Fifteen Minutes of Scrawl

George had always loved working with stone. As a small child he had collected rocks, a practice which didn't please his parents as it ended with either piles of rocks in corners of their house or small rocks getting lost in the rug, only to be found when an unsuspecting foot came across them. They didn't understand how this small brown rock was needed when he already had that  small brown rock. George would try to show them how this  one had a smoother feel while having a rougher shape whereas that one had a rougher feel while having a smoother shape, but they still didn't get it. When he got older, the would try and build little structures out of rocks. He built little castles for his little action figures that his little toy trucks would knock down. He wondered if one day, when he was big, he would work with big rocks to build big things. He did end up working in construction and while he didn't always work with rocks, he enjoyed it the best when he did.

She is the smurfiest smurf I've ever seen  thought Pinky Smurf. But would the smurf he had had a crush on since high school go for such a weirdo like him? Pinky was the only smurf who wasn't blue, he wasn't even a color that was that close to blue. No, Pinky was pink (his parents were very creative with his name). No one was really sure why, both of his parents were blue and their parents, and so on and so forth. No one had ever been particularly mean to Pinky about this, but he couldn't help but feel that he didn't belong. He, quite literally, stood out in a crowd. As he got older, this gave him some amount of confidence. He was unique, a rarity, surely that made him cool? It hadn't helped him much with girl smurfs though. So as he kept glancing at Starry Smurf, sitting across from him in the cafe he'd walked into, he wasn't sure what to do. What if she thought we wasn't rare, but just a pink oddball? Well , he thought, you don't know until yo

"The race is tomorrow, you know," Sherry pestered as she walked by her husband carrying her morning cup of coffee, "he needs to get stretched out." "Yes, dear," said Ernie from the couch. He hadn't really heard her, he was half way through a crossword puzzle and making great time. Sherry was used to this from Ernie, so she always liked to have her fun, "Well perhaps Blaze and I will just run off together into the sunset. It would be quite romantic." She took a long sip of her coffee waiting for her words to process for Ernie. Eventually, they did. "Wait, what?" Ernie sat up from the couch, "What are you talking about?" "Only getting your attention, my love," she said smiling. "Now do you remember what I said first?" Ernie rolled his eyes back in an attempt to remember, "Something about tomorrow..." "The race?" Sherry asked as she quirked an eyebrow. "Right! The rac

Alan had gotten up bright and early to go fishing. The weather was actually being agreeable and the season was right. He had high hopes for catching some beautiful salmon that he could bring home to his husband and kids for dinner. Oh what a hero he'd be. After getting all of his gear together, he headed out. So far, the sunshine was staying with him and it didn't look like it would rain. Although, he thought, rain is never too far off. Once at the river, he put on all of his gear and waded in. The water wasn't flowing too fast for him to stand, so that was also a good sign. Alan cast his reel and took a deep sigh. He loved going fishing. It was peaceful, he was surrounded by nature, and he could usually bring home a good meal (better than bringing home the bacon he'd always joke to his husband Timothy). It wasn't too long before he caught a beautiful salmon. It wasn't very big, certainly not big enough for his family to share, but it was a start. He cast

Dave had come to Galway in the hopes of inspiration. People always talked about how it was a medieval city, so he expected to get some great ideas for his renaissance fair blacksmithing booth, but so far he was having no luck. Oh sure, Galways was charming enough with its buskers and quaint coffee shops, but where was the medieval drama? Dave's hopes were sparked when he saw an ax and sword crossed half way up a building. He rushed down the little street and looked for their source, but he found only a pub with a pipe shop across from it. Disappointed that he couldn't find inspiration on his own, he decided to ask a local for where to get medieval inspiration. One woman pointed him to a marriage stone above a nearby shop. She told him that the city kept uncovering these and preserving them. She wasn't sure whose marriage exactly this stone was honoring, but that she thought it was an interesting bit of history. Dave thanked her, but it wasn't really what he was look

"Those fairies, thinking they're so high and mighty just because they can fly," grumbled Grayson. "We gnomes have every right to these tiny houses that they do." "I know, dear, but what can we do about it?" Grayson's wife Lily said in a voice she hoped was reassuring. Fairies didn't bother her as much as they bothered Grayson, but the housing market was a nightmare and she was due in just a month. They needed to find a home. "In the old days, we would've taken this to the council and gone to war," muttered Grayson, watching the fairy family get led on a tour of the house that was his and his wife's dream house. It was the perfect size for them, Lily loved the red borders on the windows, and it was close to both of their jobs. But now these fairies were probably going to get it. "Well I, for one, am glad we don't live in the old days," replied Lily, absently touching her stomach. Grayson hadn't been li

