It’s time to go. We will all be wearing yellow paisley bell bottom pants when we meet at the Soil and Toad Pub after tea.
It was February. It was icy cold. It was uncomfortable. I had been living in the tiny old log cabin for seven months now. It was a quiet place far from any other homes or cabins. The weather was extremely uncomfortable. Yes, I repeat, uncomfortable. This, however, was not uncommon for the time of year and the relative topography of the general area. I sat on the porch in an old pine rocker that made awful sounds when I rocked. Sounds like “eareeikaharik” or something to that note. I was bundled up sitting in that rocker like a mummy. I felt like I was at a sanitorium recovering from TB than just spending time alone in a cabin writing and painting. My breath turned to cloud-like billows of ghostly fog as I tried to take in air and expel it without freezing my lungs solid. The feeling of the tip of my nose had long gone away and I could feel ice forming on my lips. Then something happened that instantly caught my attention. One of the large icicles that was hanging on the edge of the roof fell, snap, landing deep in the snow with its body just barely apparent. It was not much more than a one inch round shadow in the snow. No sooner had it stabbed itself into the snow, for an instant I caught a glimpse in my peripheral view of a slight movement in the woody lilac bush just to the right of the stoop. It was an action that would have any other day gone unnoticed. Today was different. I dared not move any part of my body that was even remotely warm. This included my eyes. I sat perfectly still. Then, my frozen ears heard a slight tiny crackle sound coming from that same old bush where the something had made the movement. As I was alone, I felt no need to be self-conscious about my sanity and I called out softly to the bush. “Hello.” Yes, I know a bush does not reply but this was not just a bush. I was sure there was something else. As you would have expected there was indeed no reply. As much as I loved sitting in the stingiest bit of sun that the day was giving, I made the decision to move to a warmer location, inside of my house.
Once I entered my tiny domicile, I felt less chilled. The short entry hall space was bright and cheery as the solar tube was letting in the last bit of sun. The clouds were gathering quickly, and it would surely storm soon. My studio was warm. I had left the small space heater on. My breath warmed up and I was feeling a bit hungry. There were bagels in the fridge, and it took only 45 seconds in the microwave to have a warm one to hold in my hands and nibble on. The warmth of the bagel in my hands felt good and helped my fingers to at last warm up. It is always my fingers that are last to warm up.
I was still wearing my jacket, boots, and bulky knit scarf as I finished the bagel. After removing the jacket, boots, and scarf, I was ready to work. I find it is best to be well warmed before writing or starting a sketch or painting. The studio was still well lit with four large windows and in addition to that, two pendulous lights hung from the ceiling casting light directly over my desk. Before painting I took a quick look at my phone. No urgent messages, good. Spotify on and I am ready to work. There were 3 unfinished pieces on four by six stretched canvases that I was working on with acrylic paint. One was a landscape, one a portrait of two horses, and one I just started that may have turned into anything at that point. I enjoyed working on a few pieces at a time. When I was frustrated with one piece or at a point where there was a need to let it be for a bit, I set it aside and worked on another piece. This gave me time to come back and view my work with new eyes. I started working on the landscape and lost myself in my work for days.
Several days later there was an exquisite storm late at night. Tremendous bolts of flashing lightning and pounding thunder shook the house. This loud thunder and lightning packed powerful storm lasted through the night until early morning. The odd thing is that there was no rain or snow. Once the sun was up, I went outside to check on things. It was still painfully cold outside and about two feet of snow was packed on the ground from a storm a few days earlier. I bundled up as much as I could, slipped on my heavy boots and stepped out. The steps were frozen and slippery and as I stepped into the snow my boots made loud crackling and crunching sounds as I walked in it. The sun felt marvelous, but I could still feel the icy chill on the tip of my nose. I knew I could not stay out there very long. My decision was to make a quick walk around the perimeter of the house and go right back in to warm up. Everything looked in tack. As I came back around to the front steps, I noticed a tiny speck of color just under the lilac bush where I had noticed the strange movement several days ago. As I approached this speck and examined it, I saw that it was something knit from light blue and grey yarn. I reached out to pick it up. The cold was too much for me, as I scooped up the object in question, I stuffed it in my coat pocket and hurried back in to warm up. All I could think of right then was warming up. My fingers hurt from the cold.
Two days later I remembered the bit of knitting I had found and placed in my jacket pocket. The last two days had been crazy busy. I was deep into drafting a short story that had a deadline to be turned in before the first of the month. My jacket had been hanging where I left it on the door hook all this time. I had not wanted to trek out into that frozen wonderland for a while. I found the object in question where I had placed it in the pocket, and I took it out to have a look. Looking more closely I could see that it had a definite purpose. It seemed to be a piece of clothing, possibly a scarf. There were minuscule letters embroidered on each end of the tiny thing. The size was about one-half inch by one and three quarters. The strands of yarn were carefully woven with thin yarns of light blue and soft dove grey and tied at the ends of the piece to keep it from unraveling. This tiny piece of knitting was so meticulously crafted that it could easily be mistaken for a piece of soft silk fabric. The embroidery was so small that I could not see it clearly enough to distinguish it from writing or just geometric designs. I took it over to my desk. I turned on the desk lamp and sat down to have a closer look. Under the light I could better make out what the embroidery was. I would guess that the thread used was very fine silk. There was a symbol of an acorn in tan on one end and a letter Z in pink on the other end of what was possibly a tiny scarf. A perfect bookmark for the book I was currently reading. Gently placing the tiny scarf-like object on the page to mark where I was reading, I closed that book and took a nap. The need for sleep came over me quickly and I fell fast asleep within seconds.
