Hello, Invisible Friends.  I’m Augie the Otter (short for Augustus), the newest member of the Land of the Flowered Bed.

For those of you who don’t know, the Land of the Flowered Bed is a magical land of enchanted toys that go on all sorts of adventures.  It’s also an illustrated book, available for purchase here. There are two more books coming!

Why is my name Augustus?  Well, I’ll tell you….

On Saturday, when you read the newest Land of the Flowered Bed adventure.

Until then, I’ll leave you to read The Return of Miss Pickles.

The first Miss Pickles is available here. And for the earlier editions of the Return of Miss Pickles, go here.

Meanwhile, I’m going to go for a swim in the bathtub at the Spa and hunt up some tasty clam chowder.

Yum.

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“A very long story,” Miss Pickles continued, twirling around the Ladybug Queen in pink polka-dotted rain boots.   “One which we don’t have much time for.  It involves a mysterious box and a school for girls and a stack of pancakes that reached the sky…No matter.  We don’t have time.  If we are to save you from giggling yourself into a mad abyss, we must hurry.”

Mason, dying of curiosity, shook his head.  “Not even the shortened version of the story?” he begged.  “Come on.  You can’t talk about a mysterious box and a stack of pancakes that reaches the sky and not give me even a clue.”

“Later, ducky,” Miss Pickles promised, pulling a pink parasol out of her tiny pink purse.  “Right now, we must hurry.”

The Ladybug Queen, whose nimble black fingers had been flying over the table wrapping batches of glittering berries in pockets of flaky dough, nodded.  “She’s right, Mason.  But I can tell you that we’re celebrating my granddaughter’s birthday at the Parfait Party.”

Mason turned to the Ladybug who had carried him to the castle.  “Your birthday?”

Her red cheeks deepened to a burgundy.  “That’s right,” she muttered.  “My sixteenth.”

“You’re only 16?  Wow!” Mason exclaimed.  “I thought you were an adult.”

“16 is an adult in ladybug years,” the Ladybug Queen explained, setting a dozen parfaits on a pan and signaling to a waiting bumblebee in a chef’s apron.  The tray was whisked away, a freshly greased one set in its place as the Queen created more parfaits.  “This is special because this party will determine her purpose in life.”

“What do you mean?” Mason asked.

“Every ladybug must have a purpose in life,” the queen replied, popping a berry into her mouth.  “This party will tell us what my granddaughter’s is.  It might be a guest’s speech; maybe a enchanted berry in parfait; a piece of artwork; a story or a hidden locket.  We don’t know what or who will tell us.  We just know something will.”

“It’s all very exciting,” the younger Ladybug murmured, her eyes downcast.  Clearing her throat, she crossed her arms.  “But there won’t be any sort of celebration if we don’t solve Mason’s problem with the Giggler.”

“The simplest solution, of course, is to drink the Solvent of Seriousness,” the Queen replied, completing one pan of tarts and beginning on another.  “That of course, requires you to go to the uncharted parts of Ladybug Island.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Mason asked, glancing at Miss Pickles.  She grinned, a bit too wickedly in Mason’s opinion.

“No one knows, ducky,” she replied.  “Only a few have ever been to those parts of Ladybug Island, and fewer have lived to tell about it.  Those who have been there won’t say what’s in the shadowy jungles, the deep caves of Ladybug Mountain.  I asked one gentleman once to tell me about it and you would have thought I threatened his family.  He turned white as a sheet, shivering and shaking while shaking his head.  It took four days for him to stop shaking.”

Mason gulped.  “What’s the Solvent of Seriousness?”

“It’s mixed up by an old medicine woman who lives in the uncharted part of the Island,” Miss Pickles replied.  “Originally, there were a few people lucky enough to live on Ladybug Island.  But most of them are gone now.  She might be gone, as well.  But it’s the fastest cure.   Otherwise…”  She trailed off, biting her tongue.

“Otherwise, what?” Mason asked, his stomach clenching in knots.

Miss Pickles shook her head.  “Otherwise, I’m not sure how we’ll ward off the Giggler.  No one knows any other cures.”

Mason’s mouth went dry as his palms ran rivers.  Wiping them on his hands, he bit his lower lip.  “How do I get to the medicine woman?” he asked.

“We’ll all go, ducky,” Miss Pickles replied, peeking into her purse.  “I’ll round up all the other duckies in a moment.”

“Where are the others?” Mason asked, realizing he hadn’t seen Don and Ralph in quite awhile.

