgINimtiewl7nLZ7DGU0L7wThiIj07W8m655iLC6qRmZlkdmQAiP_kkaCMSrvJ7VbbdW2-f3Qf-kB6ys0-swItDjJtmeZKA9VHOjI_KyC7w/s400/IMAG0108-1.jpg" height="400" width="299" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It is the same way I started my morning yesterday. The light warms my face and arms, as I settle into the rhythm of early morning. As the sun rises past the roof of my balcony, the heat leaves first my head, then my arms, then legs, and the calm gradually gave way to an electric anticipation. When finally my feet are all that are left in the sunlight, the slight chill pushes me out of my seat, feeling fresh and inspired to accomplish. With an impetuous thought, I decide I will start my days in the same manner as often as I can.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can feel myself relaxing out of the haze that was this past season, and fully embracing the possibilities of summer. I can feel my mind stretching, wanting to create and perfect. Having cleaned and planted on my balcony on Saturday, I long to make it an even more welcome space. It needs some character, something to make it beautiful. Some art to hang over my chair.</div><div><br /></div><div>It doesn't take me long to dig through my ever growing pile of potential art supplies to find a pair of old windowpanes. Inspired by an artist's whose work I had seen recently somewhere on the interwebs, I quickly produce something that provides the airiness and color I am hoping for. It's invigorating to take something from idea to finished product in a short amount of time. I could and should surely make some sort of art, however small or simple, everyday. Another summer venture?</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ZvOILRM9KshXChLjsmtRRtVUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSX7h99OjL5m7gosWsuJgYkz0sQYsjSC8ZTR6f7dldAtgfOqqBqNtEjopQTCVzBE02F_Q-X-Vn8IDYepx3a9G7k6QUR2EBQ_kGBBZVWOr70y1ayNZfHJR45q1RhsBT6DvlPL-ZSP709rQF/s400/1305062132-picsay.jpg" height="239" width="400" /></a><div><div><br /></div><div>As I contemplate the making a companion piece to hang on the other side of the balcony - perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow - I cannot help but wonder how much a summer can hold.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-40393172482234616612011-01-13T14:47:00.001-05:002011-01-13T14:47:37.750-05:00On blogging and crusty shoes<p><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJdX0k76Y8ZLx7gAMUVa3IRQcVRb6p0Sc17SFUyN43uGXoPi5o4kq5a1uRIiw_ZAKHDrfVnuJSJT4Jv4ZNy4giWkg25h-xpOAQ9h7SeYLSGajxPrN4BAG5-fLRxQ0GFg-R4eSw1Ewgxb0/'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJdX0k76Y8ZLx7gAMUVa3IRQcVRb6p0Sc17SFUyN43uGXoPi5o4kq5a1uRIiw_ZAKHDrfVnuJSJT4Jv4ZNy4giWkg25h-xpOAQ9h7SeYLSGajxPrN4BAG5-fLRxQ0GFg-R4eSw1Ewgxb0/s400/shot_1294946835066.jpg' /></a></p>Having been working like a madwoman on too many jobs to count, I have laxed in the blogging department. <br/> <br/> However, while I am waiting for all manner of wooden, caulk, hot glue, marshmallow clay, plaster bandage, and neoprene to dry, it seemed like a grand time to start up again. <br/> <br/> Now, I know you've heard of most of these items, but there is one fickle little monster you very likely do not know. I am speaking of neoprene. <br/> <br/> This lovely substance is very useful in the mask-making world. It makes a somewhat flexible, but very strong material, perfect for props belonging to touring shows, where children might throw said items on the floor and/or stomp on them. <br/> <br/> Because of these attributes, it is ideal for pouring into moulds and constructing into mask/heads that are to be attached to poles, and will be traveling the country to the delight of such small gentle beasts <br/> <br/> Thats all well and good, unless you happen to get some on your shoes, clothes, or hands. If you wash it off quickly, it's not so much of an issue, but if it falls in a chunk on the top of your shoe and you do not notice, it will remain there until the end of time. <br/> <br/> Not that it happened to me.<div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5</div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-73923739479385463412010-07-31T16:14:00.001-04:002010-07-31T16:14:00.858-04:00Mattress Transport Fail<a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSe4FCxU2Ek3runCxKpi-SHR4OnciRY8lpDMmAVT-cBjPgAJem4lF9sC4h4zOGLtMiXA7mijYQut4Dcrkcpkmj8H46Sx3BHFPoxkJRMm2f707IfqpBAIUvVAWJ2GgkdB8WvTbniobtTgqQ/'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSe4FCxU2Ek3runCxKpi-SHR4OnciRY8lpDMmAVT-cBjPgAJem4lF9sC4h4zOGLtMiXA7mijYQut4Dcrkcpkmj8H46Sx3BHFPoxkJRMm2f707IfqpBAIUvVAWJ2GgkdB8WvTbniobtTgqQ/s400/IMAG0115.jpg' /></a><p>Spotted this one on the way home in Maryland.</p><div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.4.8</div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-1680940737313897922010-07-26T10:05:00.004-04:002010-07-26T10:44:44.707-04:00Charleston & beyond<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/3LtlbPtv3rwXqv8r6k5L-w?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKGfR4trk6zWNpH1Ycyt3eqt7_fL5zVnHuI7OCE4xDCIasJqbwSKIqaGHEXRiFYCjJYuMDPUoM85eTUEaS7-UOxc1_RhBZ26JzyZXfnrZw-5HURRm5eHVeMa5dy6IGZVw5hrYN5FzzNOk/s400/IMAG0037.jpg" /></a><div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/3LtlbPtv3rwXqv8r6k5L-w?feat=embedwebsite"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/3LtlbPtv3rwXqv8r6k5L-w?feat=embedwebsite"></a>We made a short stop in Charleston, which is a favorite of mine. We didn't do much, because we were so tired, but we did walk through a farmers market in Marion Square that was great - I got a sticker from a Roller Derby team - the<a href="http://lowcountryhighrollers.com/"> Lowcountry Highrollers</a>!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">We also went into an Urban outfitters that used to be a theatre - in the dressing room section, there was still a grid, with batons and a few drops still hung. Our Technical Director at McCarter had even seen a show there 15 years ago.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kjuN-m0N8UDiCryYtUNJ0A?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IbRqMg5FPlc6XpDCR30vfiLIiYv5tPkgyFMRQZNGWCl4-OoTSNje2RByBijVXe5fxAT5qAfNAxU8sSoIRyaB9eTVsCm4_1vP0YFZkfS9VjLjbAqQhxTtnZaRgNF-2xEc-3uhq3jFb-_T/s400/IMAG0042.jpg" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Hilton Head is super bike friendly, which is nice, because we brought mine. There are a few bikes at the house that we're at, one of which Grant is fixing up right this very minute.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Hint for people with Droids, and probably those with iPhones - You can definitely operate them through a plastic baggie ( a thinner one at least). Makes for happier beach-going.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">ALSO - a disclaimer: People seem to act all impressed with the cameras on all these smartphones. They may have crazy amounts of megapixels, but I'm still kinda meh about them. Great for documenting (much better than my last one), but not for taking really exceptional photos. You might get a good one every once and a while, but not consistently.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I'll stick with my schmancy camera for awhile, and if I do take photos with my phone, they'll probably be RETRO, because that app is AWESOME! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-24713340200021665822010-07-24T08:34:00.001-04:002010-07-24T08:34:25.423-04:00Road Trip<a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfbq1QoZ6qGffRmiSabRrWJIuLbANrumT_tp35QwtXcAChKEjJ8wNsvvr2_oLjoUoqG6JmvqXE0SDzYDsUVNELxXp6KMYe8laUeIHssHk8r90EAV-3r7C43Ii8biEPsVbr2QqeO8VfPLI/'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfbq1QoZ6qGffRmiSabRrWJIuLbANrumT_tp35QwtXcAChKEjJ8wNsvvr2_oLjoUoqG6JmvqXE0SDzYDsUVNELxXp6KMYe8laUeIHssHk8r90EAV-3r7C43Ii8biEPsVbr2QqeO8VfPLI/s400/shot_1279962384676.jpg' /></a><p>We've been on the road for almost eleven hours, we're getting close to Charleston, and I've realized several things. <br/> <br/> 1. Driving through the night totally screws up your circadian rhythms <br/> 2. Some of the best conversations happen between 1 and 3 am <br/> 3. South of the border has sketchy bathrooms that get sketchier at 4am <br/> 4. There actually is a position that I can sleep in without waking up unable to use my neck <br/> 5. I can't be sure how reliable said position is when assumed for more than an hour <br/> 6. South Carolina is a very buggy state, according to the percentage of insects currently splatted on the windshield <br/> 7. Putting eye drops in is almost an extreme sport <br/> 8. It doesn't matter how prepared you are, 5-hour Energy will make you angry. Especially at your wife when she can't find a comfortable way to sleep, and OF COURSE she must be blaming you, until you realize you're just insane from way too much concentrated caffeine <br/> 9. My phone is amazing. It kept me occupied for several hours, provided directions, and her name is Iris <br/> 10. Grant has super human staying awake and driving forever powers <br/> <br/> Who knows what I will discover next. <br/> <br/> Journey on!</p><div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.4.8</div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-47050325136544407222010-07-19T11:22:00.002-04:002010-07-19T11:44:05.846-04:00Trouble in River City<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Signs you </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">might</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> be attending a community theatre production:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">1. The townspeople pay more attention to the audience than to the action</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">2. The costumes and props don't seem to adhere to any particular time period (example - rolling office chairs and Harry Potter hardback books)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">3. There seem to be a lot more children's dance numbers than you remember there being when you saw it on Broadway</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">4. Characters accents change from line to line and scene to scene</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">5. Any presence of white Keds onstage</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">6. Intensely long scene changes - sometimes with music, sometimes without</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">7. The townspeople may or may not know the choreography</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">8. Handpainted signs that look like they were done by a second grader on poster board with a marker</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">9. There are four hundred children, twenty women and six males in the show</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">10. There are three decent actors, and the director isn't one of them (though he is in the show)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">11. The barbershop quartet's clothing </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">almost</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> matches</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">12. The band has a total of five instruments, two of which are plastic recorders</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">13. The townspeople may or may not know the lyrics to the songs</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">14. The orchestra consists of mostly junior high kids, an old lady playing the piano, and one adult male</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">15. The interpreters have better acting skills than the female lead </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /><br /><br /></span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1dSJITNM6600A22GkdQj1SNnqDCW0taf-g3W6VCFC8g?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIP0OZ1iE2FlhNc2wsmbtg17EoeFoeyS8rb1lvzGQF3IMaBz-vklXUaLZ1TyH64iMVye48GprY3nqsF4UmzjfaRABJEzFE5tY6GLIqmSBLmwwD4Vg5FOr17pG6sIa9mmrepB29KatSoU5/s400/shot_1279475575411.jpg" /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Yes - I saw Moorestown Theater Company's production of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">The Music Man</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">And it was highly enjoyable.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">And I took a picture of Mom and Deb with my crazy Retro Camera app. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-6821993865298370072010-07-17T18:11:00.001-04:002010-07-17T18:11:44.902-04:00New phones are wonderful<a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Fk_CqYtqEl6tByAWd-jCpIbMBpSBrqpHlCrkwADgXWz1Q0uL7Zt32lrbosbxpTECR8TfiQzAevwwufkOp4gEjQA9UnkvSaOYs0C_7BsqUu1dw4BZIS3IoDPpbMGClLkZ8bjaTMGm-c53/'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Fk_CqYtqEl6tByAWd-jCpIbMBpSBrqpHlCrkwADgXWz1Q0uL7Zt32lrbosbxpTECR8TfiQzAevwwufkOp4gEjQA9UnkvSaOYs0C_7BsqUu1dw4BZIS3IoDPpbMGClLkZ8bjaTMGm-c53/s400/IMAG0001.jpg' /></a><p>And decently easy to blog from. <br/> <br/> I got a Droid Incredible and I love it! It's like Grant and Jason's, but smaller, more Sue-size. <br/> <br/> Nothing much to report in life. It will probably be a pretty slow week until Saturday, when we head down to Hilton Head. <br/> <br/> Still loving the Kindle. I feel like technology girl. <br/> <br/> I still need a name for my phone, so if you have any ideas, leave them in the comments.</p><div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.4.7</div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-4159882627072864442010-07-09T11:46:00.003-04:002010-07-09T12:28:19.618-04:00Quincy Cover<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Grant, who is the super-coolest, most wonderful one, has crafted me this fine cover for Quincy. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I decided that I wanted something handmade, instead of just buying a cover. The moleskin I had was just a hair too small, so I went in search of a book that would be just the right size, and wouldn't break my heart to tear apart. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I found several books that would be just the right size, but were near and dear to me - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">The Fire Cat </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">(no way you could ever get me to pull that one apart!), </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Blitz, the Story of a Horse</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> (another childhood favorite).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I settled on an old hardcover copy of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">The Bus Station Mystery</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> - a Boxcar Children book. Don't worry, it's not a first edition or anything. I already have a paperback copy of it, anyway. And it was the exact right size:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/-jqN7onZ64rOPvzJ-BoD1g?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHfRtAkqhuYaSRYQgavIeRP5gvv3OAbRPLBj3-9TaoosA0bQBNhdE5sbKYx7288k17d8FeT1jWIrdya3jqtKxvNScAbY8h_dU_5U-fHIs1SnfHhkhgSbkPGjmDmksPTufC4mL-7ax_Fw5/s400/34245_561843859654_141303439_32860511_6493669_n.jpg" /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fS1hkNU9KNpAI9Akj3p3oA?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHe2xczc1kVGljPUdKgheoNLUoeNrPLw_Mv2dUOPWdaBrJBXHHA33iWJhe1KSX_8tVPkOexT1fIGLHrRRsuTLd50fwcxvIUE19IMKKzjOXtD1_c5rlavJp7xyoHv_2QMCwom_zBYoPHd5f/s400/36759_561843934504_141303439_32860512_6716903_n.jpg" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /><br /></span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/2ofUu_19rehiuYoh2J1rbA?