THE GNOME AND MRS. MEYERS
Susan Klein
Smashwords Edition
In association with White Wolf Press, LLC
Copyright 2011 Susan Klein
CHAPTER ONE
Brenda Meyers smelled the Gnome from in her condo's den before she ever saw him. She was awakened from her makeshift bed on the sofa at 3:32 A.M. by a piney, woodsy cinnamon odor, like gift stores at Christmastime. Her first reaction upon seeing a little old man only about a foot and a half high, in a tall blue pointy hat, was that he was a hallucination, something induced by the Ambien, the "supposedly" gentle sleep aid.
"I'm not a hallucination!" the courtly being insisted in a surprisingly rich voice with a slight British accent. "I'm definitely a real gnome--as real as these cashews--may I partake?" Following Brenda's dazed nod, he selected a few from a bowl on a very low end table, put them in his mouth and murmured, "I just love cashews--I knew I'd like it here."
Hearing her hallucination talk, Brenda panicked. She bolted to the kitchen and grabbed the sponge mop, ready to defend herself against the tiny intruder. Then she dialed 911.
"Yes, Officer, this is Brenda Meyers, 6281 Ashland. There's an intruder in my home--about sixteen to eighteen inches high, with a tall blue hat--a very old, odd looking creature … Brenda dissolved into uhs and ums and then "Oh, don't bother … my mistake … sorry … just a doll … ha ha … my mistake ..."
Brenda hung up for fear of sounding like a nut case.
She went back in the den and saw that he was still there, channel surfing now with the remote. He was smiling, while dancing a soft shoe on his felt soles. Every few beats he stepped on the Channel button.
In the light of the TV, Brenda was able to get a better look at the Gnome. One word seemed to perfectly describe him: Dapper. True, he had a cone hat like images of garden gnomes, but this gnome was well-proportioned, his silver beard and mustache neatly trimmed.
Furthermore, he was well-tailored, distinguished-looking. He sported a navy blue flannel sport coat, gray slacks, a striped blue shirt and striped tie, and a gold-embroidered emblem over his breast pocket. Under his jacket peeked a tan vest, and on his feet were gray felt shoes so exquisite, they looked like elves had made them.
"Well, Phil, I've hit a new low," Brenda said out loud. "There's a gnome in our place, and you're not here to deal with it. I'm losing it now, Phil--I'm really losing it."
Then Brenda had an idea. She went to the kitchen pantry, refilled the nut bowl and placed it next to the couch. While the Gnome was busy with entertainment and refreshments, she logged on to the Internet and typed in Gnomes.
She scanned the material, relieved to fine a recurring theme: Gnomes are good-natured, peaceful beings. Searching revealed several types of gnomes: Dune Gnomes, Siberian Gnomes, Woodland Gnomes, and a match for hers, House Gnomes.
Allegedly, these last are intimately schooled in the knowledge of humankind and reputed to be enchanting storytellers, inspired engineers, and crafty illusionists. They are fluent in languages and steeped in the decorative arts. Members of the gnomes' ruling body are chosen from the ranks of House Gnomes.
One site looked as though it had been taken from a book on anthropology. She skimmed it while the Gnome was doing pushups and watching an infomercial on Bowflex.
Brenda thought that for folklore, the material was surprisingly detailed. It noted names for the tiny being in locations as far flung as Europe, Scandinavia, and Asia. It also went into depth about trolls, the gnome's ancient enemies. It even included a glossary. Brenda bookmarked the site.
Maybe there's a logical basis for it … or maybe, just maybe … I'm dreaming!
"WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP, BRENDA!” she shouted. The Gnome looked startled and confused. He had switched from exercise to fishing out cashews from the bowl of mixed nuts.
Brenda knew that her own dreams were never this rich; she certainly smelled cinnamon and pine. She felt the sponge mop like a javelin at her side, and of course, she beheld the gnome.
Armed with an abundance of information, Brenda took out a pen and yellow pad. As a part-time paralegal, she was prepared to interrogate the little emissary. For starters, she wanted to know what was on the card he was waving at her and what was in the briefcase he set before her feet.
***
"Excuse me, Mr. Gnome, I'd like to ask you some questions."
The Gnome tapped the Power button on the remote with his toe and bowed again to Brenda.
"But of course, Mrs. Meyers. So sorry I startled you. My presence must be upsetting, to say the least. But first, I have exciting news for you." He handed her an engraved card.
CONGRATULATIONS BRENDA MEYERS!
GRAND PRIZE WINNER OF THE EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED SWEEPSTAKES CONTEST
"I'm a winner! I don't believe it! Oh my God. Oh my God! How much did I win? I can't believe my luck. Wait a minute … Oh my God! This is too weird."
Brenda had been entering three or four online sweepstakes contests a week because she was in desperate financial straits and it seemed just a harmless whim. Her savings had been wiped out after her husband's long illness, and his insurance money barely covered the funeral. Threats of foreclosure on her condo arrived daily in the mail.
Brenda looked at the notification: Expect the Unexpected. "I get it--this is a joke, right? There's a hidden TV camera?" Brenda straightened her hair, smiled, and looked around the den.
"No! You really are a winner," the Gnome insisted. "And there really is a great reward, a king's ransom of a reward. I have the treasure here."
The Gnome went into his briefcase and Brenda observed how stunning it was. It stood half the Gnome's size, a miniature, mint-condition vintage case of hand-tooled leather and quality metal closings. The Gnome took out a black velvet bag and emptied its contents on the coffee table. Seven dazzling jewels: a ruby, sapphire, opal, aquamarine, emerald, amethyst, and a diamond sent a rainbow of lights dancing on the ceiling. The colored stones were bigger than peanut M&M's and brighter than fireworks. But it was the diamond--at least several carats--that stood out in glory: a square-shaped, sparkling supernova with a shimmer of pink inside.
"May I touch them?" Brenda motioned.
"Yes, of course," said the Gnome.
Brenda fondled each stone. The blue-gray aquamarine reminded her of Lake Michigan in March, and the sapphire, her birthstone, brought to mind her mother's midnight blue bottle of Evening in Paris perfume. The opal had sparks of fire in it, as did the ruby and emerald and amethyst.
The only time Brenda ever saw such beautiful jewels was at the Museum of Natural History's Cartier exhibit. If I sell these, thought Brenda, I could pay off the mortgage and put some money in the bank.
"Are these really mine, all mine?" Brenda asked the Gnome.
