How Chauncey Feets Came To Be

I was bored. I was bored with what I was working on (free form crochet coat) and I was sick and tired of fighting with the crocheted needle holder I was working with. Oh, it was a good enough piece, in its day, but…its day was over.

I wanted to work up something fast, fun, happy, and functional. Something that would hold all those yarn tapestry needles I like to keep on hand. I thought,  “I’ll crochet a pin cushion in a bright color.”

And that’s how Chauncey came to be.

I have been crocheting since I was little. I learned at my mother’s knee at about five years old. Okay, I learned facing my mother across the kitchen table because I’m a leftie and I had to watch her from the wrong side. But hey, whatever works, right? Anyway, I’ve been crocheting for almost a half century, and I have been making toys since the get-go.

My mother had a passion for making crocheted toys. “If you have a hook and a little yarn, you’ll always have a new toy,” she used to say. We had some really cool crocheted toys. We had some seriously tough crocheted toys, built to last through whatever three ornery roughnecks, four grown Saint Bernard dogs and a countless stream of their puppies could put a toy through. Have you ever seen what happens to a crocheted panda bear when it’s been washed in a wringer washing machine? Pandy got really looooong. But he came right back in the dryer, ready to be tossed around as a football, wrestled by a dog during a game of “Gimmie That,” and cuddled into slumber when we all fell over at the end of the day.

Mom passed her passion for funny, happy, seriously tough toys on to me, and I, of course, ran with it.  I boldly went where no crochet hook went before. I was designing “weird” toys by High School, making them and giving them to friends…just little guys, sometimes with three eyes, or four ears, or whatever else I could think of between classes. I never knew that my toys were called, Amigurumi. Who knew?

Now that Amigurumi is all the crochet craze, I am in Hooker’s Heaven. A short-attention-span-friendly crochet toy fix? I am THERE!

I grabbed a ball of bright orange yarn and a hook. In just a couple of minutes, I went from thinking, “I’ll crochet a ball and stick pins in it” to, “I sense a toy waiting to be born.” I was initially thinking, just a ball with eyes. Simple, quick, the easiest of amigurumi styles. Then, of course, the ball had to have “hair.”  It just felt right.  So I worked in the hair, and set the eyes into place, getting ready to stuff my little creation.

I got his head stuffed and closed, taking notes as I went along, and when he was finally finished, I looked into his little black button eyes and said, “Welcome to the world! Aren’t you adorable!”

He looked up at me and said, “I need feets.”

I had crocheted the amigurumi equivalent of a demanding three year old, and the three year old wanted “feets.” 

“You are adorable,” I cooed.  “And, you are also what I would call, precocious.”

“Pree-Koh-shiss.”

“Yes. Precocious.”

“Sssssssssss……”

“That’s enough. Does a pin cushion really need feet?”

“Peen-koo-sheen,” he said, trying out the new word. “I need feets.  I’ll roll over.  Fall.  Splat! I need feets.”

“You’re a ball. You’re supposed to roll.”

“You said I was a pre-ko-shiss.”

“You are a precocious ball. I’m starting to lean toward bratty.”

“You said I am a peen-koo-sheen.”

“I can see that this is going to get me absolutely…nowhere.”

“So, do I get feets?”

“You get feets.”

“Yay!”

“Do you want a mouth, too?”

“I dunno.  Can we talk about it after I get feets?”

“I suppose we can. You’re cute as a button without it.”

“I don’t think I need one.”

“You don’t need a mouth?”

“Nope. I don’t think I eat, and this conversation we’re having in all in your head, so….”

“Yes, I know. I’m a weird old lady that talks to her toys. I can’t wait for you to meet Reggie.”

“Reggie? Is he a peen-koo-sheen?”

“No, Reggie is a very cool plant. I think he’ll get a kick out of you.”

“Can I have my feets first?  I feel…unfinished.”

“Yes, you can have your feet first.”

“Yay! Feetsfeetsfeetsfeetsfeets!”

“You know I sense that if I wasn’t holding on to you, you would fall over kicking and laughing.”

“I can’t kick without FEETS!”

“Okay! I’ll start the feets!”

I picked up the hook again, and thought a bit…brought the toy into Chris to ask his opinion about feets…er, feet.  Chris just looked at my new little guy, and said, “What the Hell is it?”

“It’s an amigurumi pin cushion. And it’s a brat.”

“Uh-huh. Did you give it to the parsley to get a name for it yet?”

Poor Chris. His mother’s a nut-job.

“No,” I said, laughing now. “He wants to wait until he has feets…er, feet.”

“Riiiiight.  Okay, the closest thing you have to a screaming neon green.”

“Cool, I can get close.  I have a bright lime….”

Chris was already gone, turned back into his computer and whatever work I had interrupted..or perhaps thoughts of how he could have me institutionalized.  Poor Chris.  He’s very patient with me. 

Back in my lair, I grabbed up the smaller hook, the lime green yarn, thought a bit…and assembled the feet. Once I had them on, my little buddy and I tried them out, and he was satisfied. Good thing, too, as I wasn’t really looking forward to doing them again.

