In honor of the Hunger Games sequal, Catching Fire... Birdy.

Princess

     "Liisa, my mother agrees. Will you marry me?" I stared, dazed, at the blurry figure.

     I'm so tired.

     Was that the prince? It sounded like his voice... but that would make no sense! I didn't remember seeing anyone else in the hall! Of course, I might have let my fogged mind forget who was here. For all I knew, I could be surrounded by couriers and lords and ladies, all waiting for this Liisa girl to answer. That must be it - and I must remember to berate myself when I'm fully awake for being a country bumpkin.

     But I'm so tired!

     Actualy, I was surprised that I was allowed to watch the prince propose (if that's what he'd just done). I had been so incredibly grateful when good Queen Christa had allowed my sopping, shaking, bedraggled bones to enter her warm, dry fromt hall (where I was standing at this point in the story as well), for only two pencils, no matter that they were nice, graphite-and-wood pencils that my father had made. "Please," I had gasped, trying to ward off the rain with my hands since my shawl had gotten too heavy and wet to be of any use miles ago. "I've two pencils. Will you please let me stay the night?" The queen's eyes had widened at the mention of my two pencils, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe they were really,really expensive, and I had just gotten used to them always being on hand in my dad's shop.

     I wonder what sort of tric keeps this vast hall warm... Could it be the low ceiling? Or maybe low ceilings were just the fashion in palaces. I wouldn't be the one to know - this was the first palace I'd been in. Whatever the case, I'm not the sort of the person that the royal family would willingly usher to such a joyous personal occasion.

     Plus, I'm so tired...

     "Liisa - please answer!" The prince's vioce sounded almost hysterical, and I faintly realized that it must have been a while since he had asked her the first time. I faintly wondered why the Liisa girl didn't answer. I clenched my left fist, digging my fingernails into my palm in an effort to wake up.. I focused blearily in the direction of the strained voice, and saw the prince's anxious face staring at me - a silent plea. I realized I was under the scrutiny of the rest of the crowd - yes, there were quite a few people watching - as well. Lucky me.

     I'm so tired.

     What did he want me to do? Tell the Liisa girl how amazing it would be if she married the prince? I didn't know the Liisa girl or the prince! How was I supposed to convince anyone of anything?

     I realized that I was clenching both fists now, in an effort to keep my focus. I probably looked mad about something. In my befuddled state, I figured that I'd better explain to His Majesty's court.

     "I - "

     Oh, but that wouldn't do. It didn't even sound human! I swallowed - but there was nothing in my mouth to swallow but my own thick tongue.

     Sleep. I need sleep.

     But for some weird reason, the prince wanted me to help the unknown girl say 'yes.' I swallowed again, uselessly. "I'm sorry, Sire... I don't think... that... " I halted. An expression of shock and sadness had spread across the prince's face, as if this was the first time that one of his subjects had told him that she didn't think she could help. I really was sorry - he seemed like a nice enough person last night: smiling at me, picking up my bags when they fell out of my feeble grip - never mind that they were burlap and covered with mud and leaves - even helping prepare a bed! I hadn't expected a bed at all. Since I had grown up in a fairly poor woodcutter's house, my bed tended to be either a pile of wood shavings or nonexistant. I had tried to say that I would just sleep in the servants' quarters, or even in the stables, but that Prince Charles had personally set about to making me a bed of mattresses upon mattresses, pillows on top of pillows, and colorful blankets and quilts rivaling each other for my attention! Then the good Queen Christa herself had come in, rearranged the pillows a bit, bade me good-night, and snuffed the flickering candle.