"Yes … but with a slight contingency," he added, lowering his head. "Uhh, it relates to the Unexpected Part."
"Sure!" Brenda said sarcastically. "So, what's the catch?"
"I have some documents that will explain the terms of the reward." The Gnome handed Brenda a blue hardcover notebook, emblazoned with a gold Gnome Nation embossed seal, the same type of insignia on the Gnome's breast pocket. Matters regarding Gnomes are of the very best quality, Brenda noted. A lengthy contract in five folded sections tumbled open.
"You see," the Gnome began, "you've been chosen for my three-month-long Homestay Program at the culmination of my Wandering Time. At the completion of the program, I'll be marrying for the first and--hopefully--only time and settling down with my intended bride.
"Excuse me, Mr. Gnome, but how old are you?"
"One hundred and fifty-seven."
"Wait a minute!
Hold on--isn't that extremely old to be getting married?
"Not
for Gnomes. We're very long-lived--around four hundred years is a
typical lifetime for us. I can expect to be married for the next two
hundred and fifty years to my Zophia, Zophia Almondale."
At the mention of her name, the Gnome grinned and blushed.
"And how old is Zophia?"
"A little younger than I--one hundred and twenty-five."
Brenda paused. "A Homestay Program? I don't want to offend you, Mr. Gnome, but are you an alien from another planet or galaxy?"
"Heavens no! I'm a House Gnome and proud member of the Gnome Nation. More accurately, I'm an expatriate. My ancestors once thrived here in your dimension but emigrated to another universe, an intimately close, permeable one. Your prophets and psychics occasionally access our domain."
"Did you get here in a rocket ship or flying saucer?"
A laugh shook the Gnome. "Please excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but how quaint--the idea of all that hardware. Let it be said that we have methods of travel that are more advanced than anything presently conceived in your dimension. "
"I have to know why you're here. You could be part of a terrorist plot, you know."
"Do I look like a conspirator?" he replied. His conical hat spun around twice, drooped, and faced backwards. "I'm here to gather material for stories."
"I can't believe just that."
"Plants require light from the sun. Gnomes require stories. Our supply has dwindled, and we haven't had any new material since the fifteenth century. Another reason is homesickness. After several hundred years, we still yearn for your universe.”
"Is your Nation planning an invasion?"
"Hardly. It'll take decades to process the information from this program. I wouldn't worry about insidious plots or invasions … except for maybe a couple of fairies and a wayward elf." The Gnome laughed.
Brenda was not amused.
"Please read aloud from the contract," the Gnome continued. "There are great rewards for you, besides the jewels."
Brenda read.
Congratulations Mrs. Meyers!
You have been selected to be our first Homestay Host in the United States.
We, at the Regional Council of the Gnome Nation, are proud to send you a guest of sterling character, intellect, and talent.
Host Compensation I
At the completion of the three-month program, you will receive seven jewels: an opal, a sapphire, a ruby, an aquamarine, an emerald, an amethyst and a five-carat flawless diamond.
Your Guest has funds (U.S. currency) to provide weekly payment for his lodging.
Brenda was stunned by the generous amount.
Host Compensation II
Your Homestay Guest is a being of many skills. He will be delighted to become your mentor and assist you in any area.
"I don't need a mentor! "Why would anyone assume I need a mentor?"
"That's optional. Read on, Mrs. Meyers."
Host Compensation III
As part of this Pilot Program and Cultural Exchange, your Homestay Guest has been authorized to share some of the secrets of Gnome longevity and vitality.
"Well, if it's true about your age, that might be helpful."
Host Responsibilities
The Homestay Host agrees to provide the following.
1. Protection and privacy.
2. A safe and comfortable environment.
3. Enriching activities and outings.
4. Shared breakfast and dinner.
A tiny signature adorned the bottom half of the contract.
Brenda looked up. "Provide protection and privacy for you? They have to be kidding. I sure couldn't guarantee that."
Brenda looked over an enclosed copy of the Gnome's application. It contained two black-and-white pencil drawings of him, one full face and another full length. Under Diet, it noted vegetarian. For hobbies and interests it listed journaling, singing and dancing, American History, languages, woodworking, home repairs, design, flower arranging, and decorative centerpieces called tablescapes.
The application did note that he was a pipe smoker; however, special arrangements could be made if that was offensive to the Host. Under Family, it listed his twin brother Ramone, who was a devotee of Latin American culture.
It was all too much for Brenda--on the one hand, she was thrilled to win the contest, but on the other, the grand prize came with a small catch--a very, very small catch. "I'll have to get a few stones authenticated before I even consider this program." The Gnome agreed.
Brenda glanced at her clock: 4:48 A.M. Despite all the excitement, she felt drowsy. The Gnome urged her to get more sleep. She tried resisting his “suggestion,” but she didn't have the will. When the tiny being gazed at her, she felt safe--surprisingly safe, and calm and relaxed.
Brenda provided a temporary space for him in the corner of the living room next to some shelves. Although the Gnome said not to bother, she found a couple of pillowcases that would do as sheets, and one of her velvet scarves for a coverlet.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Meyers. And thank you for the wonderful nuts. I was especially hungry after my trip. I hope I wasn't rude. Have a good nap. I'll see you later."
Brenda curled up on the den sofa, pulled over the cover, and pondered. Could I, should I, believe in such a thing as a “gnome?” Are the stones real or fake? Was this all a scam? Or, could this be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to pay off the bills, keep Kevin in college, and avoid having to move back home to Blufton and live with Mom? Couldn't I manage a mature, adult guest for three months? After all, I hosted Miguel, from Spain for a month when Kevin was twelve …
Brenda took a deep breath. "I'll get down to handling things tomorrow, Saturday.”
Before she fell asleep, Brenda realized she hadn't been that fine a host: she hadn't even asked his name. The next day she would. If the Gnome was still there.
Chapter 1 Illustrations
[Link: http://www.gnomehomestay.com/p/gallery.html ]
Caption: The Gnome took out a black velvet bag and emptied its contents on the coffee table. Seven dazzling jewels: a ruby, sapphire, opal, aquamarine, emerald, amethyst, and a diamond sent a rainbow of lights dancing on the ceiling. The colored stones were bigger than peanut M&M's and brighter than fireworks. But it was the diamond--at least several carats--that stood out in glory: a square-shaped, sparkling supernova with a shimmer of pink inside.
