tollipop

and the winner is...

 

cgReno!  Congratulations, my dear!  And I am especially thrilled by this singular turn of events, as cgReno is almost certainly a pseudonym and we all know what that means!  Mystery, intrigue, damsels in distress, ties to the monarchy, footsteps echoing in the darkness, villains with monocles, fortunes, titles, reputations under attack...it's all so apparent, cgReno!

I am delighted that the fates have smiled upon you long enough to win this little giveaway!  We must get in touch, discreetly, of course, to discuss such banalities as where I may send Miss Ida Cubbins and so forth. 

To everyone else, thank you so much for playing along!

And now I must be off on a rather hazardous errand of my own...Caroline is to receive a new cello today.  It seems she has outgrown her first one.  She is excited but also a bit gloomy, as she is convinced her present instrument has an angel kiss on it.  Someone else might consider it a knot in the wood...to each her own, I suppose, especially where this girl is concerned.

orange week (from the archives)

 

It turns out the quest for orange this week was sadly shuffled beneath a pile of...everything else.  Anything else, really.  What is it about February that just brings on the burnout?  I feel as if the entire family is operating at half capacity, yet somehow our schedule didn't get the memo.   

In spite of this, I did not forget you, orange week.  And since I didn't have the presence of mind to capture you in the moment, I discovered you in pictures taken over the past few months.

 

How blueberries grow where I come from.  That's me, gathering the harvest.

 

Caroline's hair really covers the spectrum, so I'm using it twice. 

 

From our backyard.  I want to say jasmine?

   

And you, sir, are no gentleman! (it's a slayer comeback, I assure you.)

*****

Dear reader, I hope you've been having a lovely week.  In case you were wondering, there's still time to enter the giveaway featured in Monday's post!  Caroline and I will be back this afternoon to announce a winner.

p.s. next week is yellow.

hundred dresses #13: ida...and a tollipop original giveaway!

Ida Cubbins was a tolerant lass, but if there was anything she couldn't stand it was sore losers, flat drinks, and the particular twitch one develops when telling a falsehood. 

It was that time of year when the signs of spring seem imminent, if only because one wants so badly for it to be so.  And yet on this fourth week of February, the persistent cold forced poor Ida to wear her saggy old tights yet again.  Fiddleshire Downs had been snowed in for months, causing all sorts of problems, not the least of which was the absolute dearth of pretty stockings at Pickwick's Goods and Haberdashery! 

But Ida was of the glittering variety, the type that swings from chandeliers, that is to say--upper crust, darling.  And not even a pair of drab, saggy tights can squelch the joie de vivre from a true socialite!

"What this town needs is a good, old fashioned spelling bee," said Ida one afternoon, after she nearly went cross-eyed over a piece of hardanger.  She set down her needlework and took a turn about the room, her excitement mounting with each bustle of her crinolin.  Yes, indeed!  A spelling bee.  It was the very thing.

Ida extracted a sheet of paper from the secretary and sat down to compose a letter.  Of course Mr. Barnswallow, that lecherous old boot, would have to be notified at once.  No one could steady the reins of such a high-spirited contest like that self-professed libertine! 

The epistle was sealed and a messenger hastily dispatched.  "We shall see what Mr. Barnswallow has to say to that!," thought Ida, watching from the window. 

There is no need to dwell upon the details leading up to such an event, as it would only bore you to tears.  Sundry matters, such as the list of refreshments, the pillaging of Pickwick's based on a vicious rumor that Morty Pickwick was stockpiling ribbons, and the secret cache of words drawn up by the notorious Barnswallow--all hardly worth mentioning, I'm sure.  

But you may be interested to know that a certain someone struggled to maintain composure when an invitation penned in Miss Cubbins's pretty script was laid before him at tea the very next day!

The night of the spelling bee was everything a girl dreams of: horse-drawn carriages, candlelight, elaborate hairstyles, whispered intrigues, ardent confessions, smoldering looks, oh, and a spelling bee. 

There was the usual phalanx of lexophiles--a loud, boorish group who jostled about, sloshing drinks and rattling off the rules of the game with studied indifference.  "'I' before 'e' except after 'c'...oh, rather!," yawned Perry Pesterwich, clearly vying for Ida's attention.  She turned away with a sniff.

