A Duck In Her Pond » The Return of Miss Pickles

The Return of Miss Pickles 38

Blond Duck — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 09:00:27 +0000

Hello, Invisible Friends. Sunshine the Scottie here.

I’m here to bring joy to your life.

Because as you know, today’s the last installment of Miss Pickles.

And it’s always sad when a temporary ending comes to a tale.

But with Miss Pickles, you should know there’s always a new adventure…

And a new story.

So read on, dear ones. And I’ll shine on.

Previous editions can be found here. The previous book can be found here.

——————————

“Ahh, Mrs. Guenther.” Miss Pickles beamed at the sour-faced teacher. “We’ve just had the most marvelous afternoon. How did your math test go?”

A triumphant smirk snaked across the thin woman’s face. “They all failed. Several cried. One boy threw up. Another one is grounded for a month.”

The children shrank back behind Miss Pickles, thanking their lucky stars they weren’t in Mrs. Guenther’s class.

“That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?” Miss Pickles swung her pink purse over her wrist.

“Harsh? Hardly.” Mrs. Guenther snorted. “These children need discipline. They need an education. Which you are neglecting to give them, by the way.” Her eyes narrowing, she shouted over her shoulder, “Mr. Bumble! I require your assistance this instant!”

“We’re doomed,” Don muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Bumble’s not going to fall for the pink parasol trick again.”

“Anyone have any cookies?” Ralph said miserably.

“We’re not doomed,” Mason whispered. “She can’t do anything to Miss Pickles.”

“While you were…out on your field trip, I took the liberty of calling all the parents of the children in your class.” Mrs. Guenther folded her arms and sneered. “Several were so angry, they complained to the Teacher’s Association. Since I’m president, naturally I was informed.”

“Naturally,” Miss Pickles mumbled, her face falling.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Mason bit his tounge. He had seen that look in Mrs. Guenther’s eyes before. It was the same look she made before she humiliated the meanest fifth-grader in the lunchroom and made him cry. It was the same look he had seen on their Field Day when she had used a golf cart to mow down a group of girls stringing ribbons around a Maypole.

And it was the same look he had seen right before they had left for their adventure, when Mr. Bumble, the school’s principal, was twirling under a pink parasol and not thinking of anything school-related at all.

Miss Pickles, for the first time, looked defeated. Her frizzy hair slumped to her neck, her shoulders sunk and her arms dangled dejectedly at her side, the pink purse dangling from her fingertips. “I can’t teach for six months.”

The class gasped. “No!” Mason cried. “Say it’s not true.”

“It is, duckie,” Miss Pickles mummured, tears blinking at the corners of her eyes.

“Of course it’s true.” Mrs. Guenther leered at the children. “It’s like I told you before, children. School is a seirous matter. One must not waste time on frivilous things. And now, thanks to your parents knowing, Miss Pickles will no longer be able to drag you away on these horrible excursions.”

“But they’re not horrible!” Mason shouted, shoving himself between Mrs. Guenther and Miss Pickles. “They’re wonderful! You’re just a miserable old woman who wants to make everyone else as miserable as you are!”

“Mason,” Miss Pickles said softly.

“No, it’s true!” Mason said, puffing out his chest and poking Mrs. Guenther’s arm with his finger. “You’re just some overgrown nerd who has a chip on her shoulder and wants to make everyone into soulless drones. I didn’t leave Ladybug Island to fail tests and babysit my siblings all day! We want learning to be fun! We want school to be an adventure!”

“An adventure?” Mrs. Guenther snorted. “Your mother was right. You do need more discipline. She was furious when she found out where you had gone.”

“I don’t care,” Mason snarled, folding his arms.

“This is going to be a legal disaster,” Don muttered.

“I hope she didn’t call my mom,” Ralph mummured. “If she did, my mom won’t let me have any of her hummingbird cake. And I love hummingbird cake.”