CHAPTER TWO
Brenda awoke at 9:15 A.M. and immediately recalled her nighttime visitor. Dressed in her T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, she tiptoed from the den to the living room, inching her way around the door frame. There, in the middle of a sunbeam doing yoga, was the Gnome, wearing a striped shirt and khakis.
He lowered his arms to his sides. "Good morning, Mrs. Meyers. Did you sleep well?"
"Uh … v-very well, th-ank you, Mr. Gnome," stammered Brenda. "Don't let me interrupt your exercises … I'm going to put on some coffee and get breakfast."
This couldn't be more absurd, she thought. How could I suddenly acquire a miniature boarder bearing a treasure trove of gifts? Why me? Why did this happen to me?
Brenda remembered asking in her anguish, Why Phil? when Phil's disease ravaged him and his suffering consumed them both.
Coffee. I need coffee, she said.
Brenda preferred her coffee strong. Oh, my goodness, I can't give a gnome coffee; he's no more than a foot and a half high. He probably can't handle decaf, either. I'll have to warn him, and it's going to be a problem because he'll especially enjoy the aroma of Hazelnut Crème. Here's a potential disaster and the day hasn't yet begun.
Usually on a Saturday, Brenda would sleep late and laze around, basking in time away from the law office and her disagreeable boss. But today, she had a mission. Were those jewels real? She couldn't wait to find out.
And which jewels should she select? The emerald? the ruby? the diamond? No, she decided against the diamond. She could get around to the diamond later. First, she had to check out the stones, then she might be in a position to trust the Gnome and his story.
Already Brenda began making To Do lists with the word Gnome in the heading. She started wondering, too, how she would conceal him on outings or communicate with him without being conspicuous.
She looked in the mirror. She may have been young for a widow, but she felt old for herself. She longed to shed ten to fifteen pounds, (actually twenty to twenty-five pounds), but slices of semi-frozen Sara Lee cheesecake and cheese fries brought more comfort on a regular basis than salads.
Despite the wear and tear, Brenda was still a lovely looking woman with gentle features and a beautiful smile. She knew she'd better wear something nice to the jeweler. She couldn't slump around--that meant no sweats--even if it was a Saturday. All she had ever worn to the hospital to care for Phil were sweat suits because they were comfortable and easy to sleep in overnight. Brenda opted for work clothes: black slacks and her chenille sweater.
***
Breakfast turned into quite an adventure.
Brenda provided a makeshift table for the Gnome by piling a few books atop the kitchen table and covering them with a white cloth napkin. She placed a miniature chair (one of her knick-knacks) next to the Gnome's table. Then she pulled up a step chair for the Gnome, who nimbly climbed all the way to his table setting. He brought his own Spode china bowl and stemware; Brenda filled the former with nuts and golden raisins and the latter with fresh-squeezed orange juice. She prepared her regular breakfast, a bowl of Cheerios with a sliced banana and coffee.
As Brenda predicted, the Gnome was captivated by the aroma of the Hazelnut coffee. "What is that divine, nutty fragrance?" he begged to know.
"That's coffee," she told him, "but it contains caffeine, which might not be good for Gnomes."
"I don't think a taste would hurt. I'm aware of coffee--I just haven't had the pleasure to drink it. By the way, I've drunk mead in misty forests," he bragged.
Brenda put a few drops on a plate. Within seconds, the Gnome's blue-gray eyes sparkled. Next, he turned his attention to the Cheerios; they, too, fascinated. So much so, that Brenda poured some onto the plate. He arranged the "round food things," as he called them, into a circle, then a spiral, then he stacked them into towers. Occasionally, he ate one.
"These are marvelous," he admitted. "Tasty, crunchy and so easy to manipulate."
"There's a whole new world of carbohydrates and processed foods out there for you," Brenda eagerly informed him.
After initial hesitation, Brenda got around to asking the Gnome his name. He told her that he had a given name, which was unpronounceable, and a Road Name for his Wandering Time: when he supplied it, Brenda's confusion lasted a good half hour.
"I've been calling you Mr. Gnome. May I ask your name?"
"Of course." With a twinkle he replied, "Nigel, just Nigel."
"Just Nigel? Don't you have a last name?"
"Yes, just Nigel."
"Maybe you don't understand that a last name, or surname, is different from a first name?"
"I understand. I have a surname. It's just Nigel."
"Is your name Nigel Nigel?"
"No." The Gnome was smiling, turning red and shaking his small frame gleefully, so Brenda knew that something was up.
Maybe, this is some kind of riddle, she thought. "Okay, okay. Some people don't use their last names--legends such as Madonna, Cher and Oprah--but I don't think you're a legend. Are you just Nigel?"
"Yes and no." By this time, the Gnome was slapping his knee and laughing so hard, he was coughing. "But I do have a full name. I'll write it out for you."
Brenda supplied paper and pen. The pen was a quarter his size, but the strong Gnome wielded it like a sword. In large print, he wrote:
Nigel Just-Nigel
Then he stood back.
"I will call you Mr. Gnome--if that's OK?"
The Gnome nodded as he wiped his tears with a napkin as big as a sheet.
Gnomes can be silly for beings of such advanced years, she thought.
“Tell me about yourself, kind Host," asked the Gnome.
"Remember," said Brenda, a little huffy, "I still haven't signed the contract. I'm not officially your Host."
She soon relented, though, and took him on a tour of her tidy, modest two-bedroom condo, on the fourth floor of a seven-story building about a mile from the lakefront on the north side of Chicago. Earth-toned upholstery covered traditional-style sofa and chairs in the living room; dried flower arrangements languished in vases. Framed photos of family and friends were sprinkled on every hard surface: coffee table, end tables, countertops. Duct tape held together a broken refrigerator door. A sofa and recliner chair faced each other in the den, which had been converted from a second bedroom. (The den sofa was Brenda's primary domain. Upon it, she ate, slept, paid bills, and read from a variety of mystery novels; occasionally, she got up to surf the Web.)
Brenda shared her family album with the Gnome. She showed pictures of Phil who had passed away ten months ago. She described her son Kevin, a student away at the University of Illinois. She talked about her older siblings, Mike and Janet, and related that Janet died three years ago of breast cancer.
"You've had a lot of losses," the Gnome said kindly. "You must miss them."
"Yes, very much. But I have these photos and mementos. And, of course, there's e-mail and the phone for keeping in touch with my son and Mom. I'm looking forward to seeing Kevin this coming Thanksgiving. They do worry about me being alone, though. Won't you miss your fiancée, Zophia, and your brother?"