“Are you happy with your new feet?” I asked.

“Yes! I like my new feets! Now what are we going to do?”

“Do you have an aversion to having needles and pins stuck in your head?”

“I dunno. I’ve never had needles and pins stuck in my head. Will it hurt?”

“I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll tell me all about it. Let’s start with the needle I used to sew on your feet.”

“K….Ow. OW.. OWOWOWOWOWWWWWW!”

“Knock it off. I haven’t touched you yet.”

“Oh.”

We finally got through inserting one needle.

“There, I said. “Did that hurt?”

“Nope. I’m a peen-koo-sheen.”

“I believe you’re going to be a grand pin cushion.”

“Can I go meet Reggie now?”

“Sure! And the garlics, too.”

“Are garlics amy-goo-roooooomies?”

“No, garlics are plants, like Reggie.”

“K.”

As soon as we went through the door to the porch, my little pin head erupted into questions.

“Wow! Where is this? Are there more peen-koo-sheens here? Are there more amy-goo-roooomies here? What’s that big bowl of green stuff? Why is the bowl humming? Can I sit in the bowl and hum?”

“Whoooaaaaaa,” drawled Raggie. “What…have you done?”

That was Chauncey’s first day. He’s still a brat, but he’s so cool, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, these toys develop their own personalities. 

Stranger things have happened…

 

 

Chauncey and Nell’s Most Excellent Adventure

What an entertaining couple of days!

Reggie is faring well from his clip-and-send, and also from his transplant, and even got a dose of new soil!  I call it deluxe retirement property.  I was told that the clippings arrived crisp and delicious in Minnesota.  

He needed more soil.  He was all roots in that pot, as the pot was only ever planted half full.  (I did not plant Reggie…I adopted him.)   So, out he went, into a fresh pot, more soil, plenty of room for his roots to run.  He’s feeling a little tweaked, looks a little droopy, but he’s snapping back well.  I’ll find that brand new box of Miracle Grow for tomatoes and give him a boost.

The garlic sprouts all seem to be doing well, sitting there happily humming away in their big container.  The bottom leaves look like they’re starting to die off on time.  I say, “seem” and “look to be” because I really don’t know what the heck I’m doing, this is a science experiment born of an absolute need to grow something.  The foliage is growing, so I guess they’re all happy.

I wonder of they have Miracle Grow for garlic.  Ha!  I just heard Mike groan all the way from Italy.

Hey, I know it’s junk, and I’m taking positive, albeit tentative steps, away from it this year with the sheep poop,  but I just can not argue the results.  I’ll be asking Mike about vitamins and fish emulsion, too.

Poor Reggie.  I dislodged him, a trauma, even though it was a necessary one, and then I introduced him to…Chauncey’s sister.

Yuuuuup!  Chauncey, my resident “peen-koo-sheen,”  has a baby sister!  She’s purple and tiny, (the result of using a finer worsted weight yarn and a smaller hook,) and sports a bow in her hair and embroidered eyes.  No little black buttons for her, as she’s slated for the good life with my little grand-niece, Sophia.  She’s going to live with Doodles!

Chauncey was beside himself with overly abundant joy.  He’s sad that his new little sister has to go, but…they get it.  Even the little ones get it.  Chauncey’s sister is a toy, whose fundamental reason for being is to bring joy to a child.

So, Chauncey is cool.  He has his little purple sister for a while, to play with, and a promise that I will bring him with us when she goes, so he can visit, meet Sophia and Doodles, and say, “See you later!”

It’s never “Good bye.”

Chauncey, having been thoroughly impressed (and who isn’t) with Reggie, insisted that we go right to the porch so he could introduce his new little sister around to the plants.  He even gave her a pin to wear!

If a parsley could visibly shudder….

“Reg-gieeeeeee!”  Chauncey practically screamed, in his three-year-old’s voice that only I can hear.  “Reggie, look!  Wendy made me a sister!  She’s an Amy-Goo-Roooooomie!  That’s a toy!”

“Hey, Yarn Dude!”  Reggie obliged.  “Excited as usual, I see.  What’s all this about a sister?”

And then to me, in a slightly accusing tone,  “You made another one.”

“Yuuuup,”  I quipped.  “I made another one.  This little gal is going to live with Sophia and Doodles.”

“Well, bring her on over, let her sit in my dreads.  She’s a quiet one, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she seems to be a little shy.  Maybe she’s just a little overwhelmed.”

“She has a bow in her hair and FEEEEETS!”  Chauncey hollered.

“Whatever could she be overwhelmed by?”  Reggie drawled.  “Does she have a name yet?”

“No, not yet.  I was wondering…”

“Can we sit in the garlic so they can name my sister like they did me?”  Chauncey asked.

“Suuuuure,  little dude,”  Reggie smoothed out.  “You go see about that.”

“If they won’t talk to me, will you give my sister a name?”

If a parsley could visibly droop…

“Yeah. Buddy.  You bring her right over to Ol’ Reggie, and we’ll make sure she’s got a name.”