"Well, Pete, here we are again," sighed Steve from his permanent pose atop a dusty blue car. Steve wasn't sure how long the two of them had been at the bookshop, years certainly, he had seen more than one seasonal Christmas display come and go. Such was the life of figurines. "Did you expect a change?" mumbled Pete. Pete was quite a bit larger than Steve with giant, rounded features and a plaid shirt. His face always had a slightly tired and frustratingly bored expression. However, Steve was always jealous about how Pete didn't show much dust. Steve was made of a hard, once shiny material. At least his jeans hadn't lost their color and it would be a long time before his painted leather jacket and combat boots faded away their hard black. "Think he'll get more business today?" asked Steve. The owner of the bookshop seemed to fretting a bit more lately and there hadn't been as many people in the bookshop of late. This also meant tha

Perhaps because I've already been to Ireland before, I don't think I've experienced too much culture shock. There is definitely some, though. I actually find some people's friendliness a bit confusing. I can't tell how much of it is genuine and how much of it is just being polite. I remember the guide on my tour of Connemara offering his card to people if they were staying in Galway longer so that we could meet up for a pint. I wasn't sure how strange I was supposed to find this. In the US, I would have thought it was very weird for a middle aged man to offer to meet up with, essentially, strangers for a drink, but here people seem to make a lot of offers like this. Was I the one being weird for thinking it was weird? This also isn't very helpful in trying to make friends. I want to take people up on offers, but sometimes I'm not sure if the friendly stranger is just being polite. There is actually also a bit of culture shock just being back in schoo

Dawn broke over the ocean, spilling oranges, reds, and yellows onto the rippling waters. The creature peaked her eyes open, taking in the dazzling sight. She slowly scanned the beach for the sign of what she'd heard humans refer to as "morning people." These "morning people" sometimes disrupted her eating schedule by jogging by the beach or taking their furry companions for walks. The creature preferred to remain unknown and "morning people" could ruin everything. Luckily, the sun glittered along the water, the sand, and no "morning people." The creature smiled to herself, it was time to feast. She shuffled out of her spot among the rocks that lined the divide between the beach and the road and began to eat up a trail of little shells. Each color had its own flavor. The pretty yellow and orange ones tasted sweet, so the creature gobbled them up when she found them. The white ones had a subtle salty and fishy flavor and the dark brown ones t

The wind assailed the coast. throwing daggers of rain at all who dared go near it. Farther inland, sheets of rain ran sideways, knocking over leaves and snapping umbrellas the wrong way. The wind tumbled and twisted and snagged through tree branches, snapping off the weaker limbs and even totaling the older trees. People stayed inside, they had been warned, if not by a look at the weather forecast, than at the wails and howls from outside their windows. What most didn't know, however, was that these storms signaled the arrival of banshees. Banshees brought the storms with them, an omen before an omen. Those who knew the lore took time to make good on all promises, good and bad, for soon the banshees' shrieks would join the winds'. Banshees felt most powerful int he wind. The way it carried their haunting voices, the way it whipped their stringy hair into a frenzy appropriate for harbingers of Death. People feared them, but all they were were Death's messengers. Deat

"All aboard," called Mike. He was the newly minted captain of the newly christened Angel Tours boat. For so long it had been this rusted piece of junk just floating in some shallow water. Tourists seemed to get a kick out of it, coming up to it and snapping photos. It was then that Angel Tours had the idea to restore the boat. At first, they just bought the boat and put up their logo, figuring it would get some some cheap advertising since it would end up in so many people's photos. After years, the boat had finally been restored and Mike was excited to take her out onto the bay. they had decided to make the first trip a fairly small group. Not that the boat could ever have a very large group, but first trips usually have their quirks, so having fewer passengers seemed like a good idea. Mike helped an older couple onto the boat first, followed by a father and young son, and then by a woman he guessed was a tourist from the size of her camera. After he had gone over th

While English is spoken throughout Ireland, I have encountered a few colloquialisms that have thrown me through a loop. When I was in undergrad, the first time I ordered something "to-go" got me a blank stare from the barista. When I explained that I wanted to take my coffee away with me, the blank stare turned into recognition and I was promptly told that I meant "take away." It sadly took me another go around to cement that one in my head. The difference of counting floors also got me a bit lost on my first day of class. I had class on the first floor and I was one floor up from the lowest floor, so I figured I was on the second floor. A fellow lost American classmate and I went downstairs, but quickly realized that that couldn't be right. Turns out we had been on the 0 floor and the floor below us was -1 (which, don't even get me started on calling floors negatives), so we had to go up a floor. We did manage to get to class exactly on the dot, but I&#