“Get over it, children.” Mrs. Guenther cackled. “Miss Pickles is through. She won’t teach here or anywhere else. And when her probabtion is over, I’ll make sure her card isn’t reinstated. You’ll never teach again! I told you not to mess with me. I told you I’d get you!” Throwing her head back, her dry heartless laughter filled the air. Mason glanced back at Miss Pickles. Wearing a brave smile, a single tear broke free and ran down her cheek. Fury filled Mason and he leaped forward, his cheeks blazing.

“You know what, Mrs. Guenther?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I know what your problem is. Your problem is you’re just like Beatrice.”

“What about me?” Beatrice scurried forward, her own scowl a mirror image of Mrs. Guenther’s.

“She’s just like you,” Mason sneered. “Excited about homework and tests, always trying to get us in trouble. Take a good look, Beatrice! This is what you’ll grow up to be! This is all what we’ll grow up to be without adventures.”

“Adventures are for children,” Mrs. Guenther hissed, leaning down so her long nose nearly poked his own. “You’re almost in middle school.”

“And I’m not going to grow up yet.” Mason crossed his arms. “I’m never going to grow up enough not to have adventures. And you may be able to take Miss Pickles away from us, but you can’t take that!”

“I’m not growing up either!” Don shouted as the class erupted into cheers.

“Or me!” Ralph bellowed.

“Or me,” Miss Pickles whispered, a tiny smile on her face.

“Or me!” Beatrice cried, looking horrified. “I defiantly don’t want to be Mrs. Guenther! I don’t like homework that much!”

“At least she’s not giggling anymore,” Don muttered.

Mrs. Guenther, long veins etched in her sallow neck, clapped her hands, her cheeks a dull scarlett. “Would you be quiet?” she hissed. “Stop babbling about this nonsense of adventures!”

“Oh, but it’s not nonsense.” Mason whirled to see Mr. Bumble, the principal, bouncing down the hall on his pogo stick. The lights reflected off his bulbous bald head and streamed off the long tufts of white hair protruding from his ears. “As I recall, you enjoyed many adventures with Miss Pickles when you were in the fifth grade. Wasn’t your favorite Ladybug Island?”

“Ladybug Island?” Mason gasped. “That’s where we just were!”

“Really?” The principal bounced over, beaming. “Marvelous place, isn’t it? How’s Wilfried? Still Warbling?”

“And weeping.” Miss Pickles smiled.

“Oh yes, Mrs. Guenther was a lovely girl.” The principal sighed and shook his head. “That’s what too much homework and not enough fun will do to an individual.” The class gigggled and Mrs. Guenther stomped her foot.

“Mr. Bumble, how dare you undermine my authority?” she shouted. “As president of the Teacher’s Association”–

“Mrs. Guenther, don’t forget I’m principal of this school and I hire the substitutes,” Mr. Bumble reprimanded, narrowing his normally jovial eyes. “Because of your cruelty, I’ve been stuck in my office all day talking to cranky parents. I depise cranky parents. And since you love learning so much, it’s time to learn this. You are a fuddy duddy.” He beamed. “I’ve been wanting to say that for ages.”

Mrs. Guenther gasped. “Sir, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying Miss Pickles will always have a place here.” The children erupted into shrieks of joy. “As will you.” The shrieks turned to groans. “But, if you keep threatening and whining and calling parents who in turn call me to complain, I shall have to give you detention.”

“I’m a teacher!” Mrs. Guenther snapped.

“Then I shall dock your pay,” Mr. Bumble said calmly. Turning to Miss Pickles, his ear hair wiggled. “Lovely to see you, my dear. Now if you excuse me, I have some bouncing to do before I go reassure more parents. Of course, I assured them the children were in school all day and staying after for a special ice cream social. If you hurry to your room, I believe the secretary set it up. Excuse me.” Beaming and wiggling his ear hair, he bounced down the hall.

Miss Pickles beamed at the children. “What do you say, duckies? Shall we top off this adventure with some ice cream? Even on this cold blustery day?”