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuz5kw1-rcsTQkYf7Tn3wb4aCCKlSabgNKgz165d_CZsufpMIc0N2MEqOe2oSohlXmes2DwXDCCOBBYE2av9wOtgMJ-RquN43orY7y1EOC5k3V4Z9z-dwW4i4m5i0DZLeb4KdcCTaSrja0/s400/37378_561843994384_141303439_32860513_7895609_n.jpg" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /><br /></span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/A8RKFwvvpvqgWPPuN2K7QQ?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhun0jiZgvCvTYC7OwkiuE9nsCH_R7-ShPuTjwnN4uBpaF90EobMIWbeoSIBCImy2c7LRK0Hn4fR4fKtTWJa5GKxk7Blc4G4MlpAHYBAtQZN2gjj5OSKNtptDEaPQ4RZkKzdzCNGzWAa8qK/s400/34099_561844024324_141303439_32860514_3162021_n.jpg" /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Isn't it great! Grant did all the cutting and glueing and assembling. He did a much better job than I would of. Cuz he's the best one.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">AND - the pages of the book are still all assembled and stuck together, so I could make them a cover and it would still be an entire book - take that Dad!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-27967821463544136492010-06-20T11:07:00.002-04:002010-06-20T11:18:50.383-04:00<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/_4af4zMGAdXNW_cUJBtIBg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho1Kh6r4o5g2dvrTDOpI1REyJegoNQJT7DmVzpNs_Q3w5WLiootgqvCbJuTfQS6GWWmcV-oZAMFnlpfvRTrCaIGOBKP3MbpezZODUQAUYTjVTx0wa2YMjjTJqKZkzZT__FP0sOZlT7hMLX/s400/20686657967_ORIG.jpg" /></a><div><br /></div><div>what's the biggest Nutella jar you've ever seen?</div><div><br /></div><div>How about 11 pounds of hazelnut chocolate love? You could make a lot of crepes with that.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-49495759448703730542010-06-08T19:00:00.002-04:002010-06-09T09:02:17.604-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-Ch3ybjDQbyc4YOrCxTg3hrZnzOUbQeIn7lwkJBtDXtxoDYVRz4GyNqNnJcspMS16oodSSS3KYDf9S2YaFoCEyI5wH8J8DJ3Y5x_GcaLYcxS4mF18KeroVR3ms4unYwqv6hbRvemrx6r/s1600/0608101851a-730284.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-Ch3ybjDQbyc4YOrCxTg3hrZnzOUbQeIn7lwkJBtDXtxoDYVRz4GyNqNnJcspMS16oodSSS3KYDf9S2YaFoCEyI5wH8J8DJ3Y5x_GcaLYcxS4mF18KeroVR3ms4unYwqv6hbRvemrx6r/s160/0608101851a-730284.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480541607485033458" /></a></p>In exchange for helping with the mural, Carly gave me a tutorial in pottery. I made this pretty bowl! It's upside down, obviously, but it's way pretty. It needs to dry out, then be fired, then glazed, then fired again, all of which Carley will kindly do for me. The kiln she will use probably won't be fired up for quite a few months, so I'll pick it up on my next visit back to pittsburgh. But it's gonna be pretty!<p><br /></p>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-26550555295890748632010-06-08T12:02:00.002-04:002010-06-09T09:02:28.348-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQgIsyx6f22KXVPOLFzfrLAEvuELaelKdEWZx1EsscaJEGLBwrn6_PBxXIszc8OfVTVVfOrEw26hrR-SLnJM-PyRcis_zkziE5OlJpPcjRfYRekTBJucyIls_yp7kAnfZ9_EhyphenhyphenkFhUKnB/s1600/0608101146-743151.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQgIsyx6f22KXVPOLFzfrLAEvuELaelKdEWZx1EsscaJEGLBwrn6_PBxXIszc8OfVTVVfOrEw26hrR-SLnJM-PyRcis_zkziE5OlJpPcjRfYRekTBJucyIls_yp7kAnfZ9_EhyphenhyphenkFhUKnB/s160/0608101146-743151.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480433860259070130" /></a></p>For the past two days, I've been a 'visiting artist' at the school my cousin Carly is student teaching at. I showed some pictures of sets I've painted and talked about some of the processes for painting wood grain and drops. And I helped layout the beginnings of a mural in the school hallway. This is the rough sketch of what it will look like, with better lettering, of course.The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-60229658087598291722010-05-13T10:15:00.002-04:002010-05-13T10:31:50.061-04:00All's Quiet<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Haven't had very much going on, since summer officially began for Grant and me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Watching a lot of 30Rock, hit the library yesterday, loving the consistent morning yoga. Can't wait until the weather is actually warm.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">But because I post pictures in almost every post I do, here are some sketches I did on the couch Sunday night while watching a marathon of Eureka. I decided that this summer I gotta get my freehand sketching back in some sort of shape - gotta work those sketching muscles or they atrophy. They're not perfect, but I actually did better than I thought I would. Haven't really done these type of sketches since Drawing 1.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/iKJc26EsG_9qoaXOAdk2mdVUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxWYBUe24nvZzaOOcEMRmcxNoVTuNTtNxAgtkM9b9q0v6QJ8jtME6gveItUH3_KQb2y2ZZ6w-pMab3O1uRfqqMiUS98ejrYgo7KAq_LG4_1912zqftzQ70QDe_ESrpkuOo6MCgLv9wBt3/s400/DSC_0096.jpg" /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Susan.out.</span></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-49052865103745455002010-05-01T15:33:00.001-04:002010-05-01T15:34:32.217-04:00she believed it<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/4ZM7hx8Reynh1jxc7XCBwQ?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTaxwJ0tY9wg3bwE5XEFGMu7AuPH3Lk3XM_eiDW7JxqH5ZptruuXJCcukElC3zpWvKEjbalMxodqqUQuHVxX421sUSOKCYYwdIHKB9t2vsQEc2iLGiyypDti9xOSvZZ7sZVAna3ZzfxtxC/s400/DSC_0039.jpg" /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Most recent project - the colors here don't do it justice....</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">She's about 23"x23" and she'd going above my drawing desk.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-10640504848461093592010-04-29T14:11:00.002-04:002010-04-29T14:29:26.892-04:00Susan, the Insufferable Know-It-All<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Sometimes I feel like an Insufferable Know-It-All. And I apologize, profusely.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I know that each and every one of you have come under the fire of this stupid "</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Thinks</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">She Knows it all."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Here's my problem, and also my merit: I want the best. And I will stop at no amount of knowledge to attain it. (It's a gift, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">a curse</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I tend to become interested in something, and want to know everything about it. So I research and research and eventually come out at the "best" way of doing something. Examples include, but are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">not </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">limited to: Latex paint, aging techniques, Neil Gaiman, JM Barrie, living "green," making bread, italian food (and Italy in general), french food, and now living "primally." I'm sure you could list a hundred more. And I probably have done more research on all of these subjects then most everyone who actually read my blog. You've probably gotten soapbox speeches on several of these things, just by knowing me (and from Grant - he is one of my kind). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">BUT you also know that if you have surpassed me or know all about something I have no idea about, but are very interested in, you've experienced what happens on rare occasions. My rapt and completely undivided (and somewhat rapacious) attention. I know it must be intense, because of the looks I have gotten while I've been giving it - a kind of deer in headlights, but still interested in sharing, look. My head might have started to behave like a sponge - sound familiar?