I Spent My Anniversary Playing With Toys, Part I: A History of Vroom

Sigyn and I just celebrated our fifth maybe-wedding anniversary.  It’s hard to believe it’s  been five years already.  I remember all of the danger and confusion of our maybe wedding as if it were yesterday!

Sigyn and I have decided to celebrate in our usual manner–we are going to a museum to look at things.  Usually, it’s glass because that is Sigyn’s favorite, but Sigyn has found an exhibit she thinks I will like, and making me happy makes her happy, so we are off to look at…something.

She’s not telling.

(later) Well, would you look at that!  Cases and cases of little metal vehicles!   I do believe that all of Midgard’s transportation history is laid out here.  All much more primitive than Midgardian science, of course, but the mortals have managed a little progress since they came down out of the trees a bit and a half ago.

After walking, horse-drawn conveyances came first.

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Sigyn says she would like to have a horse and carriage.  Where would you keep it my love?  And who would clean up after the horses?  I love you, but I do have my limits!

Besides, after riding Sleipnir, boring old four-legged horses just seem so awkward and slow.

As I understand it, steam locomotives were next.

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Suprise! Sigyn likes the red car.

Automobiles were next after that.  Look!  There’s one for each of us!

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Sigyn, don’t forget to take a scarf when you go riding in yours.  Convertible-hair is awful.

Sigyn?  Sigyn!  Where are you?  I seem to have lost my spouse!

Oh, there she is.

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Not content with roadsters, she’s dreaming of scooting nimbly ’round a race track instead.  Or at least, I think that’s what the little vroomy noises she’s making mean.

Ah.  Here are some fine mass-transit conveyances.  

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I could load up fifteen or twenty of my closest friends and go for a picnic!

Who am I kidding?  There aren’t fifteen people I like on this godforsaken rock. Sigyn and the human female’s mother, and that’s about it.  More room for picnic!

And finally, mankind conquered the skies.  Only about six thousand years after Midgard’s inhabitants took to the air, but what can you expect?

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Puny brains and lifespans like a mayfly’s.  No wonder that they are so technologically impaired.  They’ve only just stopped walking on their knuckles and eating each other’s fleas.

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Blossoms in the Boonies, Part II: A Colorful Conundrum

We are still at the park.  I was hoping for a chance at a nap, but it is not to be.  The human female is still talking plants with passersby and making an attempt to draw the pointed phlox that is everywhere.

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I like the “pointy” part of the name, but sadly, it is not really menacing enough.

It is an indescribable shade of rather vivid purple-pink.   I am not certain that her limited palette of pencils is up to the task…

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(Later, at home)

I am grudgingly impressed.  By mixing blue and red, she achieved a sort of purple.  It doesn’t match the plant, of course, but someone who knows the local flora would probably recognize what she was trying to convey.

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Oh ho!  She has brought out a set of her own pencils.  Let us see if she has any better luck with them.

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Still not exactly right, but Sigyn’s enthused!

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My love, remind me to buy you a fine set of pencils of your own.

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Blossoms in the Boonies, Part I: A Veritable Plethora of Posies

After a few sunny days, the local wildflowers have finally decided to muster up the effort to bloom.  Today there is a Wildflower Day at the Boonville Cemetery and Heritage Park just north of here.   Of course, Sigyn and the human female have gotten up early to go participate.  I’m tagging along to make sure no harm befalls my beloved.

The human female is on her own.

There are a lot of humans here today.  Some of them are exploring the furnished, blue-hats encircled pioneer cabin that has been restored on the site:

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There is a group of musicians on the porch, playing old-timey tunes on fiddles and dulcimers and other stringy, jangly instruments.  Sigyn says it’s lovely.  I say it’s not loud enough to drown out the human female’s prattling, so it’s no good.

The organizers have given the human female a table of her own, and she’s put up a sign that says, “Ask a botanist a question.”  People are stopping by to talk about native plants, things to grow in their gardens, names of wildflowers, and other matters of botanical nerdery.

I’m having a good laugh, because the human female’s table is right behind the life-sized statue of some historic personage and she has more than once almost bid him good morning and asked him if he has questions.  

Across from the human female’s little bastion of all things planty, the organizers have set up a children’s area.  It is well-stocked with coloring pages, crayons, watercolors, paper, and minuscule chairs.  There is also a bubble-generating machine.  I have directed the chilly breeze to blow the bubbles into the human female’s face from time to time.

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I can tell from Sigyn’s wistful expression that she really wants to join them.  Dearest, you are so cute and portable that I’m afraid someone would swoop down and carry you off.  The human female has brought some drawing paper and various implements of scribing—can you set up here at the table with her?

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See?  The mortal has already begun to doodle a portrait of something she calls yellow star grass.

Oh, you want to draw the tiny corn salad?

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I’m sure she’d give you some paper.

You can probably share her colored pencils as well.  How did the human female’s drawing come out?