"I just think the bird needs some more color, you know?" said the artist looking down at the grey bird near his feet. "It's a bird, just leave him alone," his girlfriend said, barely looking up from her book. "But it's just so drab," the artist huffed. When his girlfriend didn't respond, he went back to painting on his easel. This was, after all, why they were at the park. He wanted to get some work done in the great outdoors, surely that would be the inspiration he needed. And his girlfriend wanted to soak up the sun and take a deep dive into her book. But this bird was irking him, pecking about, trying to determine if any of the paint drops were food and all the while being a plain, dull, drab grey. "But don't you think it would just look so much better with color?" the artist asked his girlfriend impatiently. She looked up at him, from just over the top of her book, clearly annoyed to have been taken out of her fictio

I'm currently reading a book called Out of Thin Air: A True Story of Impossible Murder in Iceland . It highlights a few reasons why some true crime cases can really grip a nation. One of the factors that can't be ignored is that, for Iceland in 1974, murder was such a rarity. There is always an interest in things that are out of the ordinary. Also, in a country as small as Iceland crimes like this feel much more personal. This was especially emphasized when the Icelandic police commissioned a bust to be created out of the sketches that had been done of a suspect. This clay face was broadcast into people's homes, inviting them to help with the case and identify this man. In a country as small as Iceland, people hoped the criminal would be recognized. The timing of this case really can't be emphasized enough. In 1974, Iceland was very newly independent (only about 30 years independent at the time). There was a conflict between how much did the country want internat

Tiger had had quite a life for a cat his age. He was born to runt of a litter to large, fluffy mother in a box on the street. He and his siblings had jumped and played in that little box without much of a care. But it wasn't too long before the rain destroyed their little home and left them bedraggled. A kind-hearted woman had scooped them up one by one and brought them inside to warm up. After a few weeks of rest, warmth, and large meals different families came to take each one of them home. Tiger hoped that he would stay with their rescuer, he had grown quite fond of her and her house that always smelled as though there was a fresh roast in the oven. But a young girl and her father picked him out. The little girl delighted in his soft orange fur and named him Tiger. Tiger would later learn that tigers are her favorite animal, but her father being of sound mind thought an orange kitten would be a far better companion than a tiger cub. The girl was kind and loved playing with

"Goddammit, Dennis, he's going to notice us," muttered Clark to the fellow swan who was the worst and swimming nonchalantly. This, of course, made Steve perk up because it meant he wasn't going to be the one to ruin the surprise. "I'm swimming normally," Dennis said back in a voice that was hardly a whisper. Dammit, Dennis , Clark thought again. The plan wasn't a good one, he'd give them that, but it was tradition. On your birthday, you were suppose to get dunked by your friends. Goofy? Sure. Immature? Definitely. Fun? Absolutely (when it wasn't your birthday). But it was Richard's birthday and, stupidly, Clark had asked Dennis and Steve to help. If only Sam had been free. Sam knew the fine art of subterfuge. But Sam had some cygnets and now was too busy to dunk a friend on their birthday. Dammit, Sam . "Am I doing okay?" asked Steve in a voice that, while quieter than Dennis's, was still not a whisper. Thank god tha

The smell of rain brings out the earthiness of the world around me. I feel fresh and renewed. I feel connected to the world around me, especially if I have been caught in the rain myself. While I love the warmth of sunny day, the smell before the rain fills me with wonder. People before haven't believed me when I've said I could smell that it was going to rain, but I swear that I can (although here in Ireland it would be hard to prove because it's seemingly always going to rain). The smell before the rain makes me wide-eyed and childlike. I love to watch the rain, water droplets forming on everything around me and the world being painted a new color and the clean yet earthy smell before the rain lets me know that soon I will get to see these things. Soon I can splash like a child as I walk through puddles. Soon I can wear my lovely blue raincoat and be out among the droplets, dry as I please. Then the rain smells smells like wonder and anticipation. During the rain, I d

