For those who don’t know, the Rubber Chicken is searching for his love, the Fuzzy Duck.

The Rubber Chicken became alarmed when the Fuzzy Duck never met him for their date at the newest restaurant in town.  After talking to her roommate, they discovered a note from the Fuzzy Duck saying she had to rescue her mother from the dreaded Skull King.  Now, she too has been captured into his evil lair.  Can the Rubber Chicken save her before she becomes trapped by the Skull King forever?  Stay tuned…

“How did that happen?” the Rubber Chicken asked, his voice incredulous.  “I just touched them and suddenly, they were whole!”

“You were thinking of her, weren’t you?” Mrs. Frizzle asked.  She winked as he gaped at her.  “True love, chickie.  It’s all about true love.”

“I knew that,” the Love Pig interjected.  He stared at the eggs as if the cracks might reappear any minute.  “I knew that.  I’m the Love Pig!  Of course I knew that.  Who said I didn’t know that?”

“Nobody,” the Rubber Chicken replied, rolling his eyes.   He looked up at Ms. Frizzle.  “So what do we do now?  Take these back to the Lady in Pink?”

“You could,” Ms. Frizzle drawled with a grin.  “Or we could try something different.”

“What?” the Rubber Chicken asked.  “What could we try?”

Ms. Frizzle leaned forward.  She looked toward the left, then to the right.  “Would you want to see her?  Talk to your duckie love?”

“What do you mean?” the Rubber Chicken asked.  He pressed his beak together.  It was too good to be true.  It had to be.  He had dreamed about talking to her for days, thought of nothing but her for every waking hour.  To hear her quack, see her black eyes peering out from that yellow fuzz…it would be heaven.  It would make all the hours of searching worthwhile.

The Love Pig clapped his hooves together.  “Of course!” he cried.  “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“You seek, chickie, eggs created by love have a special ability,” Ms. Frizzle explained to the confused Rubber Chicken.  “If you hold it in your wings and whisper a certain spell, you can communicate with your love through the egg.  You can see her and even speak to her!”

“How do I do that?”  the Rubber Chicken asked.  He picked up the egg and placed it in his wings.  “Let me talk to her.  I’ve got to know she’s ok.  I’ve got to know…”   He trailed off, unable to finish the terrible thought.

Ms. Frizzle grinned.  “Repeat after me,” she said.  “Feathers of white, corn of gold.  Words alone can’t deliver my love.  With a light heart, and strong hands, I’ll go back to the beginning, to find you again.”

The Rubber Chicken repeated the words.  Holding his breath, he stared into the egg.  Swirls of pink and red twisted inside of the colored shell.  Suddenly, he saw the most beautiful sight in the world.

“Fuzzy Duck!” he cried, blinking rapidly.  “Is it you?  Is it really you?”

“Oh, Rubber Chicken!” she squealed.  “How did you find me?  Oh I’m sorry I missed our date.  I felt terrible!”

“Where are you?” the Rubber Chicken cried.  “Are you all right?”

“It’s horrible!” the Fuzzy Duck cried.  “I’m trapped in a cell under the Skull King’s castle.  They’ve got my mother somewhere else–I’m scared!  I can’t get out!”

“Don’t worry!” the Rubber Chicken assured her.  “I’m coming!  I’ll rescue you!”

“Oh no,” the Fuzzy Duck shouted, shaking her fuzzy head back and forth.  “Please, stay where you are.  You don’t understand how dangerous the Skull King is.  He’ll trap you too!  You’ll never escape.”

“I’d rather be trapped with you than free alone,” the Rubber Chicken cried.  “Please, darling!  Tell me where you are!  Tell me where the Skull King’s castle is!”

“It’s by the”–

Suddenly, the image disappeared.  A harsh, bitter laugh filled the air and the egg turned black and cold.  The Rubber Chicken dropped it from his wings, wincing as the egg crashed to the floor.  “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to keep tears from filling his eyes.  “It burned so bad, I couldn’t hold it…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ms. Frizzle said, biting her beak.