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A little stiff, but she managed to get the yellow and green on the right parts of the plant, so I’ll give her that.

By Volstagg’s mighty embonpoint!  The organizers have organized some lunch.

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Let’s see… Mini sandwiches, pickle slices, chips, and a cookie.  It’s Lent, Sigyn, so you and I can remove the temptation of that cookie straightaway…

Munch, munch, munch.

It’s for the good of her soul, after all.

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Another Government Document

The Midgardians have been all caught up in the news of some sort of government report that has recently reached the attention of the media.  Something about someone doing something to someone, blah, blah, blah, don’t bore me with mortal politics, blah.

I can’t worry about all that. There’s been a government document causing a tizzy a little closer to home.

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Don’t read it!  It’s lies, I tell you!  All lies!

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What do you mean, “For the love of Pete, what in the Nine Realms are you planning?!”

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Oh, The Carnage!

You’ll recall that the human female made bacon rolls whilst her mother and sister (she of the similar high-pitched shrieky laughter) were visiting.  The visiting family have been un-fetched, safely delivered to the airport in the Big City to the West.  The humans are now left with an empty-seeming house, a blessed silence that seems to ring in my ears, and a quantity of leftovers.

You wouldn’t think that there would be bacon rolls left over, seeing as how those amazing hand-held rounds of gustatory glory tend to vanish like good intentions, but there were actually two remainders.  They, in their zip-locked Bag of Freshness were stored in the cold oven to keep marauding felines from feasting on such rarefied fare.

The past four days have been one continuous eating frenzy of feasting both at home and in sundry eateries. The human male and female are opting tonight for simple fare  The female is arranging some toppings on a rising-crust pizza.  I have suggested that the male helpfully set the oven to pre-heat at 400° F.

Oh, dear.

The human female has rushed to the rescue, but alas! The burnt offering has been made…

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…and the kitchen deities are jealous of their sacrifices.

Oh, dear. 

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Plastic-coated meteorites, anyone?

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The Pitter-Patter of a Thousand Tiny Feet

If my aching head is anything to go by, the humans have been having a fun visit with the female’s mother and sister, who were successfully fetched from the Big City to the West.  They’ve done nothing but laugh screech and cackle, talking a thousand miles to the minute, sunup to the wee hours and then repeat.

And eating!  Sleipnir’s fetlocks–the eating!  The human female made bacon rolls and orange sweet rolls; her mother brought a big batch of braised beef and carrots, frozen, along with two long loaves of bread; and they’ve all waddled over to the trough where we had the french toast biscuits.

Today, however, we are trying to accomplish a little peace and quiet and some exercise to offset all the loafing and munching  (and munching on loaves.)  We’ve come out to the local woodland in Lick Creek Park in the hopes of dodging the showers and seeing some blossoms.  It’s been such a cold and rainy spring that there isn’t much in flower.  The birds are singing, though, so that’s something.

Wait!  Sigyn–did you see something move?  Look–right there!  We appear to have stumbled upon some very industrious hymenopterans!

I’ll just magic a video link up there so other people can see, too.

I wonder what they’re going to do with all of that foliaceous confetti?  And I wonder if they could be induced to follow us home and commit snippage on the human female’s landscaping?

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Fetching the Family, Part IV: The Fetching Place

We have made it, finally, to the airport, in plenty of time to pick up the relatives, who are coming in on different flights, but both at the same terminal.  This is the city where the rival to the humans’ university is, but at the moment, there’s a big Music/ Film/ Tech/ Entertainment festival going on, and A&M, hoping to gain some exposure, has paid an arm and a leg and plastered every plasterable inch with maroon and white advertising.

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The camera says, “purple,” but it’s really maroon.  I can see six signs and a video screen from where I sit.  Overkill, much?

Sigyn, we have a little time to look around, since the sister’s plane is late.   For starters, what’s going on with the floor?

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They can’t mean that the capitol square is in the airport?  Not even Midgardians could be that daft.

Oh, now I see.  It’s a map of the city.  (Plus a yellow reflection.)

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Ehehehehe!  Sigyn is pretending to splash and swim in the Colorado.

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Take care, my love!  We wouldn’t want you to drown!

There’s a statue just over there.  No one seems to know who he is.

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Oops.  Sigyn says it’s a lady, Barbara Jordan, who was a lawyer, teacher and Civil Rights leader.  That is all well and good, but when I take over the planet, I will be making the laws, and you can be sure I will be doling out the rights with a demitasse spoon.

What is that booth-thingy over there?

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A flower-vending machine!  What a clever device!  Sigyn, my love, would you like a bouquet?  I didn’t bring a credit card, but I could go pick the human male’s pocket.

Great Frigga’s hairpins!  I hear squealing.  The sister has arrived–can the mother be far behind?  I fear I have just had the last quiet moment I will have for four days.  May the norns have mercy upon my poor nerves!

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