"Yes, of course, but I've made arrangements with my close family and friends. Every Sunday, I'll contact them with my thoughts and tell them what I've been doing."
"Through telepathy?"
"Yes, but we don't call it that. We call it Thought Talking. It's convenient."
Brenda made a plan with the Gnome to visit the jewelry store a few blocks away and get some of the stones appraised. He agreed to let her select a few. When Brenda asked how he could be so trusting, he said that Gnomes can look into the hearts of others and discern their character. He knew she was a good-hearted person.
Together they thought of a plan to get around town. Brenda had a black
microfiber backpack with netting that would serve as an excellent carryall as well as view provider. She also had Phil's wireless cell phone with earpiece. She could have conversations with the Gnome in public and appear like every other cell phone user--that is, like a crazy person gibbering to herself.
Brenda had deep concerns about the Gnome being discovered; she could well imagine the ensuing media frenzy. The Gnome assured her that he had many tricks up his short sleeve: he could freeze himself in position for a substantial length of time, for instance. Anyone who happened to glance at him in freeze mode would take him for a doll or figurine.
To be on the safe side, Brenda thought the addition of a price tag looped around his waist would reinforce a ruse. They had a good time coming up with a suitable amount, and settled on $24.95. Brenda used her computer to print out a sales tag, then she attached it to a plastic band. The Gnome slipped the tag over his head and let it hang at his side.
"Why does your hat seem to glow, Mr. Gnome?"
"My pantoof? Occasionally it has a mind of its own."
"Are you really real, Mr. Gnome?"
"I'm definitely a real Gnome, as real as a sunbeam, a drop of coffee, or a round food thing named Cheerio."
Although Brenda fretted over the risks of taking the Gnome on an outing, neither was she comfortable leaving him at home. The maintenance staff might pop in any time to repair the leak under her sink. Besides, the Gnome beseeched her to take him along--he was wild about the prospect of sightseeing. He did a little Gnome dance while he sang in his best Sinatra, "My kind of town, Chicago is … " and he put on a blue and copper colored muffler, his "Goin' Travelin' Scarf," hand-knit by Zophia." He clutched his travel journal.
"Let's go to the jeweler," Brenda announced.
"Onward to the jeweler!" the Gnome proclaimed.
She laid the backpack on the carpet, and the Gnome went inside a hidden compartment and poked out his nose through the netting. Brenda transferred her purse and a drawstring bag containing the emerald, sapphire, aquamarine, and ruby into a separate compartment. Then she shouldered the carryall and tightened the strap.
For the Gnome, everything was new and exciting, including the elevator, the lobby, the parking lot, the car, and the promenade to the jeweler's. Brenda had to shush him more than once--passersby would stare because he would occasionally break into "My Kind Of Town."
Brenda went to Emerson's, the neighborhood jewelry store. She was acquainted with Mr. Emerson, a chatty older gentleman, because she had brought in her family's watches for repair and once had helped Mike, her girlfriend's fiancé, select an engagement ring. It was a good thing Emerson waited on her quickly; Brenda was so nervous, she felt lightheaded and could barely get out her well-rehearsed speech--"I've acquired some jewels I'd like to have appraised."
She set the pack on the floor and reached into the compartment and retrieved the drawstring bag. Then Brenda spread the stones onto the jeweler's black velvet mat.
Emerson picked up the ruby. This is unbelievable--you have here the rarest of the rare rubies--a pigeon blood-red ruby from Kashmir. A ruby of this quality is highly prized by collectors, even museums. "This stone is valuable, very valuable," he whispered.
"How valuable?" Brenda inquired.
"The Price of a Luxury Car Valuable," Emerson replied. Then he examined the sapphire, the aquamarine, and the emerald. He gazed intently, captured by their light. He exhaled audibly. "Never in my life," he muttered.
He picked up the emerald and examined it through his loupe. He looked over to Brenda. He peered at the emerald again. Finally, he spoke in slow, measured tones.
"Not only is this emerald genuine, it's one of the finest stones of its kind I've ever seen. It is a rare type known as a Trapiche Emerald, found in mines in Colombia. Look inside and you'll see a star pattern. See how transparent it is, how clear and vibrant the color. Do you see that elusive blue in the stone? This type of emerald also commands a staggering high price."
"How high?" Brenda inquired.
"Retirement Fund High. You have incredibly fine stones here, Mrs. Meyers. I would have to charge you to appraise them, but based on my professional experience, I can tell you that your stones are genuine and of extraordinary quality. I hope you have a vault or a safety deposit box that you can keep them in. Security is essential. I know because I recently had to install a state-of-the-art, high-tech security system in my store--video surveillance, infrared cameras, motion detectors. In a neighborhood business, you can't take any chances."
She thanked Mr. Emerson and assured him that she would safeguard the stones. Brenda was burning up all over and it wasn't a hot flash; the news had exceeded her wildest hope. All she wanted was to leave the store as inconspicuously as possible. Quickly, she put the jewels in their bag and tucked it carefully into a compartment of the backpack. She slipped it on and fled the store. She could hardly contain her elation.
"What a windfall this is! It's like winning a lottery, no, a sweepstakes!" She laughed. "How did Emerson describe the jewels--exceptional quality, finest he'd ever seen? He didn't even see the diamond. Oh my God, this is too much at once!"
Brenda floated past the neighborhood stores: the post office, the Smoothie store, the boutique. "Now, I can actually buy something at that boutique," she said to herself while she lingered at the store window, admiring the latest fashions. "It's been so long since I could splurge on something without feeling terrible about it. I have regained my right to browse!" And browse she did.
Everything seemed bigger, brighter and wondrous--even the cleaners. "Hi, Mr. Kim!" Brenda sang to the owner as she entered.
"Pick up?" Mr. Kim asked.
"Yes." Brenda nodded.
She watched as plastic-covered shirts, slacks, and dresses paraded by on the automated circular rack. It's like watching a merry-go-round of neighborhood apparel, she mused. Brenda put her backpack on the counter to take out her wallet. When she peered inside, it hit her--oh nooooooooooooooo! I forgot about Mr. Gnome!
Brenda searched. Except for the jewels still tucked in their compartment and the Gnome's tiny travel journal, the backpack was empty. Empty, as in sickening-fear-in-the-pit-of-the-stomach empty. The Gnome was gone.