“The Sugar Sharks were having a barbecue and invited them to stay for fish tacos and caramelized sea slugs,” Miss Pickles answered, her voice muffled as she poked her head in her purse.  “I could have sworn I had a map in here…”  As the amazed ladybugs watched, Miss Pickles crawled into her tiny handbag that was no bigger than two hands placed side by side.  Loud clangs, clatters and a few grunts and snorts came from the tiny bag as Miss Pickles rainboots peeked out over the edge.  It was the only part of her that was visible.

“She does this all the time,” Mason informed the Ladybug next to him, who was staring in a mixture of amazement in horror.  “By the way, what’s your name?  You never said.”

“I won’t know my name until my 16th birthday party,” the Ladybug murmured, her eyes fixed on the kicking rain boots.  “It’s part of my becoming an adult, just like finding out my life’s purpose.”

“I became Queen at my 16th party,” the Queen reminisced, her black eyes shining as her hands scooped out more dough.  “It was such a wonderful occasion…”

“So what do I call you?” Mason asked.

“Ladybug,” the Ladybug shrugged.  “Everyone else does.”

Mason raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.  With a triumphant grunt, Miss Pickles jumped out of her bag.  Batting at a wayward octopus tentacle, she closed her purse and waved a folded, yellowing paper above her head.

“I knew my antique map collection would come in handy!” she crowed.  “I have no idea if it’s accurate, but that’s half the fun, right?”

“I guess,” Mason replied, his face twisted in doubt.

“So we’ll just grab the other duckies and go!” Miss Pickles bellowed, pressing the map to her chest with a flourish.  “Come on, Ladybug!  Queenie, are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“As tempting as it is, I think I’ll stay here,” the Queen Ladybug replied drily.  She glanced at the pile of sparkling berries behind her and sighed.  “I have a lot of treats to make.”

“Suit yourself,” Miss Pickles shrugged.  “Come on, Ladybug!  You can ride down with us in my new flying bicycle.  It’s delightful.”

“A flying bicycle?” Mason repeated, his eyes wide.

“Ladybug, remember to be at your party before midnight,” her grandmother admonished, eyeing her.  “Otherwise…” she trailed off.

“Otherwise what?” Mason asked.

The Ladybug Queen shook her head.  “Otherwise, not only will she not know her life’s purpose, but she won’t know who she is.  She’ll spend her life in a meaningless vacuum.”

Before Mason could even let her words soak in, Miss Pickles dragged him over to a hot pink bicycle with two seats, two giant white wings laced with steel and a enormous basket.  “Since Ladybug is larger, I’ll give her the extra seat and plop you in the basket, ok?” she said.  Without waiting, she plunked Mason in the woven basket and hopped onto the bicycle.  As Ladybug hopped on, Miss Pickles began to pedel rapidly.  Snapping her aviater goggles over her face, she grinned.

“Ready?” she cried.

Before Mason could squeak in disagreement, the bike rose in the air.  With wide eyes, Mason watched as Miss Pickles pedaled the bike out of the window of the Ladybug Castle towards the clouds below…

To be continued…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have an ode to cinnamon rolls (and how I love thee!) and Wednesday a brand new NeverEnding Tale!  Then Thursday we have a new recipe and Friday, more Dallas Jean!  Stay tuned!

It all started with one of my favorite things of all time.

Fajitas.

On the 19th, my parents and sister graciously came down to San Antonio to have Christmas at Casa de Pond.

Queen Bitty was most delighted.

Espiecially as Booger the Lobster didn’t come to hog the pies or tacos.  Queen Bitty demands her fair share of pies and tacos.

After a delightful Mexican lunch, Dad took me down to Lucchesse to buy me some fabulous boots in honor of my booksigning.  Lucchese Boots are the top boots, folks.  They’re like the Prada and Louis Vutton in the Texan world.

This isn’t the exact boot that I got, but it’s pretty similar.

Then I presented my family with some butterscotch Hello Duckies (Recipe to come Thursday!)  My dad was delighted that not only had I used double the chips, but I had some cream cheese icing (gravy) for him.

We do love our gravy up here.

Everyone admired our tree, with it’s whimsical ornaments, including seashells from our trip to Treasure Island….

Yes, I just stuck a shell on a branch.  Don’t judge me.

I got wonderful gifts, including a brand new toaster and grill, wonderful clothes, a darling angel frame and the most fabulous thing of all…

A Luby’s Cookbook.  For those of you who don’t know, Luby’s is a cafeteria style diner that is a staple in Texas.