What a plant!  Yup, definitely going to seek out that Red Bull for plants.

Off to the garlic pot they went, where they both started humming along with the bulbs.  Chauncey, as usual, boldly and immediately, and the little one, more slowly, following her brother.

“Mmmmmmm-mum-mum-mum-mmmmmmmm…NELL!”

Well, that about floored me.  That was her first word!

“Nell, is it?”  I asked.  “Are you happy with that?”

“Nell!  My name is Nell!”

“Welcome to the world, Nell.”

Onward they went, for their most excellent adventure.

They played Parsley commando with Reggie,

And played hide and seek with the Goo-Gaws.

Nell borrowed some more decorations from her big brother!

They marveled over Reggie’s new soil,

And tried to spy on the garlic to see what goes on under there…

They even got to play with the cat!  Brenda, who had already been introduced to Chauncey, tickled him with her face.  She thinks we see it as kitty love, but I know better.  She wanted a face scratch.  I let Chauncey run with it, though.

“She LIIIIIKES MEEEEE!”

Reggie told the story of how he used to be an Outside plant, and before I knew it, the little toys were bouncing on their big feets, chanting, “Outsideoutsideoutside!”

Thank you, Reggie.

A deep, smooth chuckle was my response.

They went to the Outside porch, where all the planting in the containers happens.

They sat in the spinach containers.  Nell asked about a billion questions about the “Speen-yach,” and marveled at the little green seedlings, babies, just like her!

They sat in the sun on the roof of the garage, where the “speen-yach” grows,

and went all the way to the back yard, where there were even more awesome oddities awaiting them.  They took turns meditating on a gazing ball,

And sat together on another, contemplating the universe.

They got to hang out with Bruce, a very friendly and elegant moss-growing frog,

And even got to help my neighbor with his car!

It was a wonderful, busy day, that ended with Chauncey trying his er…feets…at…Oh, seriously, Chauncey…bungee jumping?  Seriously?

Seriously.  Jump, he did, hollering all the way down, “BUNGEEEEEE!”

Again, I heard a deep, smooth green chuckle emanating from Inside.

Saturday, it was time for Nell to go, to live with Sophia and Doodles.  Road trip!  Nell, no longer shy, and her brother, bold as ever, sat in their seat and chattered all the way with Woody Woodpecker,  who sort of fell into being my car buddy.  Chauncey left his needles and pins at home.

Nell, suddenly uncertain, asked, “Will she love me?”

I quickly put another bandage on my heart and said, “Sweetheart, Sophia is going to be crazy about you.”

And…she is!

When we got to my niece’s house, Doodles was waiting, to welcome Chauncey and Nell, and Sophia, smiling all the way, grabbed her now toy with both hands.  Nell went to all of the members of her new family…Sophia, her mom and dad, and her grandma and grandpa, too.  They all love her to bits!  She even got licks and kisses from the two Chihuahua dogs.

Finally, it was time to go home, and sneak Chauncey out of the house.  With a promise that we would all meet again, Chauncey and I headed home.  He got to ride on the dashboard with Woody on the way back, so he wouldn’t be so lonely.

Knowing, in the way that old parsley plants do, that Chauncey would be a little sad when he got home, Reggie wrapped him into a warm green hug.

 

Cuddling into Reggie’s soft foliage, he asked, “Do you think I can have a brother or sister that can stay with me?”

Reggie answered for me, “Little Dude,  I’ll bet she’ll even let you pick out the colors.”

Chauncey Feets and Reggie’s Road Trip

This is the newest addition to my crochet family, “Chauncey Feets.”  

 

Chauncey came about in order to address my need of a new pin cushion for all of the yarn needles I have, and for my love of making toys.  A plain old pin cushion doesn’t have a personality, but toys do.  Chauncey definitely has a personality. 

Reggie did not give him this name.  As a matter of fact, I think he scared Reggie a little, as evidenced by the question,  “What…have you done?”  when I brought the new little amigurumi guy, chattering all the way,  out onto the porch to meet the plants.  

 Chauncey, you see, is not the mellow, sweet-tempered hippie toy that Scribbles and Doodles were  born to be.  Chauncey came off the hook a full-blown, precocious three-year-old, peppering me and my beloved parsley plant with question after question, and making demands.

 The first thing out of him, when I looked into his bold little black button eyes and told him how adorable he is was, “I need feets.”  

 

Hence the surname, Feets.

He’s bold.  He’s er…active.  He knows who he is and proudly declares, “I’m a peen-koo-sheen!”  He doesn’t mind having pins stuck in his head.  He thinks they make him look cool.  

 It was, believe it or not, the garlic plants that gave him his name.  He sat in their pot with them, humming along, and when I asked Reggie if he wanted a new life student, he declined, saying,  “No, no…I only do seedlings.  Better give that guy to the garlic.  I think he understands them.”

 I looked at Chauncey sitting in the garlic planter.  “Do you understand those guys?”  I asked.

 

 

He answered, “Hummmm-mum-mummmmmm…Chauncey!”

“Chauncey?”

“Yup!  The garlics say my name is Chauncey!”

