Summer Bird Stories

Family-Friendly Short Stories, Cartoons, and Illustrations

Lost in Translation

It was time for the once-a-century meeting between the ruling unicorn and the ruling pegasus. The royal groves were in chaos as everyone prepared for the rare event. Hooves were polished, coats were brushed, and every care was taken to look glossy and shiny and magical and sparkly.

The schools of interpreters sent their most senior leaders for the meeting. The pegasus interpreter arrived early to the royal grove. This time it was the unicorns’ turn to host, and he would be traveling with the royal party.

A young scribe led the elderly interpreter into the mossy waiting area. A gentle stream burbled nearby, and the interpreter ambled over to drink a few swallows of the crystal clear water. The scribe waited nearby, looking nervous.

The interpreter shook the water from his chin and turned to look at the scribe. “Are you nervous about meeting the unicorns?”

“I’ve never seen one before. Is it true that they have long horns poking out of their heads?”

The interpreter nodded. “Yes, but just one, right in the middle of their forehead.”

“Really?” The scribe stomped his foreleg in shock. “And they speak a different language? Why don’t they speak horse, like we do?”

The interpreter whickered. “They are mysterious and secretive. They developed their own language long, long, ago, and we’ve needed interpreters ever since.”

 

In the unicorn grove, the smallest princess was watching her mother twine flowers around her pearlescent horn. “The red ones look better,” she said.

“The red ones aren’t in bloom,” the queen said. “So pink it is.”

“Pink is boring.”

The queen nudged her child with her nose and the little princess giggled. “So are long meetings.”

“But we’ll get to see pegasuses.”

“Pegasi,” the queen corrected.

“Pegasi. Do they really have wings and fly?”

“They do.” The queen checked her reflection in the still surface of the pond. She nodded.

“But why do we need an interpreter? Don’t they speak horse like us?”

The queen whickered. “They are mysterious and secretive. They developed their own language long, long, ago, and we’ve needed interpreters ever since.”

 

Finally, the royal pegusus party arrived at the royal unicorn grove. The pegasus king looked around at the silvery birch trees. “This place is a dump,” he neighed.

The elderly unicorn interpreter stepped forward. “He said that he’s grateful for the hospitality.”

“You stink like garlic. I wish you’d stay away,” the unicorn king replied.

The pegasus interpreter turned to his king. “He is delighted to meet you.”

The scribes furiously copied down the official translations, as each group offered increasingly outrageous insults that were interpreted as increasingly effusive compliments. The unicorn king led the group on a tour of his grove, and somehow the smallest princess ended up trotting next to the young pegasus scribe.

“Hello. I guess you don’t understand me,” the princess said sadly.

“I think I do,” the scribe replied, looking confused. “I’m probably wrong, though. Nothing seems to mean what I think it means.”

“Everyone sounded mean, but was really being nice. It didn’t make any sense.” The princess flicked her tail in frustration.

“I thought the same thing. I wish you could speak horse. It would make things a lot easier.” The young scribe shook his mane.

The princess stopped. “But we do speak horse. All unicorns do. It’s pegasi that don’t.”

“Yes we do,” the scribe retorted. “We always have. It’s unicorns that developed their own mysterious language.”

The princess looked at the scribe. “But if we both speak horse, what was everyone else speaking?”

“Grown ups are so confusing.” The scribe snorted and the princess whickered.

“Can you play hopscotch? Flying is cheating.”

The scribe stomped his foreleg. “Of course I can. Who doesn’t play hopscotch?”

The princess and the scribe cantered off to play, leaving the grown ups to their strange game of insults and compliments. Maybe it would make sense when they were older. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Time would tell.

Gratitude

2018 has been a great year. Not that everything has gone well, but overall, I think I’m in a better place than I was at this time in 2017.  I’ve been very blessed and seen a lot of little miracles in my life.  I’m so very grateful.

I have continued to learn and grow and improve. It’s pretty exciting to see the progress I’ve made this year. I still have a lot of room for growth, and that’s exciting too.

My creative goals for 2018 were to publish something, make one YouTube video, and sell one artwork.

This is my index card of my creative goals for the year. Also a quote from Diane Ackerman: “I don’t want to get to the end of my life and find that I just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.”

I did get something published. One of my cartoons was published in the New Era in September. You can read all about it if you follow this link. I just had another cartoon published in the New Era in December, too! (And I will have one in the January New Era!! Wow!) I know that is a lot of links, but please check them out.