     I tried to sleep - I really did! But every time I tried to turn over, I got trapped in the blankets, and I was afraid of tearing the delicate fabric. Does the king have to take lessons about the proper way to turn over in his bed? Plus, there was nothing to supprot me, and the one time I did manage to drift to sleep, I had a dream worse than all the nights that I had been caped beside a murky stream, or up a tree, or in some stranger's hut, while my unknowing benefactor was away. Night after night, my dream self would stand there, in the chilly night, and watch a fire. Night after night, the fire would slowly eat at the topmost wooden logs, then find a small barrel of oil and rush over those beams with a new ferocity, devouring the clay around the doorway. Night after night, I would silently scream as my father's howls of agony wafted past my ears, just loud enough for me to hear while I just stood there, on a patch of dirt, staring in horror as my home was engu.fed.

     Night after night, I would wake up shivering.

     Night after night I would sit on the cold, heartless dirt, rocking and moaning Daddy! Oh, daddy! You said you would make it! You said you just needed to grap a knife - taht the one knife would be all that it took for us to start again, even as the fire took away your livelihood - Oh, daddy, why did you go back?

     That night, in the palace, I saw the house burn, felt my hands clench the only things left from my father's lovingly built, completely wooden house. Two pencils, the small knife that I had been using to sharpen them when the candle's flames leapt a bit higher than they should have, Daddy, I had a knife in my hand. You could have used my little knife! Why did you have to go back into hte house?

     But in the palace, my dreams created a new horror: I was drowning in a vast ocean of feathers, even as I heard my father's screams. When I'd woken up, panting, and stared at the feather-quilts lying around me, suffocating me, I had shuddered and carefully extricated myself from the twisted cocoon. Grabbing a comelier quilt, I'd walked to a beautiful window seat and settled into it, only to notice a small figure bundled on the hearth. Thinking it to be a dog (did King Stanley allow pets?), I'd stumbled toward it.

     There had laid a young girl. She couldn't be more than ten. She was sleeping peacefully, but her lips were chapped, her hands worn, and I knew that she must be a servant who was supposed to be tending to my needs. Maybe I could apply as a servant here in the palace... Irritated and bleary, I sifted that thought into the back of my mind. For now, I might as well make some use of all the mattresses and blankets. Scooping up the young girl, I staggered to the bed and plopped her in the middle of the mound of pillows. I then tucked a soft blanket under her chin, and stared at her as she slept, wishing I could rest that easily.

     My last coherent thought before I passed out, sitting on the wide window sill and watching the first of the sun's rayse peeking over the mountains, was that I hoped the serving girl wouldn't ger in trouble for sleeping in the bed.

     Jerking myself back to reality, I found the whole court muttering, staring at me openly, and muttering some more. Suddenly, I felt foolish. I could still try to help - I suppose...

     "I;m sorry, Sire - I don't know what I was saying. Of course I'll-" and a whole riot of noise pounded upon my ears. I stepped back, stunned. Was my help really that important? Then the king stood and boomed, "The gentle young woman before us has agreed! Rejoice!" I thought about nodding in acknowledgement, just to seem more formal or something, then rejected the idea. If I allowed my head to dip, it wouldn't stop dipping until it hit the cold, marble floor. Better to stand stock still.

     I really need some sleep.

     I was still confused. Then suddenly, it cleared up! I was in a dream! In the morning, I would wake up, forget the whole thing, like I forgot all mildly pleasant dreams, and find myself on the window ledge. Or maybe I had imagined that part too, and was actually still in the tree bough from the night before. Though if that was the case, then it wouldn't be the night before, it'd be the same night...

     My brain was too befuddled to finish that train of thought. I just stood there, uncertainly, sort of looking for the Liisa girl, but mainly concentrating on making sure my heavy eyelids didn't lower. Then someone grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chattering crowd into a narrow corridor. Wait. That was... the prince! Maybe... maybe the Liisa girl had left for some reason. But that didn't make sense. Surely everyone was watching the prospective bride-to-be! Then I remembered - everyone had been watching me, except, apparently, the prince. He must have noticed that the Liisa girl had left, or he wouldn't be pulling me out here. Yet...

     "Where is she?" The words left my mouth, sounding exactly how I felt: confused, slow, and heavy with drowsiness.