The fried chicken and macaroni and cheese are calling my name….

A few days later, we were bound for Shreveport. I immediately set about to taking over my mother-in-law’s kitchen, making things like pumpkin squares…

pumpkin bread…

oatmeal raisin cookies…

This German Apple Pie… (recipe to come!)

And my all time favorite, pecan pie.

They’re all glad that I’m gone.  They can button their pants again.

Queen Bitty and Bear spent most of their time terrorizing poor Ace….

Though Queen Bitty tolerated his presence when it came to warming herself in front of the fire.

While I drooled over the fabulous new cookbooks and workout DVDs I got, including the Pioneer Woman’s cookbook….

Ben prepared to help make himself ready in the kitchen.

We also got some darling new ornaments.

And a new friend for the Land of the Flowered Bed, Augie (short of Augustus) the Otter.  Why Augustus?  You’ll find out soon…

Bear didn’t have to wear a Christmas sweater, just like he asked Santa, but I did try to make him wear a bow.

He was not amused.

We had a wonderful Christmas, and want to thank our wonderful family and friends for such a pleasant holiday.  I just hope we gave them as much joy as they gave us, even with the occasional allergy attack of sniffles, snuffles and snot.

Even the cookie-stealing bunny had a good time.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have the recipe to hello duckies, than the New Year’s Resolutions of the Pond!  Stay tuned!

A few weeks ago, my mother, sister and I went to a dude ranch about an hour from the Pond for Danielle’s 21st birthday.

It was there I discovered something sinister.

Something disheartening.

But we’re not to that part of our tale yet.

It started out well enough.  As it was a half-day adventure at the ranch sort of thing, we checked in and had about half an hour before lunch.  So we went up a hill to play on their obstacle course.

The ranch also has a fitness camp, so they often march poor souls up here in the Texas heat for a military style bootcamp.

I am Queen of the Ranch.

But not Queen of the Pond.

After lunch of beef tacos, we went on a trail ride.  This goat wanted to come along, and was quite disturbed to find out he couldn’t.

And after the trail ride, that’s when I discovered the truth.

The terrible, nagging truth.

This was not my idea.  I was forced to do this. You can’t see it, but I am terrified.

The Blond Duck is not suited to be a cowgirl.

You see, I’ve been around horses for most of my life.  I’ve been riding dozens of times and was even in a riding club in college.  Senior year, Ben and I went out to one of his professor’s ranches all the time to help feed horses (they adored carrots) and help him muck out stalls, haul stuff, etc.

I just went for the baby horses.

And although I listen to country music, wear boots and jeans and like to ride and hang out on ranches, I am not a cowgirl.

You see, I can’t deal with the brusque cowboys who shout, snort and spit.

Or the harsh realities of the ranch world, like sick animals.

Or the idea of having to fix fences in 100 degree heat or 30 degree winters.  (That’s cold to us, ya’ll!)

Or the idea of scorpions in my boots, rattlesnakes on the porch, branding cows….

Distressed that my dreams of growing old with Ben on a ranch scattered with ponies and puppies may never come to fruition, I called to wail about my shortcomings as a cowgirl.  After listening to my whining and wuffling, Ben said calmly, “Darling, you don’t have to deal with sick animals or fix fences.  I can hire a ranch manager for that.  Besides, we don’t have to have goats and cattle.  We can have puppies and one or two horses.”

“And chickens,” I added.  “And ducks.  And hamsters.  Maybe a kitten or two, for the rats.  Lots of baby animals.”

“Of course,” Ben said, most likely rolling his eyes.

Instantly, I was cheered.

I was so cheered I went on a hayride.  And fed some horses out of the back of a truck, scattering hay from side of the ranch to the other.

For some day, years from now, I will have my own ranch.

A ranch of puppies and dogs!  It will be glorious.  Each puppy will get their own little stall with a comfy bed and lots of kibble and treats, they’ll have all sorts of fun places to go and play, lots of animal friends, all sorts of things to chew on and chase.  They can howl under the night sky around a campfire of marshmallow smores made from dog treats…

And of course, Queen Bitty will rule over them all.

Don’t let anyone ever tell you I don’t keep it real, ya’ll.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have another part of our scary story, then a delicious recipe both delicate and cute!  Friday, a new Dallas Jean and Saturday, more Creative Woman fun!  Stay tuned!

These tacos have a secret.

A tasty, tasty secret.