“Well, Okay!”  I said.    Jeez, he understands the garlic.

“Are you happy with than name?”

“Yuuuup!  I’m Chauncey and I’m  a peen-koo-sheen!”

“With all of the noise you made earlier,”  I added,  “I would like to give you a last name.  I would like to call you, Chauncey Feets.”

“Yup!  I have feets!  They keep me from tipping over!”

Everything is an exclamation with this little guy.

“You’re okay with the name?”

“Yuuuup!  Can I go see the cat again?”

“Sure, you can go see the cat again.”

“Can I sit with Reggie now?”

“Reggie?”  I asked, thinking I was seeing the poor old parsley trying to climb out of his planter.

“Sure,”  he said, always genteel.  “Come on in here and…relax.”

“Yes,”  I said,  “If you hide, really quiet, we’ll have to look for you!” 

 

 

I can’t say that Chauncey relaxed, but he did seem to have a good time hiding out in Reggie’s foliage, playing Jungle Amigurumi.

 

 

Later, after he had thoroughly exhausted the poor, gentle parsley, he went to play with Brenda, the cat.  She’s another gentle creature (when she isn’t chasing imaginary mice) and was relatively unimpressed.   Thankfully, she didn’t take him for a mouse, and try to eat him.

 

 

Chauncey sits on my desk now, holding all of my yarn darning needles in his head, looking like a crocheted punk rocker.  

He’s happy!  He chatters a lot, likes to go visit the garlic, the parsley and the cat.  I promise to post the pattern later.

As for Reggie…he had himself a road trip!  Yes, believe it..he, or rather, clippings from his dreads, are winging their way to St. Paul, Minnesota as I type.  

A very nice woman from an art  forum saw his picture, and thought, “Oh, he looks delicious!”

 

 She wrote to me asking me where I live, in the hope that she could come over and take some seeds.  Well, he isn’t ready to go to seed just yet, I believe that will happen later this season.  But, why not take some cuttings, send this nice lady some fresh, yummy parsley!  

I grabbed a pruner, and clipped…and clipped…and clipped some more.  I clipped off a substantial bouquet, packed into a wet paper towel and into a gallon-sized zip bag, then into a box, and shipped it to Minnesota.  The plant?  I can barely see where I clipped the greenery off.  That’s just how thick and lush this guy is.  

 

 

Reggie’s all excited about having his dreads go to new and exciting places, and we’re waiting to hear from my friend as to how well his dreads shipped.

I have faith.  This is a great plant.  I know his dreads will ship well and remain fresh.

I’ll keep you posted….

Next up, I’ll clean up and post the pattern for chauncey Feets, so you can have your own punk rock “peen-koo-sheen!”
 

 

 

The Untold Story Part Three…Now They Have Names

When last we saw our intrepid porch gardener, she was escorting our very special toy friend, Scribbles, to the porch for a party to name the weird garlics.  The garlics seemed unimpressed, just sitting in their pot, happily humming to themselves, as if they were totally unaware of the attention they were getting.  Maybe they were.  Maybe they weren’t.  Maybe they didn’t care.  It’s hard to tell, with garlic.  Scribbles and the broccoli plants were game, though!

“You are such a joy,” I added, stroking long, soft yarn hair and touching tiny yarn fingers. ”Your child will love you as much as I do, because it just isn’t possible not to.”

“Awwwww,” she crooned. “Thanks! Let’s go spoil the broccoli and name some weird garlics.”  

We went, together, out onto the front porch.  Scribbles, with her forever smile, and I, with a mix of excitement and trepidation, were about to engage three very active broccoli plants in the task of naming seventeen weird garlic sprouts.

“Why do you suppose they just sit there and hum?” asked Scribbles.

“I have no clue,” I said.  “Maybe Reggie can shed some of his fantastic green light on it.”

When the green guys sensed that their yarn friend was near, they started waving and wiggling like they do…like there was a breeze, except that we were Inside.

“Scribbles!” Sprite sang out in his best happy-broccoli voice. “Look, Guys, it’s Scribbles!”

There was a lot of laughter, catching up on what was new Inside, what was happening on the porch, what Scribbles saw on the talking picture box, Inside.  Sprite (of course!) was fascinated with the concept of being carried from one room to the next, to take in all of the other sights and sounds of the house.  Alas…he weighed too much in his pot, where Scribbles was just a small toy without roots or soil. This, of course, brought up a whole conversation about the difference between plants and toys.

 “Okay,”  Drake started.  “You’re not a plant, you’re a toy.  So…you don’t have roots or a pot, and you don’t need water or sun?”

“That’s right,”  Scribbles answered.  “I don’t have to have water or light.  I can go into the light, or into the dark, and I can get wet, but I don’t have to.  I am an ‘inanimate’ object.”

“You’re not what I would consider inanimate,”  I argued.  “You’re full of energy.  You just don’t  eat.”

“HUH?” asked Sprite. “

“Scribbles,”  I explained, “is what could be considered an inanimate object. She doesn’t carry water, or nutrients.  She doesn’t grow.  So,  if you were to look at Scribbles without really seeing her, you would think she wasn’t alive.  Inanimate.”