“I’m in!” Don cried.

“Me too!” Ralph drooled.

“Whoever gets the chocolate syrup last is a rotten egg!” Beatrice cried, running down the hall. The children galloped after her, with Miss Pickles rolling after them on a pink scooter. “Come on, Mason!” she cried. “You don’t want to miss this!”

“Just a second,” he called after her. After Miss Pickles’ perked up frizzy hair bounced down the hall, Mason hurried to the front door of the school. Cracking it open, he rushed out to the brittle flower beds. Staring up at the sky, he bit his lip. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let me know it was real. Let me know I can come back to you.”

The icy wind blew across his face and dry leaves crackled over his shoes. Sighing, Mason turned to go back inside. His hand itched and he looked down, poised to scratch it. Lifting his fingertips, he saw a tiny red ladybug. Fluttering it’s wings, the ladybug danced across his palm. On her final step, a tiny leaf remained on his palm.

With a smile, he watched the ladybug fly into the air and into the cold winter sky. Then he tucked the leaf in his pocket and hurried inside to join his friends.

Because ice cream, in it’s own simple way, is an adventure.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week full of whimsy approaching!

The Return of Miss Pickles 37

Blond Duck — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 09:00:10 +0000

Hello, Invisible Friends.

I hope you had a good 4th of July.

I did.

I commanded that Bear get all the toys in line, as they had not been nearly terrified enough and therefore not showing me the proper amount of respect…

Demanded that Ben cook me a burger with extra bacon…

And decreed that the Blond Duck stop twirling long enough to provide a warm lap for me to nap on.

It’s good to be Queen.

But, it’s sad to know Miss Pickles is ending.

To find previous editions, go here. To read the original book, go here.

Meanwhile, I’m going to go boss some butterflies around…

I’m Queen. It’s allowed.

—————————————————————

Everyone stared at Mason as if he had announced he was running for President.

“You can’t stay here!” The Queen Ladybug exploded. “You have parents! Don’t you think they’ll be worried?”

Mason shrugged. “Not really. They barely notice when I’m even home. When I am around, they just want me to do chores or take care of my little sister and brother.”

“Your friends?” the Queen prompted.

“I’ll still visit.” Mason looked hopefully at Miss Pickles. Her face stayed blank.

“And what will you do here?” the Queen asked, exasperated. “You can’t fly, so you can’t perform any Ladybug duties. You physically can’t fit into the Ladybug school. And what will you do about the Giggler, when he recovers? He could drive you mad again! What are you going to do, sit on the beach and feed the sugar sharks all day?”

Mason’s mouth thinned to a hard line and he crossed his arms. “I’ll find something to do. There’s always an adventure.”

“No, there won’t be.” Mason whipped his head around. Ralph was shaking his head, his plump face a mask of sorrow.

“What do you mean?” Mason asked. “That’s stupid. With Miss Pickles around, there’s always an adventure.”

“But I won’t be here, duckie,” Miss Pickles pointed out. “I’m taking the others back. And then I’ll go…and return.”

“When will you return?” Mason winced at the desperation in his voice.

“I don’t know, duckie.” Miss Pickles shrugged, her mouth drawn down. “I don’t plan these things. I just come and go whenever it feels right.”

“So I’m supposed to go back so you can leave us and I’m doomed to a life of routine and boredom?” Mason shook his head. “I’ll take my chances with the Giggler, thanks.”

“But don’t you see?” Ralph burst out, grabbing his arm. “Don’t you see how wrong you are?”

Mason shook his head. His round cheeks red like two belligerent apples, Ralph pressed his fingers, strong from years of helping his mother knead dough, into his arm. “Adventures are like the sprinkles on cookies, Mason. They perk it up, but they don’t make up the whole thing. If you had nothing but adventures, you would tire of them. They would become routine and dull, and regular life would be exciting.”

“It’s true,” Don added as Mason started to shake his head. “Look at rock stars and famous people. They think going to the grocery store and gas station is exciting. For them, a life onstage is routine.”