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I'm just completely obsessed with all things "best." You know I refuse to drink diet soda or diet anything ("the dark side," as my Dad calls it), I'm usually extremely uninterested in things over-processed (artificial nacho cheese being my utter weakness). It's probably where my DIY impulses come from - especially in the kitchen. When unpronounceable ingredients are in the list of ingredients, I tend to lose interest. It's probably why I love Alton Brown so much. He gives me the science behind everything - which appeals to the cook, and the geek, inside of me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I have to get back to my baking french bread, and my tiramisu, so I've got to cut this short.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">But I love you all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">And I'm so</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">so sorry</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">for being an</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">insufferable</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">know-it-all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> </span></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-20086482244497538752010-04-22T07:27:00.002-04:002010-04-22T18:09:40.063-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiODGkq69ED4htqIIXvVSSL85TNu9aJuv3cs_Q2tXye7OJM4vL2PdTHMtWCBXMFbFJifpCCuvtE7mqezFQYisSJMEWIipHO8YBJeI2gq5EVpwHQDxjdF4vvBJfRqyJj260ucbuHPKY5CBW0/s1600/0421101500-741337.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiODGkq69ED4htqIIXvVSSL85TNu9aJuv3cs_Q2tXye7OJM4vL2PdTHMtWCBXMFbFJifpCCuvtE7mqezFQYisSJMEWIipHO8YBJeI2gq5EVpwHQDxjdF4vvBJfRqyJj260ucbuHPKY5CBW0/s160/0421101500-741337.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462921982717661330" /></a></p>Yesterday, Carrie and I went on a painter field trip to the theatre to see the set. And weren't we lucky that they were having flying rehearsal? In this crappy litte cellphone picture you can see the carpeted sand dune, pre-sand, and the flying egg. The man in the gray shirt and jeans closest to the camera is our designer, David Farley, who has a love british accent, and reminds me a bit of our dear Matt Molby, mostly because of his curls and the way he wears his jeans. The way skinny woman in the leather jacket on the ugly green stairs is the actress who is playing Amelia. Everyone else is too small for me to recognize. Have a great earth day!<p><br /></p>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-45814058649064583822010-04-18T08:13:00.003-04:002010-04-18T08:19:12.347-04:00The Golden Egg, and the Goose who painted it<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/hWuBWZAucpKvYVEwbHbJzg?feat=embedwebsite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaKx7mta669LDo-vYmY7z4TxnA_twYg7iZ66STd05pzn2z_oDbfXO16h6mByJ76NG52Te2u-j-9JkAzRep3xRI9OF8WCASMJiWGpmZVePL-5grtYW2arKIQKedIev7i1XqHWDBYiHwuAh/s400/0416101624.jpg" /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">This was friday's project. To paint the Golden Egg. At least that's what we've been calling it. It represents the fuselage of Amelia Earhart's plane. And it flies in and lands on the stage.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">It's lying on it's back in this picture - it comes up to about my waist when I stand in the middle of it. When it is stood up, boards go across the beams (which I painted very prettily, if I do say so myself), and a chair (which Grant built) covered in old red "leather." It's gonna be </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">hott</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I felt like I was painting something in a Jules Verne novel all day. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">It should look VERY steampunk when it's done.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-47601797270049192242010-04-16T22:12:00.002-04:002010-04-16T22:42:23.441-04:00Vampire TextsNot sure if you are interested, but my friend Kate recently started a blog called <a href="http://vampiretexts.blogspot.com/">Vampire Texts</a>, of which I am a contributor. As of right now its just her and me. She's posted two parts of her story, and I've just posted my first piece - the <a href="http://vampiretexts.blogspot.com/2010/04/stranger-working-title-part-1.html">prologue</a> of a short story.<div><br /></div><div>Her posts are in white, mine are in the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6666;">salmon pinkish </span>color.</div><div><br /></div><div>It started because Kate and I like to discuss and debate things, one of which is vampires - why popular media thinks all vampires like to have sex with teenage girls, which mythologies we like best, etc.</div><div><br /></div><div>And we've been putting together our own rough ideas of "our" vampire stories. Technically, my first one isn't really following it, but you gotta write what's in your head and in your heart.</div><div><br /></div><div>Enjoy if you want, ignore if not.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-28181074911437785772010-04-14T22:23:00.002-04:002010-04-14T22:27:15.027-04:00Moon Girl, Finale<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/pBnV6nusBKi9AXqKBDbTe9VUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfWl7fJi2Sf_t5QYximygkEIb5v1q7StrLh_9bkFdj-jXJrTFsaWYab7VW-v5GOTogsfUK7Wbi5CORzwXnQCKUfA5P7156t26r4iUiut8tLlkhDSGPFcVkBBH2vzXcm_TMjPxX9LQCb3y/s288/moon%20girl%20005.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The physician hesitated. He entertained the thought of running for the woods, but couldn't muster the courage, nor could he abandon Sara to face the horrid man alone. He must have paused for too long, for Keam draped a seemingly friendly, but very firm arm across the physician's shoulders.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Come on, doctor. I'm sure you have much more important things to do today. I know after we get this…business… taken care of, I know my men and I will be busy the rest of the evening, tending to our weapons, preparing to defend the defenseless."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The physician hung his head and continued across the meadow, and toward the cliffs.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Dusk was just falling and the first few stars were appearing when he caught a flash of silver from the edge of the cliff. He stiffened. Keam felt the sudden tension, saw the flash and, with a gesture, quietly brought the whole procession to a stop.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam pushed the physician to his knees with a hard hand on his shoulder, motioned for a nearby soldier to guard him, then cautiously stepped toward the small girl sitting by the cliff.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Moon Girl."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara started out of her daydreams at the sudden and unfamiliar voice.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The first thing she saw when she turned was the physician, on his knees, with his head in his hands, and two very large strangers standing over him. She saw the villages, standing still and grey, solemnly looking on.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Closer, Sara saw a dozen or so more of the huge smirking men. She stood and slowly moved her gaze to Keam's.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">If Keam was startled at the calmness or the clarity in those little eyes, he didn't show it.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"In return for our protection of his kingdom, your King has granted us a skein of your precious hair," Keam said simply, and not at all harshly.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"He is not my King, and this is not my kingdom."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam chuckled lightly. "Surely, you would be saddened if it's people were harmed by the foreigners."