“What was that?” the Rubber Chicken asked, staring at the black egg.  “Who was laughing?  Why did the connection fail?”

“That was the Skull King,” the Love Pig answered gravely.  “He was listening.  He knows you’re coming now.”

Ms. Frizzle gave the Rubber Chicken a determined look.  “We need a plan.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new Penelope’s Pie Shop and a new recipe Thursday!  Friday we have a new Twirl and this weekend, a new featured creative blogger–the fabulous Brooke from Conversations with a Cupcake! We’ve also got a great new Easter craft!  Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

The Rubber Chicken Gets One Step Closer

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Hello.  I’m the cooking stealing bunny.

I’m here to ask you a great favor.

After you read this, and learn how to make one of these:

And go visit In the Real World: Venus vs. Mars where the Blond Duck is a featured contributor…

After that, I need you do something very important.

Extremely tremendous.

Utterly stupendous.

Listen, friends.  Easter is coming up.  And as the cookie stealing bunny…

I just want some Easter cookies.

Help a bunny out.

And read The Gift.  Thanks.

To read previous installations of the Gift, check out the Neverending stories tab above!

For those who don’t know, the Gift is the story of Samantha, a grad student who discovered a strange gift while staying with her friends at her parent’s vacation cabin over winter break.  After traveling to her old friend’s bar to try to determine the origin of the strange necklace she received, she suddenly found herself in the enchanted forests of Ireland being pursued by a secret admirer.  Can her friends and loser boyfriend Jeremy save her before she gets trapped in a real-life fairy tale?  Read on…

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“You’re the only one that can help her,” the fairy repeated, her eyes locked on Rouge.  “For those trapped under the Fin Brehea’s spell can only be saved by one thing.”

“Please, good woman, tell me what it is,” Rouge begged.  “I’ll do anything for her.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Irish boy!” Jeremy shouted from the car.  “Let’s not forget what’s important here!”

“Why didn’t we just leave him in America?” Ashley muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I have no idea.”  Cleo sounded just as tired.

“There is something you have that the Fin Brehea’s son does not,” the fairy continued, ignoring the chatter around them.  “Remember this:

“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

“That’s Yeats,” Rouge murmured, his eyes wide with shock.  “William Butler Yeats.  Good lady, what does that mean?”

“How does a fairy know poetry?” Jeremy bellowed from the car.  “Was she old enough to know him?”  He cackled and pounded on the car door.  Ashley and Cleo snarled.

The fairy simply smiled.  A gust of wind shook the limbs of the tree above them and ruffled the clovers around their feet.  With a single smile, she had gone.

Placing another tea cake in the clover, Rouge stood and ran his fingers through his hair.  He looked out into the forest and his jaw tightened.  Without another word, he turned and trudged back into the car.  Jeremy was still cackling in the back seat as he climbed into the driver’s side and pulled the seat belt across his lap.  Ashley and Cleo hopped into the car after him, slamming the doors as the car started to roll down the road.

“Hurry much?” Cleo asked, clicking her seatbelt into position with a scowl.  “Could you wait until we were even in the car?”

“We’ve got to hurry,” Rouge said, his eyes glued straight ahead.

“What did she tell you?” Ashely asked.  “When you talked in Gaelic?”

Rouge grimaced.  “I agreed to a pact if she would tell me where Samantha is.”

“What did you agree too?” Ashley asked.

He shook his head.  “I can’t say.  It would break the bond.”

“Oh.”  Ashley chewed on her lip.  She was dying of curiosity, but knew finding Samantha was much more important.  “Where is she at?”

“She told me about a tree in the forest,” Rouge replied.  “She gave me some landmarkers.  We can drive through part of it, but we’ll have to hike the rest of the way.  I just hope they don’t keep moving.”

“How much time do we have?”  Cleo asked.

Rouge pointed at the sky with a grim look.  “Until sunset.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Samantha complained.  “It’ll be sunset in a few hours.  How am I supposed to find three clues by then?  In heels, I might add!  Heels!”