The spelling bee commenced and it was not long before the true contenders emerged: fair Miss Cubbins and that Pesterwich goon.  Ida did not know what to make of it.  Between the leering Barnswallow and Pesterwich's unprecedented, rapid-fire response technique, she quite felt herself on the wrong end of an ambush!  And when the indecent moderator leaned forward and hissed the word sybarite into her ear, what else could a proper lady do but gasp and concede the match?!

Pesterwich pumped his fist in the air and took a victory lap around the room, but not before Ida noticed a small slip of paper flutter from his pocket.  A cheat sheet!  That scoundrel!  That cad!  And worse yet, when she confronted him on the matter, his left eye began to blink uncontrollably and he developed a stutter to match as he denied the allegations point blank.

Ida Cubbins was beside herself.  To be taken in such a manner--it was more than anyone could bear! Yet just as she was about to bite her lip and rush from the room, a strong and steady hand took her by the arm.  She spun around and looked into the arresting features of one Gideon Hastings, the handsome, favored nephew of Lord and Lady Hastings.   He was a visitor to these parts, though he harbored a secret yearning to stay. 

"Gideon Hastings, at your service," he said, bowing low.  "You will allow me to observe, Miss Cubbins, the timely need for refreshment at a moment like this."  And with that he presented Ida a glass of lemonade so fizzy that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.  Nearly, but not quite.  If Miss Cubbins's eyes were shining, it was for a very different reason altogether. 

******

Dear reader, it seems it's been awhile since we've had the fun of a giveaway here at Tollipop.  So I propose the following: simply leave a comment on today's post and this Friday, Caroline will draw a lucky winner to receive the original drawing of Miss Ida Cubbins (pictured above).  Doesn't that sound delightful? 

In the meantime, I think I may take a little break from regular posting this week.  Life has felt busier than usual lately, or perhaps I am more tired than usual--either way, it seems I am not finding those extra moments to make things to show you or think of things to tell you. 

I hope you take a moment to play along!  The more the merrier, don't you think?  And who doesn't adore having the odds stacked against them?

I hope you have a wonderful week, dear reader.  I will see you back here on Friday, February 27th!

red week

 

Did you ever have red week in kindergarten?  When you could bring in any small red object and the teacher would attach it to a massive sheet of paper?  And all week long you would just marvel over how many things are red?  And of course the following week would be blue week?  And then green week...you get the idea. 

Often, when I was supposed to be paying attention to the teacher, I would lose myself in the wonder of so many objects grouped within a designated hue.  I actually got yelled at once for that reason.  Apparently we were supposed to be making our way to the storytime mat. 

   

Perhaps my girl out on a limb isn't a true red, but she still exists within the spectrum!  Just ask Photoshop.  Also pictured: a sweet note from a friend, in shades of red's little sister.

Canada, I miss you.  And Caroline's hair, I adore you.

 

The eternal wip: how it wishes to be more red!

   

The highlight of my week so far?  Going shopping at a fantastic international market with two friends who actually know how to read the labels of the groceries there.  Usually I go by myself and just wing it.  What a novel idea--to actually understand what you're buying ahead of time. 

(To be clear, they were only good for half the store.  I'm the one who had to translate chocolat, Schokolade, and cioccolato...which makes us about even, I think.)

So last night I attempted pad thai.  The results reminded me why I happily pay for it to be made by professionals, but I'm pretty sure I'll try again.  Caroline loved it, at least. 

This is not a picture of my pad thai, in case you were wondering.  These are some instant noodles I purchased from the same store.  Hot, spicy, yummy...and red chopsticks!

Red week was something of a spontaneous idea (translation: there was nothing else to write about), but I had fun showing it to you anyway.  Perhaps next week I'll pick a new color and try a little harder.  If anyone plays along, please let me know.  As previously mentioned, I can happily waste a lot of time staring at the shades of the rainbow.

p.s. Since Kathy asked, and because that makes me feel something official is afoot, let's go ahead and name orange as the color for next week.  Why orange?  Because I feel no end of devotion to the infinite spectrum of light, and also because this way I won't spend hours agonizing over a choice. 

So mark your calendars for orange week next Friday~everyone is welcome to play along!

feels like this today

 

I just realized, looking back on recent posts, that by total coincidence my last two Hundred Dresses stories feature spirited young ladies with ties to petty theft who rescue their lovers from peril.  What is it with me and pickpockets, jailbreaks, and heroines who can wield a needle far beyond the confines of mere fancywork?