“That’s why toys go to live with children,”  Scribbles added, “or very special grown people. They can see that we’re alive.”

“I know you’re alive,” Bud said.

“Awww, thanks, Bud!” Scribbles crooned.

Did I just see the broccoli blush? Yeah, I think I did.  I moved Scribbles to Bud’s planter and let her sit with him a bit, which made him so immensely happy, I think I heard him sigh.

“Guys, it’s about energy. Your energy is active. You have roots, you carry water and nutrients through your roots and stems, into your leaves and flowers. You process carbon dioxide in and oxygen and sugar out. In the end, being vegetables, you take all of the food and energy you have received throughout your growth period, and go to seed for another generation, as well as provide food for us people.”

“Scribbles,” I went on, “has karmic energy, if you would. She doesn’t have water or nutrients, doesn’t absorb sunlight or carbon.  She does, however, have happiness.  To see that happiness as a living force, you pretty much have to be a child.”

“Or a plant!” Sprite chimed in.

“Or a very tuned-in grown-up,” Reggie said.

“Or a very tuned-in grown-up,” I agreed, ridiculously flattered at being considered ‘very tuned-in’ by this very cool parsley.

“Are the garlics alive, too?” asked Drake. “They would be, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes, Drake, they are.  They have all of the properties that you do, except that their roots are also their bodies.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, they’re what we call a root crop. Your whole body is in the air. You absorb light through your greens, water and nutrients through your roots and you produce oxygen, carbohydrates and vapor.”

“It’s the photosynthesis thing,” Reggie drawled. “Remember, dude? The plant circle of life.”

 “That’s right, it’s the photosynthesis thing,”  I said.  “And you have been lucky to have such a wonderful teacher out here.” Now, the garlic,” I added, “goes through that whole process, just like you. The difference is, your whole body is above the soil, where half of their bodies are beneath the soil.  As you grow, you form a head of broccoli, and they form a bulb of garlic.”

“Wow,” said Drake. “So that’s why we can’t hear them?  Their heads are underground?”

“Maybe that’s why they seem to hum.  Maybe they’re having entire conversations down there, and we just can’t hear them clearly because they’re underground.”

“Can they hear us?”

“The only way to find that out for sure,” I offered, “would be to dig one up.”

“Oh. Maybe we’d better not go there.”

“A little too much mystery?”

“Uhhhh…yeah.”

“Do other plants live like that?” Scribbles asked. “In the dark?”

“Sure!” I said. “There are plenty of other root crops.  Potatoes, beets, radishes and carrots are just a few that come to mind.”

“What about those big, bright flowers I saw last summer?”  Reggie asked.  “I remember when you harvested them, and heard you and Lola Lady talking about their…bulbs?  Tubers?”

 “Wow,”  I said.  “I’m stuck.  Great question, and one for Mike, for sure.  Those were the Dahlias.  They have all of their flower parts, stems and leaves above the soil, just like you, and their roots below the soil, like you.  But their seed…you grow Dahlias from bulbs, or tubers, like this garlic.  Like garlic, they multiply from those tubers.  And like the garlic, their tubers are edible for people.”

“So, when their time is up you pull them up and eat the tubers?”

“I can.  I pulled them up and saved the tubers, though, to see if I could plant them again.  I’ll see in the spring.”

“Are they a flower, or a vegetable?”  asked Scribbles.

“They’re a flower, but one that grows from an edible tuber.  Best of both worlds?”

“You’ll find out,”  Sprite proclaimed with much confidence.  You’ll ask that really cool Guru Guy, and he’ll know.

“He might!  He sure does know a lot about plants.  And, if he doesn’t know, we’ll make something up and run with it.”

“Well, next time you plant garlic, you might plant other root plants, so they won’t be lonely.”

“I don’t think they’re lonely, do you?” I wondered. “There are a lot of them in that planter to keep themselves company.”

“Okay, ” Drake said. “Maybe you can plant other kinds of root guys so they won’t be so weird.”

I had to chuckle at that. “Let’s get them named. Maybe when they’re named, they won’t seem so weird.”

“Can I start?”  Sprite yelled out. And so it started. Sprite had already named “Tiny,” and now he wanted to name the next garlic in the pot, “Stinky.”

“Stinky?” Bud asked.” “Yup! Stinky! They are garlic, after all.”

“Okay,” I said, writing out the plant marker, Stinky it is!  Drake, got a name?”

“How about…Amy?  Let’s get some girls in there.”

“Hear, hear!” I said.  “How about you, Scribs, got a name for me?”

“How about…Andy?  Andy was a child who loved his toys that I saw on the talkie picture box once.”

“Ah, yes!  Andy is Woody and Buzz Lightyear’s child,  from Toy Story.  Andy it is,” I said, and placed the marker. “Bud?”

“Okay,” Bud answered. “How about, Sunshine?”

“That’s a beautiful name,” I said, placing the marker.  

“Reggie, I know you can come up with a name here.”

