Wednesday, February 23, 2011

IF: Layer

My desk is currently covered with layers of papers and sketches. Someday they'll all come together neatly. 
Someday. :)



I'll also link an older post which goes perfectly with the "layer" prompt.

Nineteen layers of feather mattresses . . . to say nothing of the pea at the bottom!

The Princess Spent a Miserable Night

Monday, February 14, 2011

IF: Of love, golf...and a sweater. Or something.

I have never played golf, and probably couldn’t (even my croquet playing is so terrible that tea-party hostesses come up to me in pity, begging me to stop--true story!), but even a supremely uncoordinated person such as myself can enjoy P.G. Wodehouse’s golf stories. 

This particular story starts when James and Peter, long-time golfing friends, fall in love with the same girl. Eagerly they watch the progression of her knitting project, convinced it's a sweater for one of them--but which one?
Pen & Ink wash & watercolor
The whole thing hung on one point--to wit, what size the sweater was going to be. If it was large, then it must be for Peter; if small, then James was the lucky man. Neither dared to make open inquiries, but it began to seem almost impossible to find out the truth without them. No masculine eye can reckon up purls and plains and estimate the size of chest which the garment is destined to cover. Moreover, with amateur knitters there must always be allowed a margin for involuntary error. There were many cases during the war where our girls sent sweaters to their sweethearts which would have induced strangulation in their young brothers. The amateur sweater of those days was, in fact, practically tantamount to German propaganda.

Peter and James were accordingly baffled. One evening the sweater would look small, and James would come away jubilant; the next it would have swollen over a vast area, and Peter would walk home singing. The suspense of the two men can readily be imagined. On the one hand, they wanted to know their fate; on the other, they fully realized that whoever the sweater was for would have to wear it. And, as it was a vivid pink and would probably not fit by a mile, their hearts quailed at the prospect.


Finally, they ask who the sweater is for:

"It is not a sweater," replied Miss Forrester, with a womanly candour that well became her. "It is a sock. And it is for my cousin Juliet's youngest son, Willie."

Read the complete short story here. It's Wodehouse--you won't be disappointed!

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

IF: Surrender

Unwilling to surrender his hat to the capricious wind . . .
Pen & Ink Wash

"When last I saw an old gentleman running after his hat in Hyde Park, I told him that a heart so benevolent as his ought to be filled with peace and thanks at the thought of how much unaffected pleasure his every gesture and bodily attitude were at that moment giving to the crowd."

I recently read G. K. Chesterton's essay, "On Running After One's Hat." There were a few quotes that were too good not to share! As I sniffled and snuffled my way through a sickish Monday, I reminded myself that . . .
An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. 
An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.