And you?  What's going on in your psyche that you didn't know about?

hundred dresses #12: eloise

Eloise Penbrooke had a pedigree worth trading one's eye teeth for!  Lords, barons, viscounts, grand dukes--you name it, she had it.  And best of all, it was old money, darling. 

Of course, even old money has its origins, and the Penbrooke line was anxious to forget that their fortune traced back to a slippery old pickpocket named Tom Fingers, and before that a marauding clan of norsemen who pillaged their way up and down the eastern seacoast.  But let's not get lost in the minutae, darling!

Poor Eloise was the unwitting recipient of her mother's drive to elevate the Penbrooke name to even greater heights of glory and achievement.  Finishing schools, governesses, fancy needlework, painting tableaus in the French style--all this and more was employed to ensure that any flaw, any rough edge, any sign of Eloise's spirit or spark of personality would be thoroughly polished into oblivion. 

But let us not congratulate Eloise on the effects of superior breeding just yet!

For when she overheard two chambermaids mention that the renowned outlaw, Vanguard Hastings, had finally been captured and was, at this very moment, being pilloried in the town square until his execution at dawn, the young Miss Penbrooke reached what might be considered a somewhat radical conclusion for a lady of her birth and position!

Never mind that Eloise had been selected by the illustrious Nozzpike clan to marry their son, Prince Herman (who was in no way an actual prince, unless you asked his mother).  No, indeed!  As we shall see, not even the finest finishing schools in Switzerland can fully drain a pickpocket's blood from the veins of his posterity, and one never knows the generation wherein his mighty spirit will rise, like a phoenix from the ashes, to shine forth in cunning, elusiveness, and determination.  

Eloise excused herself from the reading of Hogworth's Morals for Seemly Young Ladies that night, citing flushed cheeks and an attack of the nerves.  As she bent to kiss her father, some unknown instinct caused Eloise to brush her hand against his lapel and come away with his pocketbook.  She hurried down the hallway staring at it in wonder, then noticed a small yet weighty object in her other hand.  It was Lord Penbrooke's signet ring. 

Rather than retire to her chambers, Eloise tiptoed out to the stables and saddled two of the family's most spirited steeds.  Riding one and with the other in tow, she raced across the moors, reaching Fiddleshire Downs by the stroke of midnight.  Eloise quickly dismounted and hid the horses in a nearby grove of trees.  The streets were hollow and deserted...yet rather than feeling faint with discomposure, Eloise noticed her senses becoming sharper and more alert.  It was as if she'd been made for this moment!

Upon reaching the town square Eloise stopped and hid in the shadows.  There, bathed in moonlight and just as the servants had promised, stood that odious pillory and the form of a man restrained within it.  Vanguard Hastings!  The myth!  The legend!  Were there ever such stories to thrill and inspire the female mind as those of the infamous outlaw, Vanguard Hastings?!  Eloise felt her throat grow dry, though her eyes narrowed and gleamed.

Within seconds she was at his side.  "I'm here to rescue you," she whispered.  The man lifted his head.  Was it possible he was even more dashing in person?!  Eloise steadied herself with a tiny pinch of snuff.

The outlaw stared at the vision before him.  "Do you have the keys?" he rasped.  Under different circumstances, the girl would have laughed aloud.

"Keys?!" said she, tossing her curls.  "Keys are for harpsichords, dimwits, and law-abiding citizens."  With that, she pulled a long, bejewelled pin from her hair and inserted it into the padlock that kept the pillory bound.  There was an imperceptible click and within seconds the outlaw Vanguard Hastings fell into Miss Penbrooke's alabaster arms. 

Eloise threw a cloak over the man and like a pair of shadows they disappeared from the scene, an escape made even more impressive by the fact that there were cutthroat sentinels posted at all four corners of the square!   

How did Eloise do it?!  How did a girl known only to the world of pretty manners, lapdogs, and french knots pull off this amazing feat?  Dear reader, far be it from me to bore you with lectures on Darwinism and the like, but I fear the only way to account for Eloise's miraculous instincts is to go back and take a long look at the obscure patriarch anchoring the roots of the Penbrooke family tree--a clever, resilient, apparition of a man who went by the name of Tom Fingers. 

izzy the fiddle slayer, i mean player

Valentine's Day began with a performance that filled my heart so that I thought it would burst.  Little Izzy and her violin--they make quite a pair.  Also pictured is her amazing accompanist, who has a sweet and shy personality like Izzy, but can stare down a brand new piece of music until it starts to cry.