A simple secret.

A surprising secret.

A “I-can’t-believe-I-never-thought-of that secret!”

Is it the cheese?   A hidden spice?  Homemade hard shells?

Well, let’s see. 

Brown up some ground beef with your favorite package of seasoning…

Add some beef and beans (if you like) in those nifty tacos shells with the flat bottoms…

And lots of tasty cheese…

And broil into cheesy, beefy, beany, crunchy, melty goodness.

Well, hmm.

There’s nothing much secret about that.

But wait! We forgot!

Ketchup.  We forgot to talk about the ketchup.

You see, the secret to these delightful beef tacos is that after you ground the beef, you add your favorite seasoning packet ( I use Lawry’s Taco Seasoning) and add in about 1/4- 1/3 cup of ketchup, depending on how much beef you cooked.  Most taco recipes call for tomato sauce or paste, but ketchup just adds an extra zing that turns a good taco into a great taco.

A secret taco.

A secret cheesy, beefy, beany, melty, crunchy, tasty taco.

But rememeber–

it’s a secret.

So share!

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have more Dallas Jean and Saturday, a new Creative Person of the Pond!

Today, Invisible Friends, we have a new story about Dallas Jean Lee, a big, blond, fast talking and unintentionally hilarious Southern woman.  When Dallas Jean Lee’s husband, Grayson, decides to run for mayor of their small town, she decides to help with her friend Adelaide.  Unfortunately, Dallas Jean Lee’s big hearts and bigger opinions soon causes more trouble than help…

A calloused knobby hand flopped the folders down in front of him on the mahogany desk.  “This is never going to work.”

“What do you mean?”  He leaned back in his chair, hoping his manager could see his hands shaking.

“Have you seen these profiles?”  One grey bushy eyebrow raised.  Norman Wellington was not a man to be trifled with.  Particularly when it came to his star candidate for mayor.  “Have you seen what’s in them?”

“It’s not so bad,” Grayson Lee protested, leaning back in his leather chair.  Grayson Lee was not only the best lawyer in the small but not too small town of Coriscana, but he was one of the nicest men in town.  And the most handsome, much to the dismay and envy of the women in town.  What made him decide to run for mayor, Norman Wellington would never understand.  Especially with her. The bane of Norman’s existence.  The whole reason this campaign could be over before it started.

“I mean, I know my wife is eccentric”— Grayson began.

“Steve Jobs is eccentric.  Your wife is bat**** crazy.  And her best friend is even worse!” Norman Wellington exploded.  “How can you run for mayor when you’ve got a wife who dresses like a cross between Elton John and Dolly Parton and never keeps her mouth shut?  Do you know what she did the other day?”

Grayson winced.  “Are you referring to the animal shelter?”

“Grayson, she released more than 200 dogs and cats, then ran around town in that ridiculous hot pink VW bug distributing all the animals to old folks’ homes!  Then, when the police tried to take the animals back to a shelter, she handcuffed herself to a door, kicked and screamed at the policemen and told them they were taking “their friends away!  She hit ol’ Todd Baker so hard on the head with her purse he’s still seeing stars.”

Grayson smiled.  “He deserved it.”

Norman stared at him.  “Grayson, last week she decided she wanted to be a pie lady, barged into Mrs. Duboix’s bakery and merrily started making pies and selling them to people.  Do you know how many people she made sick?”

“Cooking was never Dallas’ strong point,” Grayson murmured.

“And then two months ago, Dallas and that crazy Creole friend of hers, Adelaide, decided that the town needed more color.  So they went skipping about planting flowers everywhere and putting new trees on government property.  If the current mayor hadn’t been so pleased, imagine what would have happened.  And I know you think it’s just flowers, but what happens during your campaign?  What will she say?  What will she do?  The woman is totally unpredictable and uncontrollable!”

“I know she’s strange,” Grayson protested.  “But my wife is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest creature…”

“Really?” Norman smirked.  Standing up, he pulled open the heavy oak door of the office in Grayson’s three story Southern Mansion.  “Then why don’t you go tell her you’re running for mayor?  She’s out on the porch.”

Grayson gulped.  “You won’t tell her?”

Norman’s smile was wide and flat, like the leer of a shark.  “Nope.”

“But you’re my campaign manager!” Grayson whined.  “Aren’t you supposed to do my dirty work?”

“Franky, Grayson, this is a suicide mission,” Norman replied flatly.  Picking up his briefcase, he shook his grey head and headed for the door.  “Call me and let me know if I need to cancel that order for signs.”   Without another glance, he hurried out of the mansion.