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. "And you would use this hair to sharpen your swords and string your bows?"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam nodded.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara looked at the villagers, the men, and the physician, then back at Keam.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She opened her mouth to speak and, with the slights of hesitation, said, "No."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">A hushed murmur swept through those assembled. Keam colored slightly.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Are you certain?" Keam said darkly.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara took a step back and stood firm.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Yes."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"We are not averse to taking it by force," He said, looming just the slightest bit.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Her gaze flicked over the crowd again. Everyone held their breath.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara lowered her eyes. She gathered her hair in her fist and held out her hand. "Your knife."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam straightened up and with a black smile, handed it over.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sliced through the tangle of hair. Then, in one quick move, she flung the strands out over the sea.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam's smile melted into a stunned gape. He made a feeble attempt to lurch after them, and watched as the hairs scattered in the wind.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">With a roar, he turned on her, the anger coming off him in waves.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She stared him full in the face. Her whole body trembled, but her eyes shone with defiance.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">He snatched her up, his hands around her neck. There were several exclamations from the villagers and the physician cried, "NO!," but, when he attempted to stand, he was viciously thrown back to the ground.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara gagged and pulled at Keam's hands. He pulled her in close to his face, and started to speak, but could only sputter in anger and frustration. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara's attempts to escape were becoming weak, and her eyelids began to flutter.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam set his teeth and with a putrid sneer, spun and hurled her over the cliff face. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Everyone stood frozen in shock. The brute had thrown a small girl over a precipice, to what was certainly her death. But their shock immediately swelled to full astonishment. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Reports vary here. Some insist she must have been caught up by a huge black bird that everyone had failed to notice. Others say she just disappeared. Those too cowardly to have attended said that everyone was lying, because they did not want to think of the girls body lying at the base of the cliffs.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">But every child who was present (for children, who do not feel the need to rationalize everything they see, are the most trustworthy in these situations) all told the same story. That she simply fell up, into the sky.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">When thrown over the edge, it seemed the laws of nature had reversed. Her body had arched up instead of down as it should have, and she plummeted into the heavens.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The people watched long after she had disappeared from sight.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vsOnwwJx51lJrCofxKUFfdVUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmRLNEjbPs31dcvvJvvNw1Ps97fs7PM8_AacjcaFOOEW5WpQqeSCfyTUoR-q2xuytHXBL6krWq_gPa5uJbHggsZMkO0jhxj_ux4V9o-Zm1GvXFHCkOOLBPn7msBF8Z-oh8I0yCoj1XF5O/s288/Moon%20Girl%206.jpg" /></a></div><p></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The rest of the story is uncomplicated. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam and his men left, without a word, and headed back to their own land. The foreigners charged straight for the capitol, where, in a quick and bloody battle, they captured the king and took his throne. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">And life continued much the same for the people in the village.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The silver strands of Sara's hair had fallen into the sea, where they rested on the peaks of the waves, trailing after the Moon's reflection in a long tail, and there they remained all nights the moon shone, and there they remain still.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">And every night, for as long as he lived, which was very long, indeed, the physician would go and sit on the edge of the cliffs, and gaze up at the Moon.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/txrEnm-5eum8tJbskZ7eb9VUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9s_h1lRyYGxYd_snQIBK3arsB6CskkvgWg8QOU26FBkfj89npY_oYJdFQOpu-BMcjy64bz2duiHY3Onj5xmsmXJDyJxkiybDp4IGl-7czuopGiBaWkGGoKuoLuEJNbwg-chyphenhyphen-WjyjNPaG/s288/Moon%20Girl%207.jpg" /></a><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-82484969038518686852010-04-14T22:00:00.002-04:002010-04-15T06:30:15.177-04:00Moon Girl - the complete story<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uNC96TM2_93L0WNX7HtvBg?authkey=Gv1sRgCJy77K7B_7DpmgE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcWGzd-nV-u536HvlOdaHXPq0fAUhVdw1nk6var3gKvfo7OL0bZGgphhyXWZQXz2H5BN5DJS8nrL1JQqMvskKhm-1JbSPFa9QDlmTMrngpRUv2foQDGLplyd3ptmpUcrqgm_sUp7slHAt/s400/Moon%20Girl001.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Moon Girl</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Once, there was a girl named Sara, and she had the most beautiful hair that anyone had ever seen. It was long and silver, and sometimes it seemed to move when there wasn't any wind, or shimmer when there was no light. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara lived on a hillside, near the cliffs that looked out over the ocean. She slept in a small meadow, or, if it was rainy, she slept in a cleft in the cliff face. She ate fruits and nuts from the nearby forest, and drank from the clear stream running through it, and she was content.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara's meadow was very close to a small village. No one there knew when she had come. One day she just was. Some people said she was the daughter of the moon, some said she was a fallen star. Others said she had drifted there by the night wind. The more nasty and covetous ones would say that she was the daughter of a witch, sent to do horrible mischief, but no one really believed those stories, especially the ones who told them.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">People would travel from far away to see her and her hair. Some wrote songs about it. Some wrote epic poems. Some would follow her around, trying to draw, paint or sculpt it. She was always polite, sitting still if they asked her to, but they would leave disappointed, unable to capture the mystery that glimmered about her. They would go home, and put away their paintings or their songs in a drawer to get rusty and lose their shine. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/yABLyxy5AYV6KdnTvJbA7Q?authkey=Gv1sRgCJy77K7B_7DpmgE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVJaOQezvB3jtpSawlyidqy5a4m4BXnSictfR_hUDtkzT5LNXahav0a1GYWPQUGYqdha3mxLD3SxMJ5pyFM02-gsW_CgHyy6lU1oCvL3Xh5BYKusow2kRkZ75aPU7-DG50EIt7oSaVx27/s288/Moon%20Girl002.jpg" /></a><br /></div><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara's hair wasn't only beautiful, it was strong. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Every few months, the fiddle maker in the village would ask her for a few hairs to string a particularly fine instrument he had made. And the tailor would send his assistant to beg permission to pick long pieces from her hairbrush, for he was planning an exquisite pinstripe suit to send to the King, who lived far away. Birds would collect fallen strands from the meadow and use them to build their nests, which were so strong that even the most wayward boys from the village couldn't knock them down.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara would grant these wishes if the asker was courteous, and didn't ask too frequently. But, on occasion, an archer would ask for a strand to string his arrow with, or a soldier would ask for a few strings to sharpen his sword, and she would gently decline. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Besides these short meetings and the rare occasion that a brave child of the village would speak with her, Sara spent most of her time alone, and she was generally happy. She spent her time walking in the meadow, or playing in the forest by herself. But, on clear nights she'd sit on the cliff and look at the moon and it's solitary reflection in the ocean, (for in those days the moon's reflection on the ocean was the same as it is today on a still lake, with no trailing reflection in the water), and she would wonder if the moon was as lonely as she sometimes felt.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xL43GkdpYcyRe8xn3o-Yfg?authkey=Gv1sRgCJy77K7B_7DpmgE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirgIIjm2WgnFZZf2D-doDk3Q7djO_yFv3SskJUmE9sOZySWxMPlzqcqDnDdf2_rT2koQzK0Yok-GSfyO8CcTLW2BVoywRE6EUTr2JcY_nJEAWh37PTdC2e5zeQ1AJQ5tXH5LEempJ-F8gq/s288/Moon%20Girl005.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Life when on for years like this. The villagers grew older, some were born and some died. The fiddler maker's fiddles became the most prized of all the instruments in the kingdom, the tailor's pinstripe suits had become the new fashion, and the village, though still small, was very well off. But Sara stayed the same.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara had long ago made friends with the village physician, to whom she would go to pull the occasion splinter from a toe or bring any hurt animals she would come across.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">One day, when she was bringing a small white fox with a broken paw to the physician, he was not at home. Sarah began to walk through the streets of the town, asking for him occasionally. As she was passing by the tavern, she heard angry and frightened voices coming from inside, one of which was the physicians. She crept over to the window and knelt under it to hear what was happening. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"NO! That can't be right!," the tailor shouted.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"I'm only telling you what I heard," said the tavern keeper.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"We're doomed. What will happen to us!" said the fiddle maker.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Calm down, everyone," said the physician. "Let's have the facts again."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"A messenger from the village down the coast stopped in on his way to the King. He only wanted some water for his horse, and some food for his trip. He said that his village had seen ships from The Land Across the Sea," said the tavern keeper.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"That doesn't seem so odd," said the physician. "That village is a port. They trade with The Land Across the Sea often."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Yes. 'But these ships are different,' the messenger said. He said they were war ships, and that there were many of them. His village thinks they've come to attack the kingdom!" said the tavern keeper.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"YOU SEE!" shouted the tailor. "Get your swords, get your bows and knock your arrows, get your pitchforks! Anything and Everything. We must protect our village!"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The fiddle maker sobbed into his ale.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Calm down everyone," said the physician. "There is no use getting worked up over this. We don't know that there wasn't a terrible disaster that destroyed their smaller boats and the only ones that survived were the warships. We don't know that there aren't pirates in the water. They could be coming here to warn us."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"AND WE DON'T KNOW THAT THEY AREN'T COMING HERE TO KILL US ALL!" bellowed the tailor.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"That's true. But the news is going to the King, and he will decide what to do. The best thing now is to not worry the entire village," said the physician, as he rose to leave. Then he paused, and added in a quiet voice, "Even so, there's no harm in inspecting whatever weapons you have, to make sure they are in good working order."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara was frozen in shock. It took a moment for her to realize that the physician had left the tavern and was walking down the street away from her. She stood and hurried to catch him. He took the fox with his usual gentle manner, and said he'd look after it. She thanked him, but she didn't mention the conversation she had heard.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">That night, as she sat on the cliff, she asked the Moon, "What am I to do?"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The Moon, as usual, didn't reply.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/17I1w4UWXFb21F8RDQQj1Q?authkey=Gv1sRgCJy77K7B_7DpmgE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFGSSB0c4sl-t0BzEScKK4rh2REPHsVLy6TPD7-zdZTjQsNJ_kKcPbtwdqkGqCn7ZBCT25eD1VF5sHfu9-SUcWJfKqToZVGD4mT2bRG8u13UZPc4XJQJ8mzS67o5aLToPriiDAK01JHac/s288/Moon%20Girl004.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Even though the physician had told the others not to upset the village, the tailor couldn't help shouting at anyone who came in his door, and the fiddle maker wouldn't stop weeping. The tavern keeper kept spilling drinks, and even the physician was more stoic than was usually his habit. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">In a few weeks, everyone in the town was a reduced to nervous mess, and the mood has spread to the meadow and to the cliff. Sara was alone even more frequently. Most of the more sensible animals had moved on, and Sara wondered if she should as well. But before she could give it any more thought, everything changed.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Soldiers were marching into the village. And they were different than any soldiers the villagers had ever seen. The soldiers that had passed through before always were clean and fit, polite, and wore the colors of the King. These soldiers were dirty and mean, with patchwork armor and no colors. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">But their leader was the worst. His name was Keam, and he was a mercenary, hired by the King to defend the kingdom. He led his men through the village and ordered them to camp in the meadow. Keam turned to the villagers and asked to speak with their governor. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The mayor came forward, and the two men stepped into the tavern. Many of the townsmen followed. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Why have you come here?" asked the mayor. "And why are you making camp? Shouldn't you be on your way to a village with a port?"