“And besides,” Beatrice pepped up, determined not to be left out. “We’d miss you.”

“You would?’ Mason stared at them in astonishment. “Really?”

“Of course!” Ralph cried, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Without you, who would show us new worlds?”

“Who would break into the school cafeteria for an ice cream fight?” Don asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “Even though that’s highly illegal, of course.”

“Who would convince the Principal to let us have popcorn for lunch on Fridays?” Ralph asked, licking his lips. “Even caramel popcorn!”

“And who would spend all their time fighting every page of homework and tests?” Beatrice asked. “Only you would! I love tests!”

Everyone grew silent, staring at her in amazement. “What?” she asked. “What did I say?”

“When we get back, I hope she gets normal soon,” Don whispered to Miss Pickles. Miss Pickles raised an eyebrow and whispered back, “Let’s hope, duckie.”

“So Mason, you have to come back with us!” Ralph cried, shooting a pleading look towards his friend. “Otherwise, Ordinary Elementary is just….”

“Ordinary,” Miss Pickles summed up. She ruffled his hair. “You have the gift of adventure, Mason. Don’t waste it on yourself. Gifts are made to share.”

Fingering the edges of his too-big suit, Mason shyly raised his head. Looking at his friends, he smiled.

And with a bright flash, he was staring at a tall thin woman with a gray bun that pulled her face back into a leering skeleton covered with even greyer wrinkling flesh.

“I found them, Principal Bumble!” she screeched, waving her arms. “I found the missing children!” Hissing through her yellowed teeth, she eyed the befuddled class. “Well, well, Miss Pickles,” she drawled. “Looks like you can’t talk your way out of it this time, can you?”

Mason gulped. “How did we get from Ladybug Island to facing down Miss Guenther?” he whispered to Miss Pickles. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“I’m not quite sure,” Miss Pickles whispered, her eyes twinkling. “But it’s quite a twist, don’t you think? Good show!”

Mason glanced up at Mrs. Guenther’s smirking face and felt his heart sink to his toes. “Quite a twist, all right,” he muttered.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week more of whimsy coming up! We have a fun tale tomorrow, Pet shop on Wednesday and something delicious Thursday, followed by your favorite Texan disaster, Dallas Jean! Stay tuned!

The Return of Miss Pickles 36

Blond Duck — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 09:00:57 +0000

As the tropical penguins of the Pond, we have a thing for coconut.

Coconut Cream Pie….

Coconut cookies….

Coconut cake….

And these delectable rolls from Lorraine at Not Quite Nigella–Coconut Rolls.

We know it’s bikini season and we’re supposed to be watching our figures with salad and grilled salmon and ceviche…

But we can’t help ourselves.

And we need something sweet to comfort us…

As we near the end of Miss Pickles.

To read from the beginning, go here. To read the original book, go here.

So what will it be? Cake, pie, coconut roll?

We’ll have all three.

———————————————-

Alizah turned, her eyes wide. “You do know how to get home, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Miss Pickles chortled. “I always know how to get home. The problem is finding when to go home.”

“What do you mean?” Don crossed his arms. “Listen, I’ve been chased by a Giggler, flown to a party with butterflies and dragonflies and enourmous bumblebees and ladybugs, terrified by Beatrice…”

“Oh, silly boy!” Beatrice giggled, wrapping an arm around him. Shrieking with fear, he leapt back and pointed. “That right there is enough to give me nightmares! I want to go home! I want to sleep in my own bed, eat my mom’s dull baked chicken and boring mashed potatoes and go back to school. I want to doodle until recess and spend my day watching the clock. I need some routine!”

Alizah the ladybug grimaced. “You must really want to go home if all that sounds delightful.”

“It does.” Don’s cheeks flushed. “I just want to take a shower and watch some television.”

As Alizah and the other creatures of Ladybug Island shuddered, all the children nodded.