"Something the matter?" Mr. Kim asked. Brenda pulled herself together. "Oh … I think I misplaced my keys … I'll come back later for my cleaning. Sorry … I have to go!"
Brenda stood outside the store mired in disbelief. She was supposed to protect the Gnome. According to the contract, that was her number-one responsibility. What could have happened to him? Would she ever see him again?
Get a grip, Brenda. You know you had him in the jewelry store because when you went to take out the jewels, you saw him on the bottom waving. After that, everything's a blur. Retrace your steps. Where could he be?
Brenda scanned the surroundings, especially the curbs and storefronts. She went past the Smoothie store to the boutique. She had to go back and browse once again, while looking for the tiny being. Once back outside, she called his name, first quietly, then loudly, with a whistle. "Mr. Gnome! Mr. Gnome! HERE, MR. GNOME!"
Several passersby converged on her. "What does your dog look like?" asked one. "Can I help you look for him?" asked another.
"No, thanks. This is the first time he's gotten loose. Just trying to locate him. No problem."
Brenda stopped calling for the Gnome when she arrived back at Emerson's. Before re-entering the store, she paused, took a deep breath and sighed, “This is my last chance. If he's not here, he's gone for good.”
Chapter 2 Illustrations
[Link: http://www.gnomehomestay.com/p/gallery.html ]
Caption: There, in the middle of a sunbeam doing yoga was the Gnome, wearing a striped shirt and khakis.
CHAPTER THREE
Her heart pounding in her ears, Brenda peered through the jewelry store's window, carefully scanning the cabinets. Everything seemed pristine. Then a bit of bright blue in the window display caught her eye. There he was, the Gnome in freeze mode, covered in costume jewelry, glitter, and leaves. A gold bracelet hung around his neck, a rhinestone pin adorned his jacket, earrings festooned his pantoof. With wide-open eyes, the Gnome fixed Brenda with a get-me-out-of-here look of panic. She assessed the situation. As much as she wanted to sneak in the store and stuff him into her backpack, she knew the entire place was under video surveillance; she'd have to buy him back.
Brenda sauntered over to Emerson, who was near the front of the store. "Oh, I just love that gnome figurine over there in the display window. I'd love to buy it for my niece."
"Hmmmm," said Emerson, screwing up his face as he peered at the Gnome. "I don't remember seeing this thing before. One of my staff must have brought it in for decoration. I … guess you can purchase it," he said reluctantly. "Do you want the bracelet, pin, and earrings too?" he kidded.
"No, that's all right--just the gnome."
Emerson picked up the item and examined it. He turned the Gnome upside down and poked his chest. Finally, he removed the jewelry from the Gnome's outstretched arms. "He sure is a neat little guy--but too skinny for one of Santa's elves. His outfit is terrific though--I wonder who his tailor is?"
Then, to Brenda's horror, Emerson grabbed the rigid Gnome by his legs, lowered his arms, and smacked him like a club against the side of the counter. Display leaves and glitter flew about.
"That should clean him up right quick!" Emerson declared.
Brenda drew back. When she looked at the Gnome, his eyes were crossed and his mouth was slack.
"Would you like me to gift-wrap him?"
"No! No, that's okay. I'll just pay cash and put him in my knapsack."
"Are you sure?" Emerson pressed on. "Maybe your niece would like to open something gift-wrapped. At least I can put some tissue paper around to protect it and a lot of bubble wrap too." Emerson couldn't do enough for this jewel-laden customer.
"Don't bother!" Brenda said frantically. "I can take care of it."
He examined the price tag with a scanner. "Funny … I can't scan this tag."
As he bent down to check the tag again, he bolted upright, moaned, and pressed both hands on his forehead. "Bernice, get me some ice!"
Brenda cut in. "Sorry, I have to run--thanks so much. You take care, okay? I'll leave $30.00 here. Keep the change. I really appreciate you letting me have this."
Brenda stuffed the Gnome into her backpack and rushed out of the store. She hastened to her car to check out his condition. Alone in the front seat, she opened her backpack and a battered, sweaty Gnome crept out, tissue paper hanging from his clothes.
"What were you thinking, Mr. Gnome? I was worried sick. How are you feeling?"
"Bruised, but I'll be fine. All I need is my salve." He reached under his hat and pulled out a jar. Then he put his hand into it and rubbed the cream along the side of his face and neck. "Here, that's better already. I had to let Emerson have a one-two punch, pow! pow!" said the Gnome while punching the air with tiny fists. "My first adventure … I can't wait to write it up."
"I thought gnomes were peaceful?" said Brenda.
"So did I," admitted the Gnome. "Don't worry. Mr. Emerson wasn't badly hurt. I needed a distraction and Emerson's forehead provided it."
"Why did you leave the backpack in the first place?"
"Because I was getting fried in there! All sorts of hot darts were shooting at me in the backpack. I assume they were the infrared rays of which Mr. Emerson spoke. I had to get out. Then I had to avoid getting bombarded from low-level motion beams. I'm so-o-o-o sorry, Mrs. Meyers, believe me, I've never had to run so fast in my life. My head hurts, and I need fluids badly."
Brenda remembered the Smoothie store. The Gnome was terrified to enter another establishment, but Brenda assured him that only select, high-end stores had advanced security systems; he would be safe there. And Brenda would get a chance to savor the preciousness of her jewels.
Brenda found a table in back and placed her pack on the seat next to her. She picked up her order, a Tropical Smoothie with coconut, raspberry, and pineapple. She poured some for the Gnome into a little cup and slipped it into the backpack. The two recounted their escapade at the jeweler's and laughed about their sales tag ruse; they didn't plan on it being deployed so soon. "If you had to put another price tag on me now, it would be greatly reduced," said the Gnome, reapplying salve to the side of his head.
The Smoothie, meanwhile, utterly captivated the Gnome. "Refreshing, delicious!" he exclaimed. "I want to sing a song I just made up about the Smoothie … "
As he was about to burst into verse, Brenda stopped him. People would become suspicious, she avowed, if they heard strange songs coming out of her pack.
Then the Gnome had a brilliant idea. He asked if he could retrieve a few items from Brenda's purse to construct a device that would change the frequency of his voice to one that only Brenda could hear. The device would alter his timber and tone, but she would be able to understand him.
The Gnome removed the top of her lipstick (in which he had poked a hole with the point of a pen), took some paper from the paper cup, wire from a tiny spiral notebook, a Rolaids, a paper clip, and other odds and ends. In a blur, he fashioned a small device that he attached to his collar.