     The prince whirled around to face me, a lopsided grin on his face. "Where's who?"

     "The Liisa girl/"

     "What - did you find a servant with your name? I know there's a gardener with mine. I tried to convince my mum - eh, the Queen - but you can call her my mum, or even your mum if you like - though I supposed you'd want to call your mum 'mum' and not my mum," his face was a bit red with embarrassment, as he tried unsuccessfully to find a diplomatic way out of the situation. "Anyway, I tried to convince - her - that I should chance my name at the coronation, but she didn't agree. What do you think?"

     At which time my brain became so overloaded that I made some vague excuse to go back to the room that I'd slept in last night, and stumbled away.

     When I next woke, I found a frizzy-haired man looming over me, patting a soft hand on my forehead. It took me only a moment to realize that he was the palace physician. When he saw that I was awake, Sir Veer (at least, that's what he said his title was. But there was no one else in the room, and I was pretty sure that 'sir' meant 'knight'. Then again, the little sleep I had snatched hadn't taken me completely out of stupor.) Sir Veer asked me to open my mouth, count to twenty, and do a bunch of other stuff, which I did automatically while pondering if all physicians' hands were so smooth. Surely in a village, where I had come from, a physician would also have to farm, or something else, to keep up his income. When I muttered something to that affect to Sir Veer, (he had asked me to say whatever I was thinking) he looked at me strangely and rang a small bell that was resting on a bedside table. I heard him murmur something about me being delirious, and having an abnormally high fever when a servant (the one from the night before) came scurrying in; then I fell back to sleep.
     I'm not tired anymore. I shouldn't be - I've been in here for three days, and for most of it I've been as bored as my dad got when he got a request of 300 of clothespins that he had complete. The servant girl, whose name, I discovered, was Rose, has cared for me for almost the entire time, and seems to be the only human to believe my story. The royal family still believes me to be delirious. Apparently, good Queen Christa had thought I'd said I was a true princess that rainy night, when I had offered up my pencils. How strangely people hear things! And my inability to sleep in such a comfortable bed (that I had considered suffocating) that apparently had a frozen pea underneath its many mattresses... Well... they considered it a sign of sensitivity that only a true princess could have. They were under the impression that I had been so excited when the prince had proposed to me (calling me Liisa... I still don't understand that part) that I had worked myself into a fever, literally. I can only hope that I won't have to stay on this confining bed for all eternity, and someone will believe my sanity. maybe it would have just been better to accept the story they fed me without resistance. I believe not.

Another day at the park.

Here are a couple pictures  from our day at the park on Wednesday. (which by the way the Janes and Paschals are always there on Wednesdays from 3:00 on, and the Harpers and Craftons are there occasionally too).

-Virginia

Oh, and by the way the pictures of Brook are when we covered her in flowers because she was dead (like Rue)

Things I really love right now. . .

Just wanted to share with you some things that I really love right now. . .

I love these colors! For some reason I usually tend to stay with cool colors, this is a perfect match!

This sewing machine is amazing!

I have wanted a goat since I was seven. Last year my parents convinced me to get a rabbit instead of a goat. And then magically we had 15 rabbits. . . .  we still have 4. If any wants a pet rabbit we would be happy to supply one (no joke). But I still want a goat.

Amazing trilogy. Its at the library. Read it.

Great book!

Ashley G. on etsy. Love her!

I got this book at a flea market a while back. Cutest book ever!