Her parents never would approve, she knew this. They saw living on moss as beneath the typical status of a wood nymph. While they were literally correct, Luna had always thought moss was more comfortable. Still, she had to do what was best for her. Her tree home had a gorgeous view, this she would miss. The far and wide view of the woods, being able to easily see long distances. She felt she really could see the forest for the grand beauty it was. The sweeping shades of various greens wavering int he wind. The air was clean and crisp up here and she could watch birds soar across the sky. As Luna packed the last of her things into the wooden crates, she wondered how much she'd really miss it. There wasn't time to change her mind, however. She had given up this home and had settled for one among the moss. She attached her crates to a series of levers and pulleys that would lower them safely down. As she watched them go, she thought it did seem such a far way down. Her flutt

My accent immediately gives me away as an American here (although one man did tell me that my accent wasn't so strong, but perhaps he was being kind). So far no one has directly asked me what I think of the monstrosity who is referred to as our 45th president. However, it's hard to avoid him entirely. I'm always afraid that I will run into someone who doesn't see the festering cesspool for what he is. I'm new to Galway and I'm not entirely sure of what the political balance is here. So far, I have managed to avoid anyone who supports him or even thinks he's just not that bad, but I do feel always a bit of unease when I first bring him up. In Chicago, I never had that unease. We hate the dirtbag and the few guys I was on dates with who told me he wasn't so bad, did not hear from me pleasantly again. I was also heartened to hear that the baby balloon will be coming over since the trash filled sack has made plans to cross the pond again. However, the be

The soft orange glow of my dimming bathroom light was a comfort to me when I first moved into my new apartment. It rounded out the sharp edges of my mirror and made all the cold, sterile metal look comforting. When it mixed with the steam from my hot showers, the room seemed almost otherworldly. Little did I know that the other world was just on the other side of my mirror. One night I was sitting in bed. I had long ago stopped closing my bathroom door. I was alone in my little en suite bedroom, there was no need for privacy. I looked up and instead of coming eye to eye with my own face, as I normally did, I found myself looking at the silhouetted profile of a haunted, hooded woman. Her face was marked in the gathered steam on my mirror, almost as if I had smudged her into being there myself. But I had not. I knew I hadn't rubbed away the steam from my mirror. In fact, I preferred to look at myself as a blurred reflection. It was more comforting to imagine that perhaps I look

Our walking tour group completely overwhelmed the fresh donut stall at the St. Nicholas' Farmer's Market. We only had ten minutes to spare, but our guide seemed confident that we could all get served in time. I had managed to stay away from the stall on each of my previous visits to the market, but the delicious smell combined with a price tag of only 80 cents was sure to get me sometime. Besides, it was hard not to follow the crowd into an eagerly clustered queue. Unlike most places you'll find donuts, there weren't a complex list of flavors or even bright, sugary frosting on display at the stall. Instead, after each donut was freshly made, it was placed in a tub of sugar, flipped over, and then, if you asked for it, dusted in cinnamon or cocoa. The warm donut was then quickly placed in a napkin and handed to you with the expectation that you will quickly clear away and let the next hungry eyed donut seekers place their order. It was the best donut I've ever ea

The gentle sound of chalk scraping across pavement brings us to life. The talented artists draws me and my pod of dolphins, happily leaping across the sidewalk. It's good to be back. Apparently, we're one of the more popular drawings he does. He certainly must have some more unique pieces than us, but passersby sure seem to love us based on the number of coins they drop into his hat. We see a lot during our day. Earlier in the morning, we see curious faces peak over the artist's shoulder as we come to life. They often don't want to stand too close, perhaps afraid that they'll disturb his process. But after he's cleared away to go and draw life into others, we get a lot more faces taking us in. Some smile and the joy of us mid-jump across the ground. Others snap a quick picture on their phones and carry on about their day (they do always manage to get our good side, because that's all the artist drew after all). And some don't seem to notice us, or

It was a lovely day along the Amazon River. Davíd the turtle sat on a rock, trying to enjoy the lapping of the water. Everything around him was so lovely, but somehow he couldn't shake the sadness he felt. Thinking he was alone, or as alone as an animal can be in the Amazon, he let some tears start to fall from his small, dark eyes. Suddenly, a burst of color entered his vision. A fluttering yellow butterfly had landed on his face. "How are you doing, friend?" asked the butterfly. Davíd wasn't quite sure what to say, so he went with, "Have we met before?" It wasn't the best opening line, but the butterfly had landed on his face so perhaps he could be excused for any lack of tact. "No," said the butterfly in a light and sweet voice, "but it looked like you needed a friend." Davíd knew this to be true, but was surprised at how forward this yellow bug was. "So we're friends without you even telling me your name?"