MRS GERTRUDE REGRETS

Tall

7 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Tall"

It is with deep regret that I must inform you of the passing of the very dear Colonel Martin Vanhousen. You may remember that I mentioned him a few months past, about how he lived in a third floor office building among his collection of artifacts from his explorations around the world. You might also recall that I mentioned he had a string of widows who visited him frequently. It was one such widow, Mrs. Gertrude Delany who discovered the Colonel's body. It was her usual night to stop by with dinner and that evening she had prepared a new chicken casserole recipe that she was eager to get feed back on. Mrs. Gertrude knocked several times on the door, but after a few minutes of waiting, she flipped the edge of the doormat over and retrieved the spare key that the Colonel kept 'hidden' there (in case of accidental lock outs). Then Mrs. Gertrude let herself into the Colonel's home. 

Upon entering the apartment, Mrs. Gertrude walked straight back to the kitchenette to set her hot casserole dish down, all the while chatting to the Colonel about everything from the weather and why it was he was still lazing about in his house coat with the all of the curtains shut tight. She then went to one of those windows, drew the curtains back to let the sunlight in and turned to see the Colonel wearing his slippers and his red velvet house coat, sitting in his favorite leather wing-backed chair with a glass of scotch in his hand. She noticed that his skin seemed paler than usual and his face slack as if he were sleeping. She tip-toed closer and said "Marty?" When he did not reply or even twitch, Mrs. Gertrude poked the Colonel in the cheek which was quite cold. Mrs Gertrude shrieked and then dug her phone out of her purse to call 911. 

After further investigation, it was determined that the Colonel died peacefully in his chair. Though if a thorough autopsy had been performed, the coroner would have discovered a poison found only on the tips of the blow darts used by an obscure tribe of indians dwelling in the Amazon rainforest. You see, the Colonel had woken up on the morning of his death feeling tired. Not physically tired per se. He found that his tiredness was more mentally related. The Colonel got up out of his bed, sliding his feet into his slippers and shrugging his house coat on over his satin pajamas. He then shuffled to his kitchenette and set the kettle of water on his hotplate to boil for his usual morning cup of tea. Once his tea was made, he took his mug into his office where he sat at his large mahogany desk looking at the clutter around him. The Colonel unlocked the middle drawer of his desk and removed the letters and locket from his one true love, Elsbeth, and proceeded to re-read the letters he had read so many times before. Then he opened the locket to gaze at Elsbeth's lovely face. He then closed the locket, stood up and walked to the bookcase. The Colonel ran his hands along the rows of stacked field notes, pulling one notebook at random and flipping through it. 

The Colonel had lead a very exciting and long life. He had seen many amazing things, traveled the whole world, and fought in a number of skirmishes. His life, with the exception of his beloved Elsbeth, had been a full life. It was all recorded in those stacks and stacks of field notes. Every skirmish and near death experience. Every unbelievable find. Every adventure. It was all recorded there for any one to pick through. The Colonel then poured himself a glass of his favorite scotch. He rummaged through his drawer of arrow heads until his fingers found what he was looking for in the very back of the drawer, a vial containing the poison darts he had stolen from a tribesman while on expedition in the Amazon. The Colonel knew that the poison would not work instantly, but it would work quickly. He had enough time to prick his finger with one dart, place it back in the vial and then return the vial to his desk drawer before taking his scotch to retire to his favorite chair. He was able to take two more sips of his scotch before the poison stopped his heart. The Colonel Martin Vanhousen left this earth, as he had lived: on his own terms.

His apartment/office has been completely cleaned out with many of his things being sent to auction to cover his debts. His field notes were all donated to a local historic society. All of them with the exception of one notebook. His most recent field notebook now resides with the Mrs. Gertrude Delany. While waiting on the authorities to arrive, Mrs. Gertrude discovered that the Colonel had been writing down his latest 'adventures'. This included very detailed reports of the encounters he had with the various widows who visited him during the week. Very. Detailed. Notes. Mrs. Gertrude nearly fainted as she read his description of how his removal of her girdle for the first time was like 'peeling a banana'. Scandalized, Mrs. Gertrude tucked the notebook into her purse. It is now locked in the bottom drawer of her cedar jewelry case. Mrs. Gertrude has yet to decide whether to burn the notebook or use it against the other widows.

Of course, despite the scandalous notebook, the Colonel Martin Vanhousen will be greatly missed. 

*This story comes to you after noticing that the building that inspired the original tale has been gutted. It is under renovation and has a 'for sale' sign out front.

LOVE THURSDAY

In a past life, I was a magician's assistant. This was in the late 1800s in England, but we traveled all over to perform our act. The Magician had developed this amazing trick where he'd inject black ink under his skin and then, as I stood next to him, a black tree would start growing out of the tops of my feet and then twist and grow all around and up my body. It really was a great trick and of course other magicians wanted to know how the trick was done. 

The Magician carried everything in one of those traveling trunks. The trunk was unique because from the outside it looked like a regular trunk, but the inside was bigger. There was enough space to carry all of our things and a little sitting area where I could sit and read. It was very cozy and comfortable which was important because I'd often ride in the trunk when we traveled to save money on train tickets. Once inside the trunk, no one knew I was in there. This is where I was one evening after a show. I was sitting comfortably in the trunk, reading a book. The Magician had gone out for the evening. I thought I would have a nice quiet evening to myself until I heard the sounds of someone rummaging around our room. I quickly blew out my candlelight that I had been using to read with just in case the trunk leaked out any light and sat as quietly and still as possible. 

Suddenly the trunk lid popped open and I felt a hand grip my upper arm and yank me out of my cozy little spot in the trunk. The man shook me and demanded I tell him where the plans for our famous trick was kept. I told him over and over that I couldn't. You see, there were no plans. The Magician had never written it down and in fact really only knew how half of the trick worked. I knew the other half, but not the Magician's half. This was how we'd managed to keep it a secret all this time. Incensed, the man gathered up all the papers he could find in our room and trunk. Then he grabbed a length of rope, bound my wrists and threw me back into the trunk. His plan was to dump me and the trunk into the river. I could feel the trunk being dragged down the hall and bounce down some stairs. Then I could feel the rattle of being dragged across cobble stones. 

I screamed as I felt the trunk falling and then landing in the cold water below. The trunk started to take in water quickly. I frantically started looking around for a way to get out or something to cut the rope binding my wrists. One of the great things about being a magician's assistant is that you learn escape tricks. This was how I managed to wriggle my hands free of the rope, but when I shoved on the lid of the trunk to get out, the lid wouldn't budge. By now, water had almost completely filled the trunk and I barely had space to keep my nose out of the water. I took one last gulp of air, dived to the bottom of the trunk and then torpedoed myself at the trunk lid.  But just as I was about to hit the lid, it popped open and there was the Magician. He had been on his way home and just crossing the bridge when he saw a man shoving a familiar looking trunk over the ledge and into the water. The Magician grabbed my wrist and headed towards the surface, where we broke through the water gasping for air.

OK, maybe this didn't really happen in a past life, but is exactly what happened in a dream I had the other night.  Dreams can be scary. They can be weird and make very little sense. Dreams can be insightful, helping to solve a problem you've pondering. They can inspire us to do something great.  But for today, for Love Thursday, I'm honoring those dreams that spark the imagination. Because I believe that great things can grow from that spark.

Happy Love Thursday!