-Virginia

Doctor Who Puppet Pals

Most of you know about Harry Potter Puppet pals, so here is a Doctor Who version! Cracks me up every time :)

                                                                         -Virginia

Fleeing

 I posted this in our original blog, but I thought it was simpler to simply transfer it over here. So... here you go! ~~~~~~Fleeing      The grass is soft against my pale, bare feet. My hands are clenched: not in anger, but as a ward against the cold air. Though the spring is pleasant, its nights are still filled with a settled, silent chill that sends shivers creeping down my neck, into my arms, and across my back, wrapping around to engulf my lungs in a tingling but clamped embrace. I feel as though an invisible claw is squeezing me just enough for me to feel, and loathe, its presence.          My legs begin to move, swishing forward, chasing each other across the ankle-deep grass; a soft rhythm is forced upon the ground: a rhythm that even I, its creator, cannot hear. Each bounding step leaves a new mark upon the ground. There is a long stretch of footprints – places where the early-morning dew has been pulled from the smooth grass onto my small feet. I continue to run, I refuse to slow, or falter, or let weariness seep from my weak legs and aching chest into my brain. I have only one conscious thought: I must run.          The black sky is as vast as the field upon which my feet are so softly and rapidly pressed. The huge, white moon stares down at me stoically, indifferent to my plight. It is my burden. It is why I must run. The light by which I can see the mud that cakes my feet is the light that allows any creature, man or beast, to see my white dress, my pale face, and my dark hair that glints with every footfall.          The night has become colder: a blanket of chill wraps around me, whispers into me. I can hear nothing but my own uneven gasps and the Thump Thump Thump Thump Thump of my quickened blood sweeping through my ears in methodical rushes. As air is forced from my throbbing lungs, it freezes into crystals, which wash over my face and melt upon my brow, my nose, my flushed cheeks – making my whole face so numb it becomes a mask: unfeeling and unmoving.          I stumble and fall. My momentum pulls me forward into a tumbling roll until I slide to a stop. I cry out in shock. I can feel nothing! I heard my arm crack, saw it bend halfway up my forearm, yet I feel no pain. A wild dementia fills me. It chases away my hope like a wolf chases a rabbit: quickly, with scorn for the diminutive size of its prey.          Lying there, trembling against the crumpled grass, I let my shoulders sag, stop trying to push myself up with my feeble arm. Shadows lurk at the corners of my eyes; even the moon has dimmed to a blurry grey. I hear voices behind me. My original urgency rushes up my spine, the thoughts swirling through my head, drowning out all others. I must not stop. They’re after me, I must not stop. They’re after me, I must not stop. But another thought rises through my thickening brain. I cannot move! I had stopped. I lost the iron will that has grasped my body for so long, and do not have the focus to move arms and legs. I will be caught. I am no longer able to feel dread. My body performs an involuntary shudder, and my thoughts become a distorted cacophony of lights and sounds.

Easter Dilemma 

Hey!
If you're looking for something to do with your Easter eggs on Easter Sunday, I have just the thing.
Once you've finished hiding and finding your eggs, there are normally a few that have been cracked.  Take one of them and find a partner.  With your partner, throw the egg back and forth between the two of you the way you would in a water balloon toss.  Do this until the egg is completely demolished.  Keep doing so with your eggs until you've done so with all of the cracked eggs.  Once those are gone, you can do the same with the ones still intact.  These will last considerably longer, and you might want to step back a few paces so you don't stand there throwing the same egg for an incredibly long time.  Do so until you are bored, then you can merely throw the rest of the eggs out.  Warning: this game is extremely messy, especially when you get down to the yokes.  Be sure you are not wearing nice clothes and that it is okay with your parent/landlord that the yard has egg bits all over it.  To avoid tension, pick up as many pieces of egg as possible.  To save time in the end, pick up pieces of egg after each round.  
Have fun!

Janelle Monae

Happy Friday, Everyone!
 
I just wanted to share with  you one of my favorite music artist that is not from the 70's :)

She is a science fiction type singer and most of her songs are based off of the movie Metropolis.

Which is a fantastic (sci fi) silent film that was made in 1927.

Here is one of her songs.

Oh and I forgot to mention . . . Her voice is incredible!!

-Virginia

A day at the park!

Greetings amici!

The Janes and the Paschals had a wonderful afternoon at the park.  . . . . 

(Virginia covers her eyes in shame) Yes that is my little brother. . . yes he is in the basketball thing. . . (sigh) DON'T ASK! In less embarrassing news Beth and I got some fun shadow pictures.