When I woke up, I was still groggy and stumbled into the kitchen for something to drink. The clock on the microwave was blinking at 2:39. Had there been a power outage as I slept? Opening the refrigerator, I grabbed a diet soda and sat down at my desk. The soda was still very cold. The power must not have been out for any length of time. There were two possibilities. Either the power was off and quickly back on or if it was off for a few hours the soda would have had time to get cold after warming up. As the fog swiftly lifted from my thinking, I grabbed my cell phone off the kitchen counter to check to real time. It was 4:17. I remembered checking the time on my cell phone before falling into that deep slumber. That time was 10:52 in the morning. That was a nap of over six hours. Why was the microwave blinking at 2:39? Something had happened when I was sleeping. Nothing made sense. I suddenly felt a breeze of ice-cold air cross over my feet from under the kitchen table. It came from the in-floor forced air vent. The furnace was in the basement. The furnace was not on, it should have been warm air. There was no noise coming from the furnace to tell me it was turned on. I was left confused. At this point I chose to place the past few incidents aside in my mind and continue to work on my writing. Nothing that had happened seemed of any significant importance but there was a deadline for the piece I was writing.
My writing kept me focused for over six hours until there was a knock on my door.
With my mind preoccupied with my work, I had forgotten that I invited friends over.
I opened the door and there was Jansey Pufflewalker. She was looking deliciously gorgeous as usual. Perfectly coiffed black locks. She has that hair that just drapes gently into perfect loose curls. Today she was wearing a classic pink Chanel jacket and matching pencil skirt with a kick pleat. Around her neck was a short strand of elegant pink pearls. Bouncing in right behind her was Michael, her eldest son. A tall, blue eyed, dark hair, baby faced, six-year-old, wearing a crisply ironed, sailor suit.
“And we shall have pink periwinkle pie for tea today.” I announced to myself, knowing that it was prepared and in the freezer. I always keep one ready for guests.
All my friends had been cordially invited some time ago. Only Lindley Sponse was not able to attend due to her ill health of late. The invitations went out in last Monday’s post. Jinxey Pepperworth my neighbor from about a mile away will be attending. She always loved visiting me. She will wear her red jacket. She always wears her red jacket. The news arrived yesterday by post. She was out of town and was able to return early from her trip for our tea. In her RSVP note, Jinxey mentioned Jacob Pettingrasse would be arriving with her and they would possibly be twenty minutes late. Jacob had a prior engagement. Earl Scufferson is always a good 15 minutes late. He loves getting to an event after most invitees have arrived, to show off his expensive Italian suit and designer tie. He always wears a designer tie for good luck. Poppy Kip is sure to show up. She is a darling 25-year-old girl, with perfect short, cropped, copper color hair. Fritz Apple is my cousin and about my age. Most of my friends are around fifty to sixty years old. Fritz loves to attend events of any kind and is highly social. 40 years old and unmarried, Joan Witz, is desperate for attention and would not miss the opportunity to flirt with any available men. Although a pretty lady, she does come off a bit of a Pollyanna and men are not looking for a goody two shoes type these days with her brown hair tightly tied into a chinois. I left the front door open for all the remaining guests to let themselves directly into the house as I hurriedly scuddled into the kitchen to prepare the periwinkle pie and tea. I quickly gathered up the tea, cups, and all the necessary items and rushed in to set the table. My guests had all arrived with Joan being the last to show up. The table was set for nine. The frigid air had wafted in, so I closed the front door and turned on the furnace.
“I’m cold mom. Sweetly stated Michael.” Michael was seated next to the floor vent and should have been toasty warm with the furnace on.
“Strange.” I stated, “I must have a quick look.”
I went down to the basement to check the furnace; it was unusually cold down there. Most winters it was warmer there than upstirs in the rest of the house. As I walked around to check the space behind the furnace, I felt a rush of freezing cold air. There was a large wood crate filled with old vinyl records blocking my view. As I started moving the crate, I heard a rustling sound and thought for an instant that I saw something move behind there in the dust. After I managed to scoot the crate a few feet away and the back of the furnace was no longer blocked, I stepped in for a close look. Nothing but dust was there.
When I returned to the soiree, everyone was having an elegant time. Eating pie and drinking tea. Conversations were buzzing all around. Michael was finished and off in the far corner of the room, in a small chair, reading a comic book he had brought with him. Jansey and Jinxey were having a rousing discussion about spring planting and Jacob and Earl were debating recent politics. Joan had Fritz answering all kinds of questions about Paris. She had always wanted to visit, and she knew he had recently come back from there. Poppy sat silently relishing the last bite of her pie.