Here’s a look at the cartoons I just had published in the New Era!

My husband helped me make two YouTube videos. I am happy with how they turned out. It was fun to see my work progress at super-speed! You can watch both videos on my YouTube channel. (Yes, I actually have a YouTube channel!)

Have I sold any artwork solely based on its artistic merit? Not yet. But I’ve improved my skill, and that makes it more likely, I think. I’m still working on this one.

I am so grateful for the progress I’ve made. So many people have helped and encouraged me on my journey. To all of you, thank you. Thank you for reading my stories and laughing at my comics. Thank you for telling me that you like my work. Thank you for mentioning my website to others.

Sometimes, when it’s just me at my desk, trying to find my motivation, it’s nice to remember that I’m not alone. The internet isn’t like the empty wells in the cartoons where you shove something in and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait to hear it hit the bottom. There are people out there listening.

If you are reading this, thank you for being one of those people. Thank you for supporting me this year. I look forward to 2019 knowing that achieving my goals and dreams is possible. Best wishes to all of us in the new year!

From Quentin Blake‘s “ABC” Ff, reproduced by me on 6/11/18.

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Charlie’s Room: Secret Ingredient

There was an oatmeal raisin cookie on a brightly-colored plate waiting on the counter when Isaac returned from his walk. Just one cookie? How odd. Where did the cookie come from?

Charlie hurried into the kitchen. “Dad! You’re home! We saved you one of the cookies from Miss Marta. Mom ate most of them.”

Marianne joined them. “They taste just like the cookies my grandma used to make. It was like I was sitting at her kitchen table again. I have to get the recipe! Charlie, do you want to come?”

They left, and Isaac picked up the cookie. He wasn’t an expert, but the cookie looked normal. He tasted it. It was a nice cookie, but not as good as his grandmother’s gingersnaps. Of course, few things were.

The empty plate sat on the counter looking brightly colored and empty. Isaac sighed. It would have been nice to eat a second one. Maybe Marianne would bake some after she returned with the recipe.

She did. After taking a bite of one of the cookies, still warm from the oven, she made a face. “It’s not the same. Did I so something wrong?”

Charlie picked up a cookie and took a bite. “Mmmmm. Cookies.” He wandered out of the room.

Marianne dumped the cooled cookies onto the empty plate and started baking again. She tasted the first cookie from the batch and scowled. The second batch of cookies joined the first batch. Three more batches and the plate was overflowing.

She picked a cookie off the oatmeal raisin mountain and handed it to Isaac. “Taste it,” she ordered.

Isaac bit into the cookie. “It’s not quite as good.”

Marianne began to pace. “It’s missing something. But what? I followed the recipe, and even took into account different techniques and possible variations.” She stopped and looked at Isaac. “There’s only one possibility.”

Charlie dashed into the kitchen and took two cookies, stuck them back-to-back and began eating them like a sandwich. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I just happened to notice you had a few extra cookies and decided to help.”

Marianne looked at him. “How many cookies have you eaten today?”

Charlie began counting on his fingers and paused. “A lot.”

“No more cookies.”

Charlie frowned. “But you have so many. Are you saving them for something special?”

Marianne shrugged. “I can freeze them and put them in your lunches. I’m sure they’ll freeze well. That’s not the point. If you eat too many cookies, you’ll feel sick. It’s not very healthy.”

Charlie thought for a moment. “Fine.” He stood up and brushed off his shirt. “More for later, right?” He drifted out of the kitchen.

Isaac turned to Marianne. “What’s the one possibility?”

“A secret ingredient! She left something out. Something that makes the cookies extra special. If only I’d asked for grandma’s recipe before she was gone.” Marianne turned an looked at Isaac. “I need to know the secret ingredient. Offer to rake Miss Marta’s leaves or mow her lawn all spring or fix her roof or something.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Isaac could see that this was important to Marianne. Even if oatmeal raisin cookies really weren’t as good as gingersnaps.

So, he went next door and knocked. Miss Marta came to the door. Isaac smiled. “Thanks for the cookies! Marianne loved them. She was so excited to get the recipe and came home and baked them right away.”

Miss Marta nodded. “I’m glad she likes them. They’re an old family recipe.”

A black cat slipped out of Miss Marta’s house and rubbed against Isaac’s ankles. Isaac leaned down to pet it. “I think Marianne’s family used to make them just like yours. Marianne said that when she tried to make them they didn’t taste the same. Is there a secret ingredient?”