Taking a deep breath, Grayson Lee stood and smoothed his suit, straightened his tie.  With his head high, he strode across the gleaming hardwood floors of the living room, winding around the extravagant kitchen to the veranda door.  Grayson had prosecuted murderers, theives, drug lords and serial killers.  None of them scared him as much as his wife.

Gathering the last thread of his courage, he stepped out onto the veranda.  His wife’s blond bouffant was poking over a chair, the only tall thing about her.  From the outside, his wife looked like  a delicate Southern bell.  Even after two children, her lush figure made men stare.  Her skin was smooth, with a sprinkling of laugh lines, and her big blue eyes lit up her classically featured face.

But Grayson knew there was nothing delicate about his wife.

For one thing, his wife was the daughter of a Texas oil man and rancher.  She could take down a steer in two seconds flat and slurp down a steak quicker than that.  Rather than lunching with the other ladies of town on salads, she preferred burgers and tacos dripping with grease.  Rather than choosing the demure pantsuits or dresses the other ladies in town wore, his wife wore only bright, tropical sundresses or rhinestone encrusted jeans with glittery Western shirts.  Sometimes she wore mini skirts and thigh high boots (a scandal in their small town;)  sometimes she wore long Egyptian tunics and pretended she was Nefertiti.

Her make up was as loud as her clothes, with thick rouge, thicker mascara and eyeshadows ranging from pink to blue.  Her signature hot pink lipstick made his 15-year-old daughter cringe, and his 12-year-old son hide in public.

There was nothing delicate or subtle about Dallas Jean Lee.

“Darling,” he exclaimed, settling in a chair next to her.  She raised her eyes from her novel, one eyebrow curling quizzically.  “What are you nervous about, Grayson?”

“Nervous?” Grayson cackled, pulling at his tie.  “Why would I be nervous?”

“Grayson, you’re tapdancing like a pony around a rattler.  What’s the trouble?”

Gulping, Grayson blurted out, “I’m running for mayor.”

He stared at his wife.  Her face was blank, save for her eyes glancing from side to side.

Then she burst into laughter.  Howling, she slid out of her wicker rocking chair and rolled around on the ground.  “Be serious,” she gasped, holding her sides.  “You?  Mayor?”

“I’m glad you think that’s so funny,” Grayson said in clipped tones, his jaw hard.

Dallas Jean Lee wrapped her arms around her husband’s legs, leaning her forehead against his knee.  “Aw, sugar, don’t be upset,” she murmured, patting his leg.  “I think it’s cute you want to be mayor.”

“Cute,” Grayson muttered, rolling his eyes.  “I’ll need your help on this darling, and the children.”

Dallas Jean’s mouth twitched.  “Sure, honey.”

“And this is important,” Grayson instructed her.  “You could be the mayor’s wife.”

The giggles bubbled in the back of her throat.  “Of course, dear.”

“And I’ll need you to be serious,” Grayson warned her.  “No more of your incidents.”

“Those weren’t incidents,” Dallas scowled.  “Those were narrow-minded misunderstandings.  If people in today’s world weren’t so boring, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No incidents,” Grayson pleaded.  “Please.”  He leaned down and kissed his wife of twenty years.  “So you don’t mind?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Dallas smiled mischieviously.  “Go on, call Norman.  I heard him huffing around here.”

Giving his wife another kiss, Grayson skipped to the phone.  Dallas waited until he was out of sight before pulling the rhinestone covered hot pink phone out of her neon green bra.

“Adelaide?  Guess what?” she asked the glittering phone.  “Grayson’s running for mayor.”  She waited a moment and smiled, her eyes flickering under her blue eyeshadow.  “You bet we’re going to help…”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new creative woman of the Pond and next week, more whimsical fun!  Stay tuned!

What’s better than a regular taco?

I mean, really Invisible Friends, let’s think about this.  What could be better than ground beef, beans, melted cheese all wrapped up in a warm corn tortilla?

Fish tacos, of course!

Ya’ll know I like beef.

In fact, I love beef.  Beef ribs, tacos, fajitas, enchiladas….Beef stews, beef burgundy, beef tips and rice, chicken fried steak, regular steak, burgers, meatloaf, chili, meatballs,  mini burgers…

But I digress.

However, even though we live in the land of cacti and tumbleweeds rather than on the coast, I’ve discovered the glories of tilapia, which lets me have all the inexpensive white fish my little duckie heart could desire.