"You won't have any problems now, Mrs. Meyers. Only you will be able to hear me when I talk into this instrument."
"Amazing!" said Brenda, "whatever it is you just did."
After the Gnome's disappearance, Brenda was wary about taking on the Homestay Program, but she decided to wait until the following night to make a final determination. In the meantime, she wanted to give the Gnome at least one unforgettable memory of the city. After stopping at home to restore the jewels to their original locked briefcase, she set off to the 94th floor Observatory of the John Hancock Center, one of the tallest skyscrapers in the United States.
Once they arrived at the lobby, Brenda ran into some obstacles. First, she had to get through metal detectors; fortunately, the Gnome was metal-free. Next, she worried about the Gnome's ability to withstand a thirty-nine-second elevator ride to the 94th floor; but his squeals of delight dispelled any lingering fear.
Brenda placed the backpack before her on the window ledge at the observatory. The Gnome had devised a way to attach and detach the netting, so he was able to peer out from the case with a clear view.
The Gnome saw Lake Michigan stretching all the way to Indiana, streams of cars along the thoroughfares, the lit-up, twirling Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier, boats in Burnham Harbor, and the rooftops of skyscrapers with their swimming pools and gardens. Making use of posted information as a guide and her background as a native Chicagoan, Brenda pointed out landmarks north, south, and west, and the view that spanned up to eighty miles and four states. The Gnome also saw video tours of favorite attractions such as the Art Institute of Chicago, the Lincoln Park Zoo, and the Bulls locker room at the United Center.
The Gnome was unusually quiet throughout the tour. If he's so delighted over a sunbeam, thought Brenda, I can't imagine his rapture over this sky top view of the city. Then she heard singing--
I'm sitting on Top of the World,
Just rolling along, just rolling along.
I'm quitting the blues of the world, just singing a song,
just singing a song … "
--and instantly recognized the voice of the Gnome even though he managed to alter its frequency. But he couldn't conceal his overwhelming feelings; nor did he try. He wept uncontrollably.
***
That night, the Gnome was introduced to his first take-out food from Angelo's, a popular Italian-style restaurant. Brenda spread the food out on the coffee table in the den. The meal included linguini with white clam sauce, a chopped salad, and three lemon cookies. The portions were so big at Angelo's, Brenda could stretch three meals out of a delicious half order--a really great savings for her.
The Gnome loved the chopped salad. He was not used to mixed greens with a vinaigrette and crumbled blue cheese. Brenda remembered to omit the bacon bits in deference to his vegetarian diet.
"Zophia sends her regards to you, Mrs. Meyers, and my brother and my parents do too. I told them about my astounding visit to the Observatory when I 'talked' to them today."
"How wonderful," said Brenda. Then with a start, she blurted, "Parents! How old are they?"
"Well over three hundred years, going strong."
Brenda found it frustrating that she couldn't share the news about her new guest with her mother and Kevin; but it was out of the question. Just the thought of the frenzy over the Gnome's exposure sent shivers through her.
On Sunday night, Brenda busied herself with chores in preparation for a work week at a job she disliked. It wasn't the actual work she hated; she actually liked the tasks--putting things in order, helping clients, looking up information--she just didn't like her disagreeable boss with his superior attitude, nasty e-mails and temperamental outbursts. If Mean Eugene misplaced a legal file, he took it out on Brenda. If he missed a court date, he blamed it on Brenda. If he had a bad toupee day, he let it out on Brenda. She stayed at the job in the past because she and Phil had depended on her income. She stayed at it presently because she was was broke and too worn out to consider other options.
Over the years, Phil's income had dropped off. He had been a sales manager at a Men's Clothing store but Casual Fridays marked the beginning of the end for men's suits and ties. Suits became the endangered species of the menswear business, and Phil refused to accept that reality. He knew the world of worsteds and gabardines and flannels and which tie and shirt went with Glen Plaids and when trousers should have cuffs and when they shouldn't. When men's suit sales declined, so did Phil.
The Gnome saw her dusting the furniture and asked if he could help. He was a blur as he flew around the living room and den with a folded up paper towel. He climbed up furniture and leaped from chair to table. He watered the large palm plant and cooed and whistled to it as if it were a bird. Brenda could swear she saw the plant's leaves flutter.
Next, Brenda cleaned out a closet and discarded some of Phil's copies of Sports Illustrated and her back issues of House and Garden. The Gnome surmised that Brenda was avoiding discussing the Homestay Program and contract. "I think we need to make some plans, Mrs. Meyers, and discuss some things," he suggested. "Why not sit down and take it easy for a little while?"
Brenda complied and went to the den with the Gnome. She took her customary place on the sofa, and he climbed up the recliner and sat.
"Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?"
It was a relatively small pipe with a curved handle, so Brenda thought the hazard of secondhand smoke was negligible. Once he lit up, she was surprised that she enjoyed the woodsy aroma.
"First of all, Mrs. Meyers, thank you for a spectacular day. I'll never forget it, that's for sure. I've written at length about it in my travel journal." The Gnome raised the leather-bound notebook proudly. "And thank you for that delicious take-out. To me, it was magic food: it appeared out of nowhere, without any visible preparation. Now tell me … what's on your mind?"
Brenda felt inclined to trust the Gnome. When he listened, he fixed his attention so intently, she felt enveloped in an energy as still as a snowfall and as vast as a starry night.
"I don't know if I can keep you safe for three months, Mr. Gnome. Your disappearance unnerved me. There are countless dangers here. And for the life of me, I can't understand why you and your Gnome Nation have deemed me worthy. I'm not anyone special."
"As for why Mrs. Meyers? why not Mrs. Meyers? It seems more than one universe deems you worthy of an adventure."
"I don't want adventure. I want cozy, safe, and predictable. The world's too dangerous as it is"
"That's true. Regarding dangers, however, I'm prepared to face them. I can't be of service only through book learning about your culture in musty libraries. I need real experiences and first-hand impressions. I need an opportunity to gather colors, sounds, textures, and tastes, and describe your moonlight, sunrises, and sunsets for a gnome generation who could never imagine such wonders." He flipped open his journal. "See, already, I have numerous impressions, settings, and vignettes."
"I respect your mission, but I'm sorry … I just can't do it. I can't promise to keep you safe. It's ridiculous. It's too risky and crazy."
"Say no more. I respect your concerns. Allow me to have the rest of the evening to pack my belongings and take one final look at the moon and stars; then I'll be gone."