“Love.” Miss Marta shrugged. “The secret ingredient is love, but tell her it’s cinnamon.”

“Hmmm. Love tastes like cinnamon?” Isaac shivered as a cold wind tore across the yard. The cat darted back inside.

“Sometimes it does.” Miss Marta gathered her shawl around her. “It depends on the memories.”

“Oh, I’m keeping you, and it’s letting in all the cold air. I’ll let her know. Thank you.” Isaac waved, and Miss Marta closed the door.

Marianne was waiting just inside the door when Isaac arrived home. “Well? What did she say?”

“Cinnamon,” Isaac said, hanging up his coat. “Also think happy thoughts about the people you love.”

“Cinnamon! I should have known.” Marianne hurried away.

“Don’t forget the happy thoughts,” Isaac called after her. “I think it’ll help.”

“I’ll think the happy thoughts,” Marianne called back. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Marianne made another batch of cookies. She taste the first cookie and smiled happily. Then she reached for a second cookie. “Love and cinnamon. I’ll add it to the recipe card.”

Charlie came in. “Are those for my lunches, too?”

“No, these are mine. You have all of those other cookies.” Marianne pointed to the overflowing plate of cookies.

Charlie looked back and forth between the batch of cookies cooling on the rack and the mountain of cookies on the counter. “I guess that’s fair,” he said, and wandered back out.

Choosing Art Supplies

My first attempts at watercolor painting didn’t look great. The pencil drawings were fine, my technique wasn’t terrible, but my art supplies weren’t very good. I had bought cheap art supplies, and the result was a washed-out looking painting.

I asked Kathy Decker for advice. She recommended the paints that she uses and let me try them. They resulted in brighter colors while using less paint. I was shocked at the difference. It was more expensive initially, but years later I am still using the same tubes of paint.

Da Vinci Paints

 

My next major art supply purchase was brushes. The inexpensive brushes wouldn’t keep a fine point, which made it difficult to do detail work. They also kept shedding bristles into the wet paint on my paintings. Once again, I asked Kathy Decker for recommendations. I love my new brushes. I use an inexpensive brush for washes, and it does sometimes shed, but I can deal with that.

Blick Master Synthetic Round Brushes

Now my children use the cheap brushes and paint for their art projects. I have some inexpensive travel watercolors, too. They are handy when I travel, but the colors aren’t vibrant.

Kathy gave me a palette that she didn’t need. I like that I can keep damp sponges in it and close it and keep my paint wet. I use a mason jar for water and paper towels to blot at things.

Alvin Co. Heritage Paint Pallette

My husband offered to buy me some large sheets of Arches watercolor paper as a gift. I learned to ruler cut it into smaller pieces so it lasts a long time. It’s really nice paper.

Arches Natural White Watercolor Paper

I like white art erasers and Ticonderoga pencils. I use a brush pen sometimes for ink work. I like sharpie extra-fine tipped pens to draw cartoons. If I’m practicing with brush and ink, I use Speedball Super Black Waterproof India Ink and an inexpensive palette.

For a long time, I painted sitting on or next to the treadmill in my room. It wasn’t very comfortable. I saw a nice, inexpensive art desk on craigslist, and we drove to Eugene and bought it. It has drawers and shelves and is the perfect height and size. I can draw or paint for a long time and my feet don’t fall asleep. I love it.

Matt bought a nice light for my desk a month ago. It’s great for night time or cloudy days. It’s not as bright as the sunlight through the window in the middle of the day. At those times, I can’t even tell that it’s on. Otherwise, it’s wonderful. It’s nice to point it in the direction I need so that my hands don’t leave shadows that get in the way.

My Craiglist Drafting Table

At some point, I would like to get some nice colored pencils. I have some watercolor pencils, but there aren’t many colors and they aren’t good for when I want to sketch outside in iffy weather. Maybe I’ll get some for my birthday?

Art books and dvds are a separate category. I think if I start talking about my books, I’ll run on for pages and pages or just list titles. Both of which would probably be boring. I do love art books, though. I love reading about artists I admire and seeing their work. I want to know all about their education and process and inspiration. Full color photos of the art is the best. Why doesn’t Stephen Cartwright have an art book yet? I keep emailing Usborne books, but so far, nothing.

What art supplies do you love? What ways have you found to keep costs low without sacrificing quality? What art supplies didn’t you love? Do you have any great art book recommendations? Please let me know!