“You’ll need some birds.” One of they flamingos flapped herself down onto the deck. “Hi, I’m JoLeen. Us birds up above have been yakking at each other while we’ve been keeping your ship moving. We found out that we all took this gig for a lark. But now we’ve bonded and we’re looking to stay together. Like at your new inn, Mr. Bluebeard. We’ll patrol the skies for you. Keep out the riffraff.” She bowed. “And welcome your guests.”
“With bird songs.” One of Bluebeard’s wives name of Imelda piped up. “Nightly concerts on the veranda. Sweet music to send them off to sleep.”
“Um, about that.” JoLeen cleared her throat. “We’re really not songbirds. We try but, well, take a listen. Hit it, birds.” Aye me mateys, they bird chorus it be like a symphony. If’n none of they instruments be in tune. And they musicians is never played a note afore. It shivered all they ship’s timbers.
“OK. OK” Imelda uncovered her ears. “I can work with that. I used to be a music teacher. And we’ve got plenty of time before the first guests come. You’ll be singing like, well like birds, way before then.”
“Nice,” Bluebeard hugged Imelda. “So that’s frogs and rabbits and birds.”
“And us.” One of they gorillas he lumbered up to Bluebeard.
I is uncovered 2 (count ‘em 2) cases of skullduggery in they baseball park.
Skulldugger #1: The speed demon. Wanted for wanton stealing of bases.
Skulldugger #2: Springfoot. Wanted for grand theft of a home run away from the batter.
If’n you catches these skullduggers in the act you be sending over the boo birds to drop a big one on they heads. Les’n they plays for yer team. Then you be giving them the standing O.
…do-rag C. I be totally rocking it, right? They splendifcent Terri Cohlene be picking it out for me. Terri sez to me she sez “Arrrrrr! I be thinkin’ do-rag ‘C’ to match the colour o’ yer eyes.” Aye, Terri, I is had me one tough life. Or mayhaps two tough lives. They be giving me the red eye. Terri not only has her the sharp eye for pirate-type headgear, she be a wicked good poet, kids’ writer, and editor – and now she be doing tabletop games too. If’n that not enough, she be a all around good matey to boot. She gots her a website at www.terricohlene.com.
For all you swabbies out thar who not be picking me a do-rag, I feels yer pain. You be too dazzled by all they wonderfulness to choose you just one. That be Baba Yaga’s problem too. It be all good me mateys, it be all good.
And now I be leaping into me soup bowl and taking me do-rag for a test flight.
Happy spring, mateys. Wazzup with you? As for me, I gots hats on me brain. But I not be having a hat on me head. Once upon a time, I had me a regular witch-type hat that tied under me chin so’s it not be blowing away when I paddles me soup bowl. But the March winds they be something fierce. Me hat it flies orf and the knot it squeezes me throat shut. Yar, me hat it almost strangulates me. I wastes no time giving it away to me landlubber witch pal. Now I be on the lookout for a hat that completes me look without cutting orf me circulation.
Stap me vitals! They thought it just smacks me upside the head. I needs a gen-u-wine pirate do-rag like me love Black Jack Higgins and me nanny Fish Guts Malloy. I could conjure one up with me little wand. But it not be a official do-rag with they pirate stamp of approval. So I takes me down to a dusty old shop that be selling all things pirate. They gots them racks and racks of do-rags. Bonus! I picks me out the perfect do-rag so’s I has me a killer head shot for when me book it finds itself a publisher.
Not bonus! They be too many choices. The salesman he be giving me the big-time stink eye after the 23rd do-rag I tries on. I be giving him the bigger-time stink eye until I finds me the Final Four. And thar I be stuck. Here they be:
I leaves it all up to you, me hearties. Tell me which one be The One – and why. You gets you extra credit for talking like a pirate. I be pronouncing the winner on April 30. If’n that not be enough, I be visiting yer website or blog and giving you they Baba Yaga Seal of Approval. Go for it. You knows you wants it.
Ahoy, this be for all ye mateys out there who be telling me, “I soooo wanna be you, Baba Yaga. You can totally do whatever you want. You don’t have to take no guff from nobody.” Blimey, that be a shipload of bilge. I bets you seven pieces of eight you not be saying that if you knows about The Big Book of How Things are. So I be giving you the poop.
It not be like I wants to live in a house with chicken legs or paddle around in a poky smart-mouthed soup bowl or get older when some swabby he be asking me a question. But The Big Book says I gots to. When I be a witchling I goes, “Fie! I grabs that Big Book and makes it walk the plank.”
Me mom she sez to me she sez, “You can do that Baba Girl, but you’ll also throw away all the rules that keep things the way they are. Then anything can happen. Cockroaches could become witches. AND witches could become cockroaches.”
Stap me vitals, I not be wanting to be askeered of questions, but I not be wanting to be a cockroach even more. Arrr, so Baba Yaga be Baba Yaga, chicken legs, soup bowl, and all.
Mateys, I be loving our little chats, but for now I hoists me anchor and sails away. Next month I be blogging about me one big love. Aye aye, it be a thing. Wait for it.