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Tamsin grows up Part 10

The finger slowed and the witch opened her hand and Tamsin landed on the witch’s palm.

“Can you see me?” Tamsin asked.

The witch looked at her hand and Gus hovered closer in case he had to save Tamsin and give the witch a good sting.

“Can you see me?” Tamsin repeated. “Oh, please, please see me.” She pleaded.

The witch squinted at her hand and said, “I can hear you but you are awfully faint to see.”

Tamsin stomped her foot in frustration. “Owww!” yelled the witch.

“Try harder!” yelled Tamsin at the witch. “Can you see me?”

“I can see you!” the witch said excitedly. “But who are you and what are you?”

Tamsin stared at the witch. “Really? You don’t know what I am?”

“No,” breathed the witch and little fearfully.

“I’m Tamsin and I’m your garden faery.”

“But I don’t believe in faeries.” Tamsin sat down on the witch’s hand.

“But you’re a witch! You believe in magic. You have to believe in faeries. You just have to.” Tamsin pleaded.

The witch stopped a moment and looked at her beautiful May Day garden.

“You’re a faery and you are my garden faery?” The witch whispered.

“Yes!” Tamsin cried. “And you need to look around again and this time really SEE! They’ll die if you don’t.”

I’m going to try to learn something new, oy!

I’ve decided I want to learn another craft so I ordered crochet hooks and some yarn and a Kindle book on how to do it. There’s no one left in the family who knows how and no one close by as far as I know, knows how to do it. I just talked to a work friend and it turns out she wants to learn too and neither of us knew the other was thinking about it so we decided the first one to figure it out shows the other if possible.

So hopefully I can figure it out and it’s easier than the knitting class I failed in 7th grade which is my personal annus horriblis. That was the year our CampFire Leader and our parents decided to send us to Charm School, knitting classes and Bowling and I failed at all of them and failed big.  And that doesn’t even cover how awful school was my first year in Junior High.

Webb’s Charm School for a baby dyke was a unique form of torture and I really didn’t care how to float up and down stairs like a lady and I had just started to finally grow and had no control over various gangly body parts and the finale fashion show was falling flat on my face in front of the whole dept store audience in an outfit I looked terrible in, a peach sweater and skirt set that made me look yellow. I couldn’t walk with a book on my head nor did I want to do it. I’m sure we were presented with other things to learn how to be ladies but I have blocked it out. We puny 7th graders were sent with a 9th grade troop that loved to lord it over us and teased us that they were swans and we were the ugly ducklings. It was 8 weeks of hell at Glendale’s chi chi dept store that’s only saving grace for me was that they carried Pendeleton products.

This was followed by knitting lessons by a woman that insisted we learn by watching what she was doing and I can’t learn that way. I finally took the book home and followed the pictures and ended up knitting one awful pink slipper. I hate pink, she picked the colours and they must have been what was on sale up stairs in the Sears notion section. She kept yelling at me for not learning which really didn’t help. I hated the old trout. The only good thing about the whole fiasco was access to the candy and nut counter on meeting days. It’s the only place I know that sold mothball candy.

And Bowling is not where you send the kid with no depth perception. It was 8 weeks of futility with a final exam of 2 games. I had a combined score of 11. When you can’t see in a dark bowling alley you have no colour clues as to distance. I failed miserably. I do not bowl, ever! Grand Central Bowl doesn’t exist anymore and it was down the street from Grand Central Airport that was Amelia Earhart’s airfield which I thought was very cool and is now a historical landmark.

So, I have decided to learn to crochet, heaven help me.