“Hmmmm…How about, Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy?”

“Yeah. Like me. Fuzzy.”

“You bet, Friend.  Fuzzy it is.”  Sprite, you’re up!”

“Phineas!”  he chirped.  “Reggie told us all about the colorful people that live in the talkie picture box.  “I’ll name mine, Phineas!”

“You got it,” I chuckled.  “Reggie, you’re telling them about the TV?”

“Just sharing the world with the green guys.  Those were the only people I saw in the talkie box.”

“Yeah,” Scribbles added.  “I thought they were the only ones living in there. But then I saw Andy and his toys, and there were others. What were they called?  Loony Tunes?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said.  “There’s plenty going on in the TV.  Phineas and Ferb are my favorites, though, so I watch them whenever they’re on, and they’re on a lot.”

“Well, in that case,” Drake started, ”I’ll call mine, Ferb. I heard he was way cool.”

“Ferb is too cool.”  I placed the marker.

“Candace?” asked Bud. “Is that name right?”

“Sure is,”  I said, and wrote out Candace’s marker.

“That leaves,”  Scribbles said,  “Perry the GARLICpus!”

That reduced us all to giggles and snorts, with subsequent names reflecting the ensuing silliness.

 “Reggie, how about you?” I asked.  “Got another one hiding in your dreads there?”

“In homage to Scribbles’ foliage medium,” he began, “I’ll name the next one, Freeform Foliage.”

 “Ooooh, a Hippie garlic!” Sprite, my man, you’re up!”

“Ummmm…..How about, Cassandra?”

“Pretty! I like that one. Okay, Drake, how about you?”

“Summer. I was just a baby but I remember summer.”

“Nice. Bud?”

“Um. Rex?”

“I like it! It’s a happy name. How about you, Scribs?”

“I know my sister’s name will be, Doodles, so I’d like to name the next after my sister.  Doodles.”

“That’s so sweet! I’ll make sure you have some time with your sister before you both go off to your children.”

“Coooooooooooooool!”

“Reggie, how about you?”

If a parsley could grin…..”Professor Diddlepoppin.”

Again, the room erupted in snorts and giggles. When Sprite’s turn came, he went with it.

“Horace Q. Nozzlenose!”

“Oh, Jeez,” I laughed, as I placed the marker. Drake, last one. What say you?”

He thought about it a moment.  His answer was completely dead-pan.

“Ned.”

And that, as they say, was that. The room degraded into screeches and guffaws, waving greenery, dancing yarn. It was a lovely day that ended on a happy note, with all of the weird garlic named and…as far as we could tell…happy.

A couple of months have passed since then;  Bud, Drake and Sprite matured, and were harvested.  Scribbles and her sister, Doodles, went on to live happily with their children. I was told that Scribbles and her child, Arianna, were romping within seconds.  For Doodles, it took a little longer, because all the grown-ups in the room…my brother, Ed, sister-in-law, Liz, niece, Kristina, and her beau, Sergio, all played with Doodles briefly before they handed her to Sophia, her child and my beautiful grand-niece.  

Now, that’s a whole household filled with very tuned-in grown-ups!

Reggie is still with me, still thriving,

and the garlics, still happily humming away, are growing well…at least on the surface!

 Just so you know…my son, Chris, believes that the garlics are having whole conversations among themselves, but also that they hum indiscriminately, just to mess with our heads.  He thinks that we can’t hear them simply because their heads are beneath the soil…and that they know that.  

“It’s a conspiracy….” 

 

The Untold Story, Part Two…A Very Special Toy

 When last we saw our Heroine, your semi-phenominal, nearly functional and infinitely humble Blogger, she was headed into the house, dubbed “Inside” by the potted vegetables, to retrieve a very special toy named, “Scribbles.”  A great undertaking was about to begin…the naming of the Garlic sprouts.   Help with this endeavor was not expected from the garlics, as they were known to simply sit among themselves and hummmmmmmm…….

Here’s how it went.

When I went Inside I found Scribbles right where I left her…which is a really good thing when you dare to think about it… wearing her sweet, perpetual smile.  She’s really a happy, mellow gal.  She was born that way.  

“Hey, Scribs! You ready to go play with the green guys, name some garlic plants?”

Did her smile get bigger? I wondered….

“You bet! I like hanging out with the green guys. They’re too cool. And Reggie is so classy!”

“That’s a perfect way to describe Reggie,” I said.  “He’s just so…complete.”

Scribbles giggled, “He told me he went bald once.”

Remembering the worms, I had to laugh. “Yes, he did go bald! Parsley worms ate half of his dreads, so I picked them off, with the dreads they were chewing on, and put them somewhere else, then pruned Reggie right down to his stems.”

“Parsley worms?  There are unique worms that eat parsley?”

“It seems so.  I didn’t know, so I asked the Gods of Google, and found out that there are parsley worms that eventually become big swallow tail butterflies.”

“And…they eat parsley.  Reggie must feel so special.”

“Well, apparently, they also like fennel and carrots, but I wasn’t growing them.”

“Wow.  Were they scary looking?”

