Warning
We all have phobias…. spiders, creepy-looking dolls, clowns… all legitimate fears, aversions or phobias. Randie’s just happens to be gnomes. It’s understandable… you look at a ceramic gnome and think… “cute little garden mass-murderer.”
We all have phobias…. spiders, creepy-looking dolls, clowns… all legitimate fears, aversions or phobias. Randie’s just happens to be gnomes. It’s understandable… you look at a ceramic gnome and think… “cute little garden mass-murderer.”
I was surfing YouTube yesterday and found a Shakespeare adaptation where all the characters are gnomes. The movie is called Gnomeo and Juliet. Seriously.
Yat… I started watching that movie at some point… the soundtrack is all Elton John songs… I don’t recall how far in I got, but I know I didn’t finish it. I guess that says something.
“Gnome Whacker?” Can you get those at major retailers?
Are we wandering into 80’s horror movie territory…?
I thought Rye was rolling his eyes at how Randie spelled “vigilant”.
How about a little children’s rhyme, for to help Randie sleep?
Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting,
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather.
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen,
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back
Between the night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite?
He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting,
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather.
— William Allingham
This might actually be where Randie’s phobia comes from….
The Auld Grump
Randie’s certainly looking out for Ryan, only who’s looking out for her? She’s already had to deal with talking sheep, flying Randie heads and visions of Mako Koa. Can nightmares of gnomes be far behind?
Hmm, Spill does pottery and figure sculptures. I wonder if she packed the little bearded one into one of Ryan’s boxes as a sort of apartment warming gift. If yes, I could just see Randie dropping by to hang out with Spill only to come across a half dozen of work-in-progress gnomes.
jack… $14.95… plastic and metal. Made in China.
Dada… yah… you know, there was a lot of this sort of thing in the 80’s, warn’t there…?
EofO… HA! Randie’s spelling is pretty good, ain’t it? She ought to check her spelling before she makes up fliers.
Grump! AAAA! If it isn’t Randie’s reason for phobia-ness… it’s mine!!!! Wow! I probably repressed it somehow… former life… weird thing.
stick… um….. you creep me out, stick.
brig… ::smiling:: …elementary my dear watson, elementary.
I’ve always liked “The Stolen Child” by Yeats
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
You may also like this – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zv_gNtnj9E
The Song of Fey Cross.
Grump – hum… not sure what I think of it. It certainly sticks in the head, but it’s very different from what’s I’m used to. I’ll have to ponder a bit.
Just remember – in the original stories most of the little people were not your friends…. >:^)
Iron axe and Iron blade, each will kill a faerie babe, with with each an elphin child maun die, hush ma cushla, don’t you cry….
The Auld Grump
LOL nah, I meant the musical style. I’m familiar with tradition stories of fae people– intelligent, but soulless.
As Terry Pratchett says, “Elves are awesome – they inspire awe. Elves are terrific – they beget terror…”