“My mom’s probably cooked so many pies and cakes now,” Ralph said wistfully, rubbing his stomach. “And we were having roast for dinner with mashed potatoes and her Mandarian Orange salad–my favorite.”

“Your mom makes good cookies,” Don agreed. Ralph’s jaw opened in surprise at the compliment, but he merely nodded.

“If we go back, we can take tests!” Beatrice squealed. “And homework and studying and making notecards….”

Don shook his head, wrinkling his nose. “Is this ever going to wear off?” he asked Miss Pickles. “For God’s sakes she’s cheering about homework.”

“Homework is fun!” Beatrice bubbled. Mason smothered a laugh at her confused expression as the other children hurried to keep Don from throttling her.

“So what’s the hold up?” the Queen Ladybug asked. “If the children want to go home and you know how to get home….” She shrugged.

Miss Pickles shook her head. “The rules of adventures, your Majesty. This isn’t my adventure. It’s not up to me to decide when to leave.”

“But you brought us here!” Don protested.

“You knew this place–we didn’t!” Ralph cried.

“But it’s not my adventure.” Miss Pickles’ voice was gentle, but her eyes were solemn. “This adventure belongs to another.”

“Who?” Don demanded. “And what’s their hold up?”

Miss Pickles shrugged and smiled.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Mason blushed as the others whirled to look at him in his too-small suit. “It’s my adventure. And I’m the reason we haven’t left.”

Miss Pickles smiled, but said nothing.

“Well, get with it!” Don snarled. “I want to go home and so does everyone else. What’s your problem?”

Mason glanced around, surveying the twinkle lights glimmering in the trees overhead, the dragonflies waltzing around a wooden floor that looked like an enormous stump, the ladybugs munching on petite fours and honey cakes. “Look at it,” he whispered. “Just look at the magic. Look at how lovely everything is.” He shook his head. “When I go back home, I’ve got a bunch of annoying siblings, a pregnant mother and a dad who just wants to hide behind the baseball game. Then I go to school, where I sit eight hours all day learning things that aren’t what I want to learn and being crammed full of standardized test practices. My only break is recess, where they tell us what and how to play. Why would I want to go back to that? Why would I ever want to leave this place?”

The Queen Ladybug scowled. “Young man, how selfish you are! This place is only magical because you’re a guest here. If you lived here, you’d find the same humdrum as at home. We have chores and work just like everywhere.”

“Lots of chores,” Alizah mumbled, ignoring the look her grandmother gave her. “Mason, the magic isn’t in the place. It’s what you make of it.”

Mason shook his head. “I’ve been trying to make that place magical for years. I’ve been trying to put adventure in a place where there’s only routine and boredom. I’m tired of it.”

Crossing his arms, he planted his feet. “You can go home. I’m staying here. There’s nothing for me at Ordinary Elementary.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week full of whimsy–new stories, delicious recipes and more fun!

The Return of Miss Pickles 35

Blond Duck — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 09:00:57 +0000

Have you been missing a bit of Whimsy in your Life?

Maybe some Comfort?

Then check out Comfort and Whimsy, my newest story series on Saturday.

Otherwise, let’s dive into The Return of Miss Pickles. The original book can be found here.

After all, there’s not much story left to be told…

This time, anyway.

———————————————————-

“What do you mean, your name?” The Queen gathered herself up to her full height, raising her black chin. “You know very well it is my duty to name all the citizens of Ladybug Island!”

“Precisely.” The Ladybug crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “And who wants to be named out of duty? You clean the bathroom out of duty. You go to your great-aunt’s birthday party out of duty. I don’t want to be named because of duty.”

The Queen hissed. “As a royal member of this family, your station in life is about duty and responsibility to the people of this Island!”

“And what about what I want?” the Ladybug challenged. “I didn’t ask to be born a princess rather than a citizen ladybug.”

“You selfish, selfish bug.” The Queen drew back, her eyes snapping. “You would turn your back on your family, shirk your kingdom because this boy”– She glared at Mason, who stared back mildly–”has filled your head with foolish ideas? Ridiculous! You are a princess and you will act like it.”