And it was only a matter of time before I turned it into a taco.  I live in South Texas, ya’ll.  We turn everything into tacos.

First, you cook the fish in a skillet with onions and chopped green and green peppers with a splash of vegetable oil.

Then, you heat up your corn tortillas (the traditional way is to heat them in oil, but occasionally we try to eat somewhat healthy in the Pond.)

Sprinkle some cheese, add some black beans and rice and you’re set.

In fact, I think I’ll go have some now.

Excuse me.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new Twirl and Saturday, a new Creative Woman of the Pond, Natasha from Living in the Kitchen with Puppies!  Stay tuned!

Hello, Invisible Friends.  Sandie the Stingray here again.

And I have a confession.

I’m so distressed by this.  I really am.  For a stingray, it’s simply scandalous… If I could wuffle, I would.

So I guess instead, I’ll just shuffle.  In shame.

I know, lame joke.  I guess there’s no getting around it.

I’ll have to admit it.

Here goes:

I, Sandie the Stingray of the Sea, am allergic to shellfish.

That’s right.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Excuse me, Sandie, but all stingrays eat are crabs, clams, shrimp, fish and worms.”  WORMS!  How can a girl survive on fish and worms alone?

Well, this girl can’t.  No sir.

And that’s the bad thing.

Driven to boredom by munching on fish nuggets, fish and chips, fish tacos, fish burgers, fish sandwiches, grilled fish, blackened fish, fried fish, fried worms, grilled worms, stewed worms….you get the point; I turned to a even more scandalous craving.

Bacon cheeseburgers!

And fries.

Just give me a thick patty of meat, a slab of cheddar and juicy bacon on a tasty bun…and I’m happy.

So happy that I’ve been eating two or three a day.

It’s really wrecking havoc on my girlish figure.  Do my side flaps look fat to you?

I’m depressed now.  Anyone up for a burger?

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We’ve got a week full of whimsical fun coming up…as well as the Midsummers Night Dream Ball!  If you haven’t already e-mailed RSVPs for your critters or Pond Ambassadors, do it today!  Today is the last day!  After that, no more RSVPs will be accepted!

Or else…

Hello, Invisible SITStas and Friends!  I’m the Blond Duck.  Welcome to the Pond!

The Pond is my whimsical little world where I live with my darling husband Ben and my two Chihuahuas, Bitty and Bear.

Bitty, by the way, is a 4 lb. Chihuahua who has claimed the Pond as her own and rules with an iron paw as Queen Bitty.  She often strikes fear into the hearts of my Invisible Friends.

During the day, I work as a journalist at a major newspaper.

At night, I play with the Babies, cook delicious tasty things that are in no way good for you, write whimsical tales and dance maniacally around the house. In the future, I hope to get my children’s and young adult books published and to write short novels for women that take them away from their dull days to a world of excitement and adventure.

I have a thing for barbecue.  And hamburgers.  And fried chicken and macaroni and cheese and spaghetti and tacos and enchiladas…

And pie.   I love pie.  I can’t get enough pie.

But mainly, the Pond is a whimsical home of my stories and tales, such as my odes to everything from cinnamon toast to swimming, my features of Creative women I admire (found under the Features section) and my newest feature, Critter Confessions.

We got a lot of critters in the Pond, and they got a lot of confessions. Like the pink penguins.

If you look under Never Ending Stories, you’ll find the archives of several stories I write serial style (chunk by chunk) during the week.  The top three are:

• Twirl- a story of a love between a young ballerina, Vivi, and cowboy, Wade, as they search for a historical treasure hidden deep within Central Texas’ dance halls.  However, Vivi’s father, an famous dancer whose career ended in scandal, is determined to use his daughter’s talent to reclaim his place in the dance world while a ancient historian is fighting to find the treasure first–no matter what it takes.  After Vivi’s father forces her to attend a competition miles away from Wade, the couple must find a way to reunite and find the treasure…alive.
• The Gift- a story of grad student Samantha who receives a mysterious box one Christmas.  When it doesn’t turn out to be a ring from her loser boyfriend, like she was expecting, Samantha and her girl friends visit her old Irish friend, Rouge, to find the meaning behind the mysterious Irish charm.  Before she knows it, she’s been whisked away to Ireland to meet a Elf Prince, who claims he fell in love with her in her dreams.  But what Samantha doesn’t know is that the Prince does not love Samantha, and plans to trap her as his prisoner–for all eternity.  Samantha’s girl friends and Rouge must rescue Samantha before sunset, when the Prince claims Samantha as his bride.  The only problem is–Samantha is under a spell.  And they’re in a dungeon…
• Coconut Queen- Essie May’s only escape from the small town Coconut, Texas, is to win the local beauty pageant and become the Coconut Queen.  When her stage mother forces her to meet a old expert in the beauty business, Essie May finds herself in a strange new world.  And she hasn’t even stepped on the pageant stage yet…

So poke around, Invisible SITStas, and come back soon!  The Pond is always here for your whismical adventures…

And we’ve got plenty of pie to spare!

Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?  And thanks for featuring me, Heather and Tiffany, o’ SITS Queens!

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tommorow we have a new Coconut Queen and Thursday, a delicious new recipe!  Friday we’ve got a new Twirl and Saturday, Critter Confessions!

Invisible Friends, I can’t lie.  I absolutely adore everything about Marjie from the blog Modern Day Ozzie and Harriet. There’s nothing I don’t like about her.  She’s funny.  She’s creative.  She cooks dinner–with dessert–for her ginourmous family every night.  She has a dog 400 times the size of Queen Bitty.

And he’s as nice as she is mean.

Did I mention Marjie has nine children?  And she cooks every night? With dessert? And homeschools two of her kids?  And sews?  And bakes homemade tasty bread that leaves me drooling?

I need lessons.

Let’s learn how she does it, shall we?

How did you get started blogging?  How did you come up with your title/ name?

I was urged by a couple of other homeschooling moms to start a blog, but I didn’t think anyone would ever read it.  At one point, the kids were applying to Amazing Race.  One of the questions was what TV family we were most like.  The kids said the Brady Bunch, but my husband said NO, all of them belong to both of us, and we were more like Ozzie and Harriet.  Having never seen the show, because I’m 12 years younger than he is, I asked, and he explained that Ozzie doesn’t appear to go anywhere to work, Harriet is always around, and the family has no particular problems.  It’s like that in our little corner of the world, too.

What does being creative mean to you?

I don’t think I’m creative.  People who do wonderful things, like writing great stories like yours, or make beautiful confections or who paint are creative.  I think I’m just another engineer.  You disagree, and I’m flattered!

Marjie in a dress she sewed

Aww, shucks.  I’m a sucker for anyone who likes my stories.  But enough about me. Why do you think it’s important for women to balance creativity in their daily lives?

Everyone has to have something to change their outlook on the day.  It’s up to us to figure out what works for us – reading, cooking, sewing or whatever!

What kind of creative things do you do every day?

I try to make a new and different food every day, even if it’s just a side dish.  I sew when I can, wallpaper when I’m inspired, clean when I’m not.

Tell me about your family.

We’ve been married 30 years and have 9 children aged 9 to 25.  We have 3 daughters and 6 sons.  Most of us are redheads, and burn accordingly.  The first seven kids were born between 1984 and 1990, and then there were our 2 little surprises.  I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Favorite food?

Veal Picatta

Favorite song?

I turned off the radio in 1984, when my first son was born, and have never turned it back on.  I decided that I would listen to everything the kids ever had to say, and be able to hear their squabbling in the background.  That way, they would know they’re important to us.  We have never had any trouble with any of them, and this is one of the reasons why.  On the positive side of this, my stereo from 1978 with the record player and 8 track player still works well!

Do you like to dance?

While at a college dance, someone stepped on my left foot and snapped 2 bones in it.  I decided to refrain from such dangerous activities in the future.  Besides, I never was much good at dancing, anyway.

If you could take a trip with anyone and go anywhere, where would you go and who would you take?

If my husband and kids are around, that’s vacation enough for me.  I’ve always meant to drive to all the lower 48 states, but never got to all of them.

What’s the best gift you’ve ever been given?

When Ryan was 7, he went to the grocery store with his older sisters and bought me a box of peppermint tea for my birthday, using his tooth fairy money.  I was touched.  Also right up there is the diamond solitaire my husband bought me for my 19th birthday, when we’d been married 7 months.

What’s your ideal pet?

Thor – a giant dog who’s not too bouncy and barky, faithful, loyal and handsome.

There’s an enormous present waiting on the kitchen table for you.  What’s in it?

A great new kitchen appliance that I don’t even know I want yet! Or a spectacular piece of fabric for some wonderful thing I don’t know I want to make yet.

Does Thor want to meet Bitty?