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"When your King asked us to fight for him, he asked what we wanted in payment," said Keam. "And we told him we had heard of a girl who lives in these parts, with hair stronger than any bowstring, that will make a sword sharper than any other. We have bought many of the wares of this fine village, and have disassembled fiddles and suits to test its merits, and found all the accounts to be true. 'Give us a skein of her hair, and we will fight for you,' we told your King. That is why we camp here: to collect our payment."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The men shuffled about anxiously. Some made to protest, but the thought of the mercenaries camping just outside of the village quieted them.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam noticed the fear in the air, and with a big nasty grin, he stood. He towered over every man in the room. "So, where is she?" he boomed.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The physician was in the tavern that day, and was starting to slip out when Keam turned to look at him.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Where are you going?"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The physician paused. Then he looked Keam straight in the eye. "I'm the village physician. I'm heading back to my practice to check on a patient who is resting there."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The others in the tavern glanced nervously around, which was did not go unnoticed by Keam. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam just stared, then stepped closer. "Well, on your way, you can show us where this girl lives." The physician held his stare. "Unless someone else would prefer to guide me?"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Everyone else looked away. Keam smirked and grabbed the physician roughly by the arm. "Okay doctor, it looks like it's you and me," and he strode from the tavern.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Without asking, Keam turned them toward the meadow. He didn't need directing, since he seemed already to know where he was heading.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">He marched the physician through the center of the mercenary camp. The soldiers sneered and fell in step behind their leader. Timidly, the bravest of the townspeople followed at a distance.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">In the distance, under the moonlight, a glint of silver caught in the wind could be seen, right on the edge of the cliff.</p></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/pBnV6nusBKi9AXqKBDbTe9VUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfWl7fJi2Sf_t5QYximygkEIb5v1q7StrLh_9bkFdj-jXJrTFsaWYab7VW-v5GOTogsfUK7Wbi5CORzwXnQCKUfA5P7156t26r4iUiut8tLlkhDSGPFcVkBBH2vzXcm_TMjPxX9LQCb3y/s288/moon%20girl%20005.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The physician hesitated. He entertained the thought of running for the woods, but couldn't muster the courage, nor could he abandon Sara to face the horrid man alone. He must have paused for too long, for Keam draped a seemingly friendly, but very firm arm across the physician's shoulders.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Come on, doctor. I'm sure you have much more important things to do today. I know after we get this…business… taken care of, I know my men and I will be busy the rest of the evening, tending to our weapons, preparing to defend the defenseless."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The physician hung his head and continued across the meadow, and toward the cliffs.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Dusk was just falling and the first few stars were appearing when he caught a flash of silver from the edge of the cliff. He stiffened. Keam felt the sudden tension, saw the flash and, with a gesture, quietly brought the whole procession to a stop.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam pushed the physician to his knees with a hard hand on his shoulder, motioned for a nearby soldier to guard him, then cautiously stepped toward the small girl sitting by the cliff.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Moon Girl."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara started out of her daydreams at the sudden and unfamiliar voice.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The first thing she saw when she turned was the physician, on his knees, with his head in his hands, and two very large strangers standing over him. She saw the villages, standing still and grey, solemnly looking on.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Closer, Sara saw a dozen or so more of the huge smirking men. She stood and slowly moved her gaze to Keam's.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">If Keam was startled at the calmness or the clarity in those little eyes, he didn't show it.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"In return for our protection of his kingdom, your King has granted us a skein of your precious hair," Keam said simply, and not at all harshly.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"He is not my King, and this is not my kingdom."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam chuckled lightly. "Surely, you would be saddened if it's people were harmed by the foreigners."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. "And you would use this hair to sharpen your swords and string your bows?"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam nodded.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara looked at the villagers, the men, and the physician, then back at Keam.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She opened her mouth to speak and, with the slights of hesitation, said, "No."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">A hushed murmur swept through those assembled. Keam colored slightly.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Are you certain?" Keam said darkly.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara took a step back and stood firm.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"Yes."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">"We are not averse to taking it by force," He said, looming just the slightest bit.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Her gaze flicked over the crowd again. Everyone held their breath.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara lowered her eyes. She gathered her hair in her fist and held out her hand. "Your knife."</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam straightened up and with a black smile, handed it over.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sliced through the tangle of hair. Then, in one quick move, she flung the strands out over the sea.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam's smile melted into a stunned gape. He made a feeble attempt to lurch after them, and watched as the hairs scattered in the wind.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">With a roar, he turned on her, the anger coming off him in waves.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">She stared him full in the face. Her whole body trembled, but her eyes shone with defiance.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">He snatched her up, his hands around her neck. There were several exclamations from the villagers and the physician cried, "NO!," but, when he attempted to stand, he was viciously thrown back to the ground.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara gagged and pulled at Keam's hands. He pulled her in close to his face, and started to speak, but could only sputter in anger and frustration. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Sara's attempts to escape were becoming weak, and her eyelids began to flutter.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam set his teeth and with a putrid sneer, spun and hurled her over the cliff face. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Everyone stood frozen in shock. The brute had thrown a small girl over a precipice, to what was certainly her death. But their shock immediately swelled to full astonishment. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Reports vary here. Some insist she must have been caught up by a huge black bird that everyone had failed to notice. Others say she just disappeared. Those too cowardly to have attended said that everyone was lying, because they did not want to think of the girls body lying at the base of the cliffs.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">But every child who was present (for children, who do not feel the need to rationalize everything they see, are the most trustworthy in these situations) all told the same story. That she simply fell up, into the sky.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">When thrown over the edge, it seemed the laws of nature had reversed. Her body had arched up instead of down as it should have, and she plummeted into the heavens.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The people watched long after she had disappeared from sight.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vsOnwwJx51lJrCofxKUFfdVUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmRLNEjbPs31dcvvJvvNw1Ps97fs7PM8_AacjcaFOOEW5WpQqeSCfyTUoR-q2xuytHXBL6krWq_gPa5uJbHggsZMkO0jhxj_ux4V9o-Zm1GvXFHCkOOLBPn7msBF8Z-oh8I0yCoj1XF5O/s288/Moon%20Girl%206.jpg" /></a></div><p></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The rest of the story is uncomplicated. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Keam and his men left, without a word, and headed back to their own land. The foreigners charged straight for the capitol, where, in a quick and bloody battle, they captured the king and took his throne. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">And life continued much the same for the people in the village.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The silver strands of Sara's hair had fallen into the sea, where they rested on the peaks of the waves, trailing after the Moon's reflection in a long tail, and there they remained all nights the moon shone, and there they remain still.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">And every night, for as long as he lived, which was very long, indeed, the physician would go and sit on the edge of the cliffs, and gaze up at the Moon.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/txrEnm-5eum8tJbskZ7eb9VUAo0jXxIv1CeEU02KcCA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9s_h1lRyYGxYd_snQIBK3arsB6CskkvgWg8QOU26FBkfj89npY_oYJdFQOpu-BMcjy64bz2duiHY3Onj5xmsmXJDyJxkiybDp4IGl-7czuopGiBaWkGGoKuoLuEJNbwg-chyphenhyphen-WjyjNPaG/s288/Moon%20Girl%207.jpg" /></a><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-45754307997307380162010-04-14T07:45:00.001-04:002010-04-14T07:45:21.795-04:00It's done! It still needs to be typed up, mind you, and illustrated, but the writing is done!The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-49166242407598940752010-04-13T13:52:00.001-04:002010-04-13T13:52:21.261-04:00I am so close to finishing writing Moon Girl that i'm a bit shaky...The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-20186651112280937532010-04-11T16:27:00.002-04:002010-04-11T16:32:43.197-04:00The impossible dream is done<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I've finally completed Man of La Mancha's set! Huzzah.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Sadly, I forgot my real camera and had to settle for my crappy phone camera. Oh well.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/5boPVUvsMraAx3bnguqcdw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOjfUfR2n5_IMkdyPzg7EwIECNqoySS1K4NnvNuvdc_0ZbW6Am_ypHLQ21mPHWgOSXAl-W3PdZa-11EaoWP_HmPByc6gJ5w3poTVuJnU6WiSNvYm7NEqqgD09Lu0LNjJi-kozXltxMeeT/s400/0411101251b.jpg" /></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">I was in today, adding a general amount of grime. The rocks were shiny and new, and I had to gross them up a bit. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">It's funny, I basically took all of my colors, and one after the other sprayed down the walls. So I have almost no left over paint for this one. I probably would have used it all, except at the last minute I thought I should leave some left over for touch up. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Now I'm just waiting for rolls to rise, thinking about the steaks I'm going to cook, and trying to get Grant to pay attention to me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">Can't wait for summer, when this will be what I do everyday....</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-80908010325122887822010-04-10T10:14:00.007-04:002010-04-10T10:25:12.905-04:00wonderful.......<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWRvqO1MjIs">This</a> is the trailer for Neil's poem called </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> Instructions</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"> illustrated by Charles Vess.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;">It's wonderful, and it's read by Neil.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dWRvqO1MjIs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dWRvqO1MjIs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br />If you haven't already seen it - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKbyFrsQQ9w&feature=related">here</a> is the one for Blueberry Girl, also wonderful!<br /></span><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bKbyFrsQQ9w&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bKbyFrsQQ9w&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><i>Instructions</i> doesn't seem to be fitting entirely onto my blog, so if you need to go to YouTube to see it, do so.</span></div>The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-12383531921625781702010-04-08T11:11:00.001-04:002010-04-08T11:11:34.183-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzA13NCaz6nMs74uOTTk4pbH_n65NJSLa8KADvNl3ueoNIdBo0cVn-Lv10LdenLqERZEiZzOClGObSHMqbwpDCy2O7pyBozOh796eSfYMRE_tFM300rm5UQnHm-54ODtzRijm6ufuheJN/s1600/0408101001-794183.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzA13NCaz6nMs74uOTTk4pbH_n65NJSLa8KADvNl3ueoNIdBo0cVn-Lv10LdenLqERZEiZzOClGObSHMqbwpDCy2O7pyBozOh796eSfYMRE_tFM300rm5UQnHm-54ODtzRijm6ufuheJN/s160/0408101001-794183.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457784572247606306" /></a></p>Carrie has conquered the sand dune. It fears her rasp. She's holding a piece of the carpet that will be put on it. We were checking how our shapes look under it. Now we're cleaning up. Looks like we'll have 4 and a half garbage bags full of foam dust. Carrie wrote on facebook that, when we're carving, we look like pink snowball snack cakes!The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8658493702183304572.post-14708844988968330122010-04-07T16:45:00.001-04:002010-04-07T16:45:59.061-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_q2zsgpMJ5bgJJsNzFaL5F_K4YTNBBSEYL9BKOXdKHuCRZfeUKMfAfRD7iyjiJ6xAzg5W7hrTdM84QH6q_X6soqVm3ivKpxgFbTaneroMLQSkvvTp4XqUJsG3zjhfQNt_c6Y22ia3qPjj/s1600/0407101453-759062.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_q2zsgpMJ5bgJJsNzFaL5F_K4YTNBBSEYL9BKOXdKHuCRZfeUKMfAfRD7iyjiJ6xAzg5W7hrTdM84QH6q_X6soqVm3ivKpxgFbTaneroMLQSkvvTp4XqUJsG3zjhfQNt_c6Y22ia3qPjj/s160/0407101453-759062.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457499664779116530" /></a></p>Have you ever carved a sand dune lifesize? I have. That's been this week's project at McCarter. We've already filled up three garbage bags of foam dust. Tomorrow we'll finish up the carving, then coat it with foamcoat. Then it gets covered with a very thin tan carpet, then actual sand. If ache all over today, how will I feel tomorrow....The Mind of Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951342888523044848noreply@blogger.com3