“No, believe it or not.  I sure didn’t want them chewing on my parsley, but they were really pretty.  They had beautiful bright green and dark green stripes.  I wasn’t squishing them, because they looked pretty meaty, and I wasn’t dealing with squished worm guts all over the place.  When I found out they were butterflies in waiting,  I was doubly glad I didn’t make worm splat.”

“Eeeeuw!”

“Right.  Eeuw.   I picked them off and put them aside, then found out after that they would be big butterflies some day.  Of course, having the worms chewing on Reggie’s dreads just lent further credence to my ‘butterflies-will-eat-your-braimz’ phobia, but that’s another story.”

“Butterflies eat human brains?!?!?!?”  Scribbles exclaimed, totally aghast.  I swear, if her eyes weren’t firmly-attached plastic, they would have bugged right out of her head.

“No!  Butterflies are completely harmless, helpful insects that pollinate plants.  I just…have a thing.”

“Oh.  Ohhhh-kay.”

“Er…yeah.” 

Scribbles just looked at me for a few seconds.  I remember thinking,  I’m glad I didn’t give her eye brows.

“Bet you thought he was a goner,”  she said.

“I did. I thought he was gone. I kept watering him, fertilizing him, and he started growing new dreads. Now look at him. He’s thick and lush, and has lived way past his time.”

“He said that. He really likes the fertilizer, by the way, says it gives him a total chlorophyll rush.”

“Oh, does it now?  I seem to remember hearing that from other plants, another garden.”

“Yup. Must be something! Anyway, he said he should have gone with all the other older plants, but he feels great, and he’s loving taking care of the broccolis.  He says the elixir keeps him green.”

“Well, he sure does take good care of those broccoli plants.  Now he’s mentoring all that garlic, too.”

“You think so?”  Scribbles asked. “I think those garlic plants pretty much keep to themselves.”

Pondering this for another couple of seconds, she added, “They’re harmless. But they are sure mysterious.  They…hum.”

“Maybe you’re just used to Sprite’s outgoing ways?” I offered.

“Hmmm…” she answered.  “Maybe. Or maybe the garlic is just weird.”  Then she grinned her adorable Scribbles grin and added, “Let’s go play with the green guys!”

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go play.”

“Wendy?”

The sudden shyness…the tentativeness…made me pause.

“What is it, Scribs?”

“I’m excited about going to live with my child.”

“That’s good! You’re supposed to be. But am I hearing some hesitation there?”

“No….,” she started. “I’m really excited to meet her.”

“But?”

“But….do you think she’ll love me?”

“Oh, Scribbles,” I began.  “From the moment I started stitching you, from that very first crochet stitch, to that finishing touch of this long red hair, I knew you would be something special.”

“Really? I remember seeing you that first time, seeing you smile.”  She chuckled and added, “I was only just a head and I knew you loved me already.  I just wonder sometimes if my child will, too.”

“You saw me smile when I put your eyes into your head, because you saw me fall in love.  You sort of … blinked …  and smiled up at me with your eyes because you didn’t even have a mouth yet.  I knew, right then, what a unique treasure you are.”

” Oooo, tell me more!” she giggled.

“I’ll tell you every day,” I laughed.  

I picked up the sweet little doll and hugged her, giving and taking comfort in equal measure, and remembering the magical feeling of seeing what would normally be benign crochet stitches and safety eyes become a companion, a friend… a toy…stitched with the positive energy of  possibility, and stuffed with love.

“I saw your soul shine through your eyes the very moment I put them in your head.   I felt it in my hands.  It guided my needle when I stitched your face, and guided my hook when I stitched your fingers and feet. You weren’t completed with the last stitch, like a sweater.  You were born with that very first stitch, a complete personality waiting for a body, and your spirit guided me through all of the stitches that came after that.  Seeing that spirit shine through your eyes that first time was so exciting, it almost took my breath away. “

“You are such a joy,” I added,  stroking long, soft yarn hair and touching tiny yarn fingers.  “Your child will love you as much as I do, because it just isn’t possible not to.”

“Awwwww,” she crooned. “Thanks! Let’s go spoil the broccoli and name some weird garlics.”

So, now you know what it feels like for me, to be able to take bit of yarn, a bit of fluff, and see it transform into something that will comfort and entertain a child…a toy.  Whether or not they express it in such mystical terms, I believe that all crocheters and knitters of toys feel this.  Making toys is magic!

Next up…I’ll tell you how naming all those garlic sprouts went.

Stay tuned! 

A very special toy…. 

Naming the Garlic…The Untold story

Readers,

It’s time to tell you about the day we named the garlic sprouts.
It was…an adventure!