“He didn’t fill my head full of any ideas!” The Ladybug threw up her arms, shaking her head. “Don’t you see? All my life, I’ve been told what to do, what to think, what to be. I never had a choice. My destiny has been mapped out since my birth. And I never said anything, because I thought that’s how it had to be.” Her face melted into a smile. “And then Miss Pickles came.”

Miss Pickles shook her frizzy head. “Ex-nay on the Ickles-pay.”

“Huh?” Ralph’s face scrunched up. “There’s pickles?”

Don rolled his eyes. “Not now! Things are getting good.”

“I love pickles,” Ralph whispered, shoving another tea cake into his mouth.

“And Mason helped me realize I wasn’t crazy,” Ladybug continued, as Mason squirmed in his ill-fitting suit. “He helped me understand I wasn’t the only one that felt that way. He showed me there’s a world of repressed children being forced to conform into molds adults create for them, rather than their own choosing!”

The Ladybug Queen crossed her arms. “And what would you suggest we do? Let children do as they wish? Spend their afternoons eating candy and playing jump rope, without getting an education or learning skills for future employment? And then I suppose, once they become adults, everyone will starve to death because no one will want to work. Doctors won’t heal the sick, farmers won’t collect pollen, no roads will be built, no newspapers printed…”

The Ladybug rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. All I’m suggesting is a little freedom. There has to be a balance between discipline and freedom. Fun and work.”

“I love to have fun!” Beatrice chirped. All the children shuddered and edged away from her, watching her carefully. They weren’t quite sure what to think of this new Beatrice.

“So if you don’t want to be a princess, what do you want to do?” The Queen Ladybug adjusted her crown, her tone sharp.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to be a princess. That’s just not all I want to do. I have lots of things I want to achieve…like creating recess in schools.”

“Recess?” the Queen sputtered. “What’s recess?”

Miss Pickles hid a smile behind her hand as Ladybug explained, “It’s a time for children to play in the afternoon between class.”

The Queen blinked, several times. “Why? Why not practice flying or collecting pollen?”

“Because it’s fun!” Mason interjected. “Don’t you ever want to just take an hour to run around, climb a tree, have fun?”

“If I want to go to a tree, I should fly there,” the Queen snapped. “Plus, I live in a tree. Why would I want to go to a tree?”

“That’s not the point,” the Ladybug interrupted. “The point is, we ladybugs all need some more fun in our lives.” She grinned. “And that’s how I came up with my name.”

The Queen growled. “What?”

“Alizah.” The Ladybug glowed. “I read it in a book once Miss Pickles lent me. It means joyful. And that’s what I want to do, as a princess. I want to bring more joy to Ladybug Island. And not the kind the Giggler has–real joy. Real fun. I want to have more parties like this, not just when someone has a birthday.”

The Queen blinked. “What else is there to celebrate besides birthdays and weddings?”

“Lots!” Ralph piped up, brushing crumbs on his food-streaked pants. “There’s the 4th of July and Easter and Christmas and Halloween and Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day…”

“And Midsummer’s Night Eve, the first day of harvest, Memorial Day…” Mason continued.

“And Wednesday,” Miss Pickles piped up. “And Friday and Saturday of course. Tuesday too, so it doesn’t feel left out.”

The Queen eyed them all and sighed. “Well, I suppose.”

All the ladybugs and butterflies cheered, though the dragonflies were secretly sad there wasn’t a big fight.

“So, Alizah, what do we do now?”

Alizah, the newly named Ladybug, looked at Mason. His smile faded and he glanced at Miss Pickles. “Don’t tell me.”

She nodded. “It’s time.”

Behind them, a clock in a twisted oak struck midnight.

“Excuse me?” Don’s cool voice cut through the children’s groans. “How exactly are we supposed to get home?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new bit of whimsy and Wednesday, more pet shop fun! Stay tuned!