                                      Is it just me or does Beth look like superman in this picture. . . .

                                                    Look at the size of those puppies!

                                                             Dancing? Yep!

              

                     Here's a little sneak peek of our "Hunger Games" night. Can you see Sophie's capitol looking face in the background? We all looked SUPER awesome . . . . .  but we were the only ones in our THEATER to dress up ( lets just say we were getting odd looks the whole night)  Well, I best be off to bed!

Goodnight!

                                                                      

                                                                    -Virginia

                                                              

School - Back in Session!

Just something to (hopefully) make you laugh a bit... (or maybe remind you of a past memory... or maybe have you scream in horror yourself...)

Oh, the Horror     

           Bertha slumped through the halls of Greensvich High School. Her glum mood seemed to
broadcast to the people around her, making everyone in her vicinity a sudden pessimist.

                Bertha didn’t know the sway she held over the people’s feelings on that point, or she
might have tried to make her sour expression twist into a fake smile, but it was probably better that
her face stayed downcast – her fake smiles tended to give people headaches.

                As it is with most people, Bertha had only one thing that was causing her face to cloud
and eyes to squint at the well-worn floors as if they had done her a personal wrong: Henrietta
Fitzwerner.

                Henrietta was a preppy, small, red-haired girl whose voice traveled at about a hundred
miles an hour, and whose brain was twice as fast. She and Bertha shared two classes: world
religions and home economics. Bertha detested her.

                Henrietta had never said anything unkind to Bertha, and everyone else in the world adored the little girl and her random comments. Yet, Bertha knew that every time the little brat 
turned to Bertha and asked if she’d ever seen a blueand yellow striped elephant, she was actually
laughing at Bertha’s librarian glasses as they perched upon her small, round nose, and magnified her 
narrow, hazel eyes. Or maybe it was the big, pursed lips that caused Henrietta to course with secret 
laughter, or even her chin. Bertha didn’t see anything wrong with her chin, but she knew that, no 
matter what anyone else said, Henrietta must be laughing at her.

                Bertha’s eyes registered that the next room to the right was her algebra 1 class. Algebra
1 was her next class. As her feet automatically shuffled into the room, all thought of Henrietta was
pushed from her mind. Mrs. Creeze was leering at the class.

                Mrs. Creeze had only won one teacher trophy in her seventeen years of experience: and
since there were fourteen teacher trophies and fifteen teachers every year, not winning was quite an
accomplishment. In actuality, the only trophy Mrs. Creeze had won wasn’t even an official
‘teacher-trophy’ from the principal’s office. It was one that the kids had made. They told her that it
was for being “The Most Diligent Hall Monitor”. Everyone in the school knew that it was actually
for having the scariest pop-quiz-and-detention face.

                Mrs. Creeze’s pop-quiz-and-detention face truly was horrible. Her paper-thin lips
cracked apart and revealed crooked, brown-spotted teeth as her condescending smile caused her
students to cringe. Her eyes glinted malevolently, and even her wrinkles seemed to perk at the
prospect of having more pupils to torture. Mrs. Creeze’s famous face was what greeted Bertha as
she walked through the classroom door.

                “Good morning, class.” The creaky voice issued from the teacher’s throat and filled the
classroom. A hush fell over the scholars, and everyone stared in apprehension at the stack of papers
in Mrs. Creeze’s hands. Everyone had a silent plea: please not a pop quiz. I can stand field-trip 
paperwork, but please; no pop quiz.

                 “Today, a school-wide ban has finally been lifted.” There was that creepy smile again. 
“You kids are going to get something that has been coming to you for a looooooong time. Our 
principal has agreed that with the grades of so many of you digressing so quickly, all teachers are 
allowed to assign homework to any students who are struggling. In this class, all you brats are 
struggling, except for Henrietta,” Mrs. Creeze’s expression turned sickly sweet: she doted on 
Henrietta, even if Henrietta didn’t seem to like her, “So none of you can be disdainful of anyone 
else, because you all get to do all the work.” Mrs. Creeze held up the deceptively simple stack of 
white paper.