Of course.  Thor loves all little critters.  Of course, he would never insult royalty by referring to her as a critter.

Marjie in a dress her grandmother made for her

How did you get interested in sewing?

One of my grandmothers was a fabulous artist  and seamstress.  She was also gorgeous, so much so that when I met my dearly beloved, and he met my grandmother, he commented that my granny was hot – and she was 68!  I used to buy clothes, and alter them when necessary, but things changed.  I didn’t take up sewing seriously until 2004, when I decided that I was too fat for junior styles, and didn’t like most of them anyway, and too young for women’s styling, and needed to take matters into my own hands.  I can read, therefore I can sew.

Do your daughters sew too?

I taught them the basics from the time they were about 8, and signed them up for 4H sewing club for 4 years.  They don’t choose to sew at this time, but they can.  That’s what matters.

How do you cook every night for so many people and still smile?  I would climb a clocktower.

Schedules and planning (at least preliminarily).  Sunday is roast turkey breast night.  Monday is fish night.  Tuesday is steak night, and Brownie Tuesday night.  Friday and Saturday are minimal effort nights (spaghetti and meat sauce or tacos or something similar).  Bread and dessert Sunday through Thursday.  Beyond that, it’s whatever I feel like eating.  There are no menu choices, and you will eat what I cook; there are no alternative offerings.  This is a benevolent dictatorship, after all, and said dictatorship extends to food!

What’s your favorite thing to cook?

Soup!  Or shrimp!  That doesn’t mean I do it often, but I do love them!

What big crowd cooking recipe is your favorite?  Any tips to share?

When in doubt, roast a large meat.  Cut potatoes into chunks, and throw them in with the large meat, and you have most of the meal.  Garlic powder is always a proper seasoning for any meat.  Salad or cooked veggies, bread or rolls, and go buy a couple of buckets of ice cream and some really good cookies for dessert.  It doesn’t require that much effort if you simply think ahead and plan.  A side note for anyone who has people “drop by” from time to time:  Canned ham.  Cooks up easily, tastes good, looks like you spent hours and hours getting this meal together.  People will drool, and proclaim your genius.  And who doesn’t like to be proclaimed genius?

How are you creative with homeschooling?  What’s some of your favorite activities you’ve done?  How do you think it allows your children to be creative as opposed to a private or public school?

I love the Calvert homeschool curriculum.  It gives me everything I need to do for any given grade level, and often gives ideas for extra activities.  One of the fun things we ever did was make ice cream in a bag – actually, it was 2 bags – and we love having a dog in the classroom.  We’ve done things like make clay dishes as Robinson Crusoe did when we read that book.  We’ve made shields as a tribute to King Arthur.

But the best of all was the Star Spangled Banner the boys drew in the front 2-1/2 years ago.  It was 30 ft by 42 feet, and my girls had to do a truckload of hunting to get enough sidewalk chalk for this sucker.  It was the beginning of the school year, and it was awesome.  Calvert suggested outlining it in yarn to show the kids how big the flag which inspired Francis Scott Key was, but of course I had to go one better.  Silly me.

I started homeschooling because my youngest was two months too young to be admitted into public school, despite the fact that he could read, add and subtract.  Now, he’s finishing 4th grade with 5th grade math, despite the fact that the schools all say he belongs in 3rd grade.  Would he ever be bored!

What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever sewed?

A blue and silver velvet burnout princess seamed dress with a deep flounce at the hem, which I wore to our attorney’s Christmas party a couple of years back.  I certainly stood out in a sea of black and red outfits, and felt like a princess with all the attention the attorney’s single clients were paying to me, despite the 6′3″ red-headed accessory I have with me everywhere.

Do you really bake dessert every night? How are you not 400 lbs?

About 1992, my dearly beloved told me that the one thing his mother did well was bake, and if I wanted my sons to think fondly of my cooking, I needed to make dessert every night.  I rarely eat it.  When everyone’s home, there’s never enough for me, and when they aren’t, I won’t eat chocolate things anyway.  I’m also not that fond of frosting on cakes – too sugary – so that saves me from 400-pounds!

What’s your favorite story?

Where the Wild Things are, Twirl and The Gift! ( I didn’t pay her to say that.  I swear.)

Should we set up Bear and the Dolphin and Thor and the Lobster for a playdate?

Oh, yes, wouldn’t they have fun?  We’ll bring the puppy cookies!

For more about Marjie, check out her blog!

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a whimsical week coming up!