|The one, the only–Fuzzy Ferocious|
Good morning, dear readers,
Before I tell you about today’s exercise, I’d like to address some concerns people have had about the blog not being updated while I’m at the retreat. It is my intention to do a daily post while I’m away, and I’ve been assured that the wifi at the lodge works well. I don’t usually post on the weekend, but Susie Moloney filled me in on what to expect at a retreat, and I thought those of you who write might find what she had to say interesting. I will post that info on either Saturday or Sunday.
Okay, enough housekeeping! My friend Brent had this interesting idea for a blog. He takes photos of items he owns and tells a little story about them. This makes a great writing exercise.
Choose the room in your home where you feel the most creative and select an object. Tell us a little story about it. Again, don’t worry about grammar and spelling–just have fun!
I’d like to introduce you to Fuzzy Ferocious (pictured above). I’ve had Fuzzy for a long time, since I was around seven years old. Coincidentally, Fuzzy also cost seven dollars. My mother saw him in a store in our little town and fell in love with him. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure that I liked him that much, but she was so enthralled with Fuzzy that she won me over. She also gave