Now, rather than dump The Great American Novel on you in one long, drawn-out sitting,  I’m going to do it in parts.  Frustrating?  Naaaahhhh.  Think…cliff hanger…old time radio, where they did the stories in weekly installments. When I was a kid, the newspapers did holiday stories in the weeks before holidays such as Easter, Christmas, even Halloween.   Every Wednesday (I think) there was another installment, with illustrations and everything, and we could not wait to get through the week to the new chapter!  It was just too cool.  I hope that I can give you a touch of that feeling here, and share with you a tiny slice of that wonderful, childish anticipation.  They were simpler times, and infinitely more gratifying for having had to wait a bit.   For me, gardening and needlework are like that.  They’re simple pleasures, filled with the child-like anticipation of the first leaf, the first bud of what will some day be a tomato, or a broccoli plant, or a glorious Dahlia.  In crochet,  (or embroidery, knit, whatever the muse suggests) that first stitch…what will it be?  Some day it will be a scarf, or a sweater, or…a child’s toy. To watch things grow, to help them along, from tiny seed to stunning eggplant, from a scrap of colorful yarn to a smiling giver of a child’s joy humbles me. It entertains me, makes me smile, and brings me peace.  I’d like to share that with you.

Shortly after Tiny, our first garlic sprout, broke ground, Little Sprite said, “We should all name the garlics when they come up!”

Well, come up, they did.  I planted eighteen cloves, and eighteen sprouted. Before the broccoli went into the long night, and before Scribbles went to live with her child, we got together out there on the porch. I, with Popsicle stick markers and a Sharpie, and Scribbles, Reggie, Drake and Bud with their imaginations, had a grand old time naming those sprouts. 

My broccoli buddies and our visiting sweet heart, Scribbles, have since left here, but I’ll remember this day.

Here’s how it went….

“Good morning, Green Guys!” I chirped out as I went to the porch with a load of wash. “How are you all doing this morning?”

Sprite, always the first to chip in, answered, “Oh, we’re good! The sun is sending us a lot of warm today, and I sense you’re about to make the summer machine work!”

“Yes, Sprite, I am. It’s going to get nice and summery in here, soon.”

“Is Scribbles coming to visit today?” Bud asked, rather shyly.  Was that an underlying crush I was hearing?  Not one to unduly embarrass plant life, I skipped that thought.

“You bet! I’ll bring her out to visit. She can hang with your guys today.”

Drake was not so shy. He asked, “Is she a plant? She seems…different.”

“Not like we have all that much experience,” Bud added, “but I think Drake is right. She seems different.”

“I don’t think she’s a plant, Guys,”  Reggie answered.  “I think Wendy made her from some strange vine. Something like a really long stem. Hemp?”

“Hmmm…,” Bud interjected. “If Wendy made her from Hemp…then she is a plant? Sort of?”

“Maybe she’s a dried plant,” Drake offered.

“But she’s…soft,” Bud answered. Oh, yeah. Definitely a crush.

“If she’s a plant, why isn’t she in a pot?” Asked my Little Sprite.

“You’re right, Sprite, My Man,” Reggie praised. “If she were a plant, she would have to be rooted, in pots, like us, or in the ground, Outside.  Otherwise, she’d be a cut flower, and they don’t last this long.”

“I don’t think she’s a plant,” Bud decided. “She’s soft and warm, and talks to us, so she can’t be dried or cut, and she isn’t rooted, like we are.”

Well. I have to tell you, the byplay between these plants was nothing short of astounding. Such imaginations! Such knowledge! From plants! I just stood there, mutely pondering the philosophical and biological points they were taking, until it hit me…they weren’t talking any longer. Snapped out of my reverie, I looked to the plants, who were politely waiting for an answer.

“Well, Wendy?” Reggie asked, breaking the ice. “Is our Scribbles a plant?”

I shook my head, remembering too late that these guys can’t see that, only sense it.

“No, Guys. Reggie is correct. I made Scribbles. I put her together with yarn. Not Hemp yarn, but a man-made yarn.”

“So….” Drake asked, “she didn’t…grow?”

“I think she did grow, ” Bud decided. “She has a soul. I can sense it. She started from something, and grew into something bigger, something…more.”

“Bravo, Bud,” I exclaimed. “That is exactly how we got our Scribbles. I started with yarn, and a tool, and she grew, from that beginning scrap of yarn and some fluffy filling, to the friend that we know now.  It was while I was crocheting her that she developed a soul, and a personality.  She grew, just like you guys did, but she started and grew differently.”

“But she isn’t a plant,” Bud said, in more of a statement than a question.

“No, not a plant. She’s a…”

“Friend!” Sprite proclaimed. Leave it to Sprite to cut to the chase, and chase away the doubts.

“Yeah!” Reggie joined in. “It doesn’t matter if she’s a plant or a yarn, or a rock. She’s just Scribbles, our friend.”

“Why don’t I go get her now,” I offered. “I seem to remember discussing giving names to all of these strange little garlic guys after they all sprouted, and now seems like a great time to do that…if you’re all up to it?”

There is nothing in the world quite like excited broccoli. They cheered, they swayed, that laughed, and they all agreed that they would very much like to see their friend, Scribbles, and set themselves to the task of naming seventeen more garlic sprouts.

Stay tuned!  In the meantime, you can click on my little broccoli buddies here, print them out, and color them in. Keep in mind, this is your broccoli. There’s no one around to tell you they have to be green!

Run with crayons….