Brogan sighed.  “Have you not figured out this is a magic forest?” he asked, speaking slowly as if she was half-witted.  “Time does not move the same way here.”

Samantha glared at him.  “Who makes up these rules?  Seriously.  First I have to traipse around looking for clues and now I have no definite time limit?  Listen buddy, I’m tired.   I’m hungry, my feet hurt and I’m cold.  I don’t want to play anymore.”   Her eyes felt heavy as she narrowed them.  “Let me tell you, once sunset comes, I’m going to give Mr. Me a piece of my…”  She was asleep before she hit the ground.  Brogan chuckled as he picked her up, setting her on a large log wrapped in thick soft moss.

“Sleep for a bit, fair lady,” he whispered, stroking the side of her face.  “For you’ll need your strength to deal with the Prince.  Sleep well.”

If Samantha had heard him in her dreams, she would have been too distracted to acknowledge it.

For she was staring into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.  A man with silver hair and incandescent skin was standing in front of her.  He was wearing a deep blue velvet coat and black riding breeches, as though he had stepped out of a historical novel.  Her sweater dress and boots had been replaced with a golden gown.  Brushing the silk skirts with her hand, it was all she could do not to bury her face in it.  The fabric was as soft as lamb’s nose and as light as paper.  She looked around at the palace that surrounded them.  The walls were carved from crystal and light glowed from jewels dangling from the glittering ceilings.

“Who are you?” she asked, tearing her eyes away from the opulence around her.

To be continued…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new tale of the Rubber Chicken!  Wednesday we have a new Penelope’s Pie Shop and Thursday, a new recipe.  And don’t worry–we’ve got a new Twirl coming up!

And for you tech savvy Invisible Friends, check out the RSS feed at the bottom and feel free to sign up through feed burner!  Also, check out my button on the left!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

The Gift 16 and a plea

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And to kick it off, I’m going to showcase the most fantastic gift in the world: shadowboxes!

Shadowboxes are the perfect gift for weddings, birthdays and especially graduations.  Instead of getting a ring my senior year at Baylor, I made this shadowbox of my college years.  It’s hung on my wall ever since.

The cool thing about shadowboxes you can’t get from a framed picture or scrapbook is the texture.  You can put clothing in there, jewelry, thick items that wouldn’t fit in a book, baby shoes, tassels, wedding flowers….anything goes!  Most shadowboxes have a lid magnetic lid, so you don’t have to worry about the door flying open and stuff flying off of the wall once you mount it.

The best thing is there are no rules!  Just grab a glue gun and some pins and have fun with it.  You can layer pictures with homecoming ribbons, attach a mum in the corner, include some tulle that looks like a wedding veil or place a baby’s rattle.  Whatever you like!  The whole point is to have fun and create memories!

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a busy week ahead.  We’ve got the Gift, the Rubber Chicken, Twirl, Penelope’s Pie Shop and some tasty recipes!  Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

Creative Feature: Shadowboxes at the Pond

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I’d have pasta every day.

I’d dine on spaghetti,

inhale some fettuccine,

munch on some macaroni,

and devour tortellini.

If I was Italian, I’d have pizza for lunch,

antipasto for dinner,

biscotti for breakfast and

Lasagna for dessert.

If I was Italian, I would dress with real style.

I’d wear big sunglasses and designer dresses,

Stiletto heels instead of boots and thick leather jackets,

Along with a handbag big enough to put some tomato sauce in.

If I was Italian, I would fight the warriors at Rome,

Ride down the canals of Venice,

run through the vineyards,

And ski through the mountains.

But if I was Italian,

I would really want to be in the kitchen.

I’d want to shout in a glorious accent and make pasta by hand,

Twirl pizza dough and guzzle olive oil soaked bread,

Dance in the streets as people sang,

And do it every day all over again.

But most of all, I’d want to eat my spaghetti just like this:

…If I were Italian.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tommorow we have a new Penelope’s Pie Shop and Thursday, the Blond Duck’s mama’s fried chicken!  Friday we have a new Twirl and the announcement of the giveaway winner!  Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

If I was Italian…

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