Brenda went into the den and played one on-line Scrabble game after another. Forty-five minutes later, her cell phone rang. It was her brother Mike.
"Hey, Bren. How's everything? I'm here at Mom's just helping her clear out things from that room off the kitchen. She's really excited about having you come stay with her."
"I never said I would stay with her! Where did you get that idea?"
"I'm just looking out for you. This way, you'll be able to cut down on expenses. I'd hate to see Kevin have to drop out of college. Mom's place isn't so bad ...”
Mother's living at an assisted living facility with senior citizens. "I'm only forty-six! Besides, I love it here in Chicago."
"Then what will you do for money? You only have a few months until you'll have to consider it. Geez, Bren, I hope you've been working on a financial strategy or a plan to keep afloat; I wouldn't--"
"Oh, sure. Of course I've been making plans.
Brenda lied. Her only plan--actually, a nightly ritual--had been to curl up under an old blanket on the den sofa, enter Sweepstakes contests, and doze off during a rerun of Frasier. When she closed her eyes, she pretended Phil sat beside her, and she was tucking her toes under his warm thighs, just like before. It may have been a rut, but it was a very cozy, fulfilling rut.
"Thanks, but no, no, no. I just can't give up.”
And then Brenda sprung back to life.
“Actually, I have a lucrative sideline. Everything's going to work out fine. What's more, I'll be able to pay you back too. "
“Like what? What is it?”
“Got to go ...”
“Don't hang up … "
“Got to go. I'll be in touch.”
Brenda shuddered. "Where's Mr. Gnome? Why did I ever tell him to leave? Mr. Gnome, are you still here? Mr. Gnome!"
A tiny blur zoomed by and appeared before her.
Thank goodness, he's still here, Brenda thought.
"If you're still interested in staying here for your Program, I'd like to formally welcome you.”
"Hip, hip, hurrah! I have to do a dance of joy. It's a gnome custom." Instantly, he performed a marvelous jig, landing on bended knee with arms outstretched.
"Can we attach a rider to the contract?" Brenda asked.
"Of course."
"As a house guest, I expect you to comply with my house rules, to stay put at home, and to stay out of trouble in general. Also, you're free to watch TV, listen to the radio, use the Internet, but not the stove and oven. I guess the microwave's okay.
"And tell your director that I'll do my best to protect you, but I can't guarantee it." Then Brenda kidded. "Maybe he could get you a Gnome Homestay Insurance Policy."
She bent way down and faced the Gnome eyeball to eyeball. "I need to count on the money I can get from the jewels. We have to make it to the end of the program, and you--you'll have to do your part to stay safe."
"You have my Gnome Word of Honor."
Without wasting another minute, Brenda signed the contract.
Entry #1
I've decided to keep a journal and this is my first entry. I got the idea from Mr. G. who seems to write in his travel journal every spare moment. Like him, I may want to look back on all this one day.
How to begin? "Dear Diary?"(I'm no kid). "Dear Journal?"(Just no.) I think I'll just number the entries. It's only for me, anyway.
I know it's weird to take on such an unusual boarder, excuse me, "homestay guest," but it's the first break I've had in a long time. (Note: I better call a few friends, including Lanie and Jean, and let them know I'll be tied up for the next few months.)
This situation isn't perfect, but it's the best thing for the time being. I need some chance to pay the bills and save the condo. Financially, things have gone from worse to terrible. Being in debt makes me feel like an absolute failure in life although I know I made the right decision not letting on to Phil--he was too sick as it was. Unless somebody's gone through it, no can understand the double-barreled disaster of getting sick and then losing what money you have to pay for care and medicine. I could have bought a new car for what we spent on medicine. Insurance, or lack of it, is a joke, a cruel joke.
Phil, I'm sorry I got rid of your collection of Sports Illustrated. I know what they meant to you. I threw out my back copies of House and Garden too--just to be fair.
Wish me luck darling.
Chapter 3 Illustrations
[Link: http://www.gnomehomestay.com/p/gallery.html ]
Caption: Brenda complied and went to the den with the Gnome. She took her customary place on the sofa, and he climbed up the recliner and sat. "Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?" he asked.
CHAPTER FOUR
As she prepared to leave for work on Monday morning, Brenda noticed how well the Gnome had acclimated. He related as to how he would set up a schedule that would include yoga exercises, reading several scholarly works in the original Greek, watching TV sitcoms for plot ideas, drawing in his sketchbook, writing in his travel journal, and woodworking. They shared breakfast time together, and Brenda repeated her instructions about staying put and out of trouble.
"You'll discover I am most dutiful, Mrs. Meyers. Don't worry … and have a most delightful day." Then he raised his bowl of cereal and gleefully bid, "Cheerios!"
Brenda went to work overwhelmed by upheaval. Everything she thought she knew had changed. She felt bewildered, as she had following Phil's death, when she had to come to grips with a frightening reality that had decoupled her. Now, rather than incomprehensible loss, she had to grapple with incomprehensible gain--a brand-new entity in her life.
During the morning, flashbacks of a dancing gnome and a Tapiche Emerald took hold. Brenda felt excitement and curiosity about a better life. Not surprisingly, at work, she knocked over her coffee onto Eugene's deposition papers.
Brenda thought that lunch at Panera's with two other paralegals might steady her, and for a while, she was distracted by a new item on their menu, the Fuji Apple Chicken Salad. However, midway through a bite of gorgonzola, Brenda suffered a severe panic attack. Terrifying thoughts cascaded like shards of fear and impending doom.
Why am I putting my trust in a tiny being? I must be nuts … What if I should heed my grandmother's warning: beware of things that seem too good to be true? What if I don't know what I'm getting myself into? The risks … the costs … the consequences?
Back at the office, Brenda took deep breaths. Her savvy coworker, Vicki Mendoza, took one look and remarked, "Gee, Bren, do you ever seem out of it today. It's only Monday. What's with you?"
Vicki knew how to read people. She weighed under a hundred pounds and stood about five feet two--and that was in three-inch heels--but she was all grit and coiled energy. If a degree could be given for street smarts, Vicki would have had a post-doctorate. After poor choices in her teens and twenties, Vicki now clutched sobriety and conventionality with the fervor she once gave over to dissipation.
Vicki excelled at collection work. One phone call from her and the most deadbeat client paid in full. Eugene did everything he could to keep Vicki happy. That, in turn, benefited Brenda.