                  Bertha’s heart stopped. She began to hyperventilate. Her pulse jackrabbitted from 
moments of frozen terror to racing, throbbing panic. She began seeing spots dancing before her. 
Her arms began to shake. She stared at the teacher in abject terror.

“HOMEWORK!!! How could you, Mrs. Creeze?” Then everything went black.

Oxfords and Art Museums

One of my very favourites.....

All the redbuds were blooming.....

 Today I went, with my fabulous cousins, Aunt and Uncle, to Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. It is considered to be the foremost American art museum in the world. It is also fifteen minutes from my house. I'ts collections include Norman Rockwell's Rosie the Riveter,  Charles Willson Peale's portrait of George Washington and Andy Warhol's Dolly Parton. It also has many walking trails and doesn't cost a thing! I unfortunately didn't take any pictures of the artwork, but I plan to go back so.... soon!

                                                                Beth
    

P.S. You can find their website here~ http://crystalbridges.org/ 

I can't think of a name for this post

Hello friends!

 Today was Dad, Mrs. Kristi and Bach's birthday! What a special day. Another reason it is special is that the Doctor's new companion was announced! Her name is Jenna-Louise Coleman.

           She will arrive in the 5th episode of season 7 in which the weeping angels return, Amy and Rory leave, and someone important dies (River? ) She is also supposed to talk faster than the Doctor. . . . is that possible???

I'm so excited to go see the Hunger Games!! The picture is of wigs for the Capitol. Speaking of which I am going to dye my hair green for the premiere:)

Lastly, here is a sneak peek of my new room color. I love it sooo much :)

Goodbye,

Virginia Eleanor

                

Spring has Sprung!

Hello friends!

I'm not sure that you all have noticed, but spring has sprung! The daffodils and hyacinth are in full bloom! How exciting! 

Spring break is getting nearer and nearer and the Hunger Games opening night getting sooner and sooner. . . I just spent a wonderful afternoon at the park with Beth, Sophie, and Miriam. We had so much fun talking and taking pictures and swinging. We captured so many wonderful pictures. . . .  needless to say, my little brother got a hold of the camera and deleted all of them (on purpose) before I had a chance to get them on the computer . For that I am terribly, terribly, terribly sorry :(  Despite that unfortunate incident we did come home to some new family members. . . .      

                We call this one Poop Machine #1

Poop Machine #2

Poop Machine #3

 

Poop Machine#4(and yes there is a piece of poo stuck to its neck)

New name ideas are welcome :)

Have a good day!

Virginia

Hey!
It's my job to make videos for this lovely blog, but I've been having some problems with what the readers would want to watch videos about.  I am curious as to what the viewers would like from me.  Please help me out and comment.
~Sophie

Crayon Art

   My newest favourite form of art is melted crayons. The colors are so bright and blend so beautifully! (And
, honestly, who doesn’t like the smell of melted crayons?) Crayon art is fairly easy, if slightly messy, to make… you simply break, grate or chip off pieces of old crayons, arrange your shavings on a canvas (you can even use one that has been painted on!) and attack it with a hairdryer. Also, an embossing gun works well,  it gets much hotter and therefore melts the wax faster.

Another way to do it is to hot glue crayons along the top of your canvas, stand it up and let the melted wax drip down the canvas.

Beth

And. . . We're Back!

Hello everyone,

 Honey, Honey has decided to relocate to blogspot.com. 

Today I'd like to show you how to make these fabric acorns.
   


   The first step is cutting out a circle it should be a little                      smaller than this.

         Next you will sew a running stitch around the edge.

                  Then pull the strings tighter.

                                       Stuff some cotton in and tie a knot

              And finally, glue an acorn hat on top!


            

                Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it
                            Virginia