If you would like to hear for yourself, simply click on the link below.  And if you watch to the very end and wonder why there is no applause and Izzy looks a bit like a deer in the headlights, it's because she was performing at a competition that had a timing guideline which required her to launch directly into a second piece.  This was a new experience for her and I watched in awe--this little girl who seems so recently my baby--up there on that stage with such pluck and gumption, sawing away at those strings until the fire alarm practically went off. 

 

 

Afterward there was only one way to celebrate, with the world's most gigantic doughnut.

 

The rest of the day felt like this:

 

happy valentine's day!

 

No matter where you are in life: young or more experienced, single, matched, wistful, content...there is always room for love, which has infinite possibility on this day of all days.  I feel like the Peanuts character who stays up all night in the pumpkin patch, watching and waiting.  Oh, Great Valentine, I believe! 

Have you sent a little magic out into the world today?  Did you write someone a sweet note?  Pay a compliment?  Leave flowers on a doorstep?  Smile at practically everyone in your path?  Doesn't it feel marvelous?  Isn't it divine?!

 

There's still time to do it, you know.  And it needn't cost a farthing!

 

I hope it's a sweet and delightful day for you, dear reader.  I hope something special happens.  Of course I am conjuring images of Mr. Darcy to send your way...how could I not?!  But I'm also crossing my fingers for the smaller charms: a wonderful conversation, the perfect dessert, an excellent book, the mysterious dismissal of library fines...   

Finally, there should be some poetry on this day, don't you think?  I will leave you with a poem by Yeats, so wisely and sweetly expressed.

Brown Penny

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

*******

late fees

The other day I received an ill-boding call from the library warning me to come in and deal with my fines or else.  I spent a few sleepless nights retracing my movements for the past six months, wondering where I'd gone wrong.  But short of hacking into their computers and wiping my slate clean, I knew these fines would never go away on their own.  That's the beauty of experience, dear reader.

And as I didn't care to live the rest of my life like a hunted animal, I took Caroline as my ambassador of goodwill/bodyguard and decided to turn myself in once and for all. 

Note the brisk pace, the confident swagger, the readiness for a stare down--all part of her master plan to mask fear and trepidation, though I was about as nervous as the time I nearly bungled my case with Immigration.  

The powers that be tried to break our spirits by making us stand in the "problems" line, but Caroline showed her contempt for their sham authority by refusing to wait behind the red tape.  How I admire such pluck and gumption! 

When the time came for the list of accusations to be read against me, passersby were encouraged to boo and hiss.  As it happened, I owed a series of overdue fees for My Life by Golda Meier, Daughter of China: A True Story, Rasputin: Rascal Master (he was a rascal!), and Sweet Clara and the Freedom Quilt.

By this time the crowd had whipped themselves into a frenzy and were clamoring for my library card to be burned, but the moment was made bearable by the fact that I recalled those books with pleasure and decided they were worth my suffering. 

Besides, who am I to defy the institution that gave me shelter during the prom? 

Afterward we underwent a brief indoctrination wherein we had to relearn everything from how to whisper to the finer points of alphabetical order.  With our status as model patrons once again intact, we left the library with a whole new pile of books and a nagging suspicion that this encounter would not be our last. 

busy week

 

There's been a lot of running around this week.  Lots of practising the piano, violin, and cello (not me personally, darling, but someone has to be the taskmaster!).  Lots of driving to music lessons, rehearsals, swim team.  Lots of juggling schedules.  Lots of making social appearances at Trader Joe's.  Also of note: one ominous phone call from the public library.  They want to see me immediately.   I'm scared to go.

 

Lots of teaching long division to Izzy's classmates in the hallway at school.  How am I at teaching long division?  Hard core. 

 

One thing there has not been a lot of?  Time in the studio.  I just can't seem to get there, and not for lack of desire.  So it's been warming my heart all week to see the girls working away at their valentine cards, spreading glitter through the house, "forgetting" to do their homework (wait, that part didn't warm my heart), and creating about a hundred different variations on this theme. 

And you?  How is your week going?  Is your mind travelling somewhere that you physically can't seem to reach? 

I hope you get there soon.