No one could understand their friendship: Brenda loathed confrontation; Vicki thrived on it. Brenda wanted things to be nice; Vicki didn't mind shaking things up. Brenda dressed in shapeless sweaters (because, she claimed, she was always cold); Vicki favored crisp shirts and suits.
Yet Vicki was crazy about Brenda. She admired her innate goodness and the selfless way Brenda took care of Phil for over three years without complaint. Brenda couldn't ever lie to Vicki--not really, without giving herself away. In answer to the probing question, “What's with you?” Brenda told the truth … sort of.
"I have a new boarder, actually a homestay guest, due to spend a few months. It's overwhelming getting adjusted to it, I mean, him."
"Oh … a male boarder?" Vicki's eyes widened. "No wonder you're acting odd. How old is he? Where's he from?"
Vicki made Brenda sit down at eye level, the better to snatch up every detail.
"Oh, he's a much older man, over eighty--way over eighty--but he's very healthy and fit and he's, uh, British. He's always wanted to stay in the United States for an extended visit."
"Why didn't he just do one of those Elderhostel programs? Three months? You've got to be kidding. How do you know his relatives didn't just dump him on you? Listen, I have a disagreeable aunt I'd like to send on an extended visit to Rangoon."
"He's not like that," said Brenda. "He's really quite dignified and, well, great-grandfatherly. And self-sufficient. He has many hobbies to keep himself busy."
"I'd really like to meet him. I could use a grandfather. Why don't you have me over sometime … for tea?"
With that request, Brenda tasted the Fuji apple vinaigrette and it wasn't so terrific the second time around.
"That's a great idea. I'll mention it to, uh, Nigel." Brenda almost blurted out Mr. Gnome.
"That is British sounding. Keep me posted about your new arrangement."
"I will. I better go before Eugene gets back from his meeting."
"How's he been treating you?"
"Not so bad lately."
"I don't believe you. Listen, say hi to the family for me."
It had been a trying day for Brenda. Besides the coffee mishap, the panic attack, and dealing with two disgruntled clients, Eugene had an outburst over a misplaced file.
"Brenda, where did you hide the Phillip's file? It better turn up … those clients have been calling me all day. I NEED THOSE PAPERS NOW!" The words were accompanied by sharp bangs on his desk.
Brenda didn't know how to react when Eugene blew up. Should I leave the room or stand my ground? Should I shout, "You can't talk to me like that! It's unprofessional!" Should I report him to someone? Should I throw up? On him? Invariably, Brenda did nothing, said nothing, and felt everything.
By four o'clock, after Eugene found the file in his car, Brenda relaxed somewhat and began to look forward to seeing the Gnome again and preparing dinner. Then her boss declared another "emergency": the firm would all but be sued for malpractice if Brenda didn't stay and work an extra two and a half hours. Meanwhile, Eugene left for his country club.
After work, Brenda stopped at the grocery store, deciding on a treat for the Gnome. She bought an assortment of fruits, nuts, granola, and vanilla yogurt. On the drive home, she began wondering if the Gnome would still be at her place.
The Gnome, dressed in his blazer, a shirt and tie, greeted her at the door with a courtly, “Good evening, Mrs. Meyers.”
“Good evening, Mr. Gnome,” responded a relieved Brenda.
Brenda busied herself layering the store bought items into a parfait glass and topping it with fresh raspberries. When she went to open the fridge, she exclaimed,
"Oh my goodness! The door isn't broken anymore! What happened? How'd it get fixed?"
"I took the liberty to repair it today, Mrs. Meyers," the Gnome explained. "A little courtesy in appreciation for your hospitality."
"That door's been broken for over a year; I couldn't afford another refrigerator. This is great! You don't know what it's like having to replace duct tape every two weeks. You are handy."
The Gnome had prepared another surprise: an exquisite tablescape on the dining room table. From the old pile of glossy magazines, he'd cut out shapes of colorful flowers. Some, like origami, were three-dimensional. He scattered dozens of perfectly formed tiny rosebuds and miniature bluebells, lilies, and daisies over a green felt runner on a white tablecloth. He also positioned the table so that the scene was illuminated by a shaft of light from a street lamp outside the window.
"Every dinner should have fresh flowers, don't you think, Mrs. Meyers? These have been freshly cut, from some of your discarded magazines."
Brenda stared in disbelief. Her mouth formed a soundless oh. "This is so charming … so beautiful," she finally uttered. "It's like a fairyland garden."
"Yes," said the Gnome. "Precisely. And I can tell it delights you. I guess that makes me not only a House Gnome but a House and Garden Gnome."
Brenda set out the parfait treat for the Gnome and heated up for herself a Lean Cuisine entrée. She counted the calories: 300 for the Lean Cuisine and around 200 for the small yogurt parfait. This was not the first time Brenda had attempted to diet.
"I usually eat on the sofa in the den. I'm not used to this," Brenda remarked. "The dining room table's reserved for company."
"You deserve to treat yourself like company after a long day of work."
"No one has done something so special for me in a long time," Brenda murmured.
Then the Gnome burst out with, "Mrs. Meyers, this yogurt parfait is the most delectable food in two universes! Excuse me while I enjoy this extraordinary dish. Thank you from the top and bottom of my palate."
"Hmmm I was wondering," asked Brenda. "Why are you vegetarian?"
"I don't eat meat because in ancient times in the forest, gnomes were the guardians and rescuers of small animals. I respect that tradition. I don't mind at all if you partake."
After dinner, the Gnome and Brenda settled in the den, Brenda on the sofa and the Gnome in the middle of the massive recliner. "Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?"
"Not at all, Mr. Gnome. How did it go with all of your activities?"
"Superbly. My woodworking is well under way. I'm building myself a proper bed, dresser, and end table."
"Really," said Brenda. "And where did you get all the materials and tools for such a project?"
"I have a commodious, highly expandable valise which I'm storing in your closet, if you don't mind."
"No, that's fine."
"By the way,” the Gnome said, “I haven't forgotten about the mentoring arrangement. When would you like to begin?"
"There's no rush, if ever," said Brenda.
"Are you having second thoughts? I surmise that in most situations you want certainty and a guarantee about outcomes, right?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Brenda. "Exactly!"
"Well, that only can come from you. You need a clearer access to your intuition so that you will have more knowing and be less muddling. I have a technique for you, one that we teach all Gnomes when they are very young. Armed with this tool, they grow up attuned and confident when making choices."
"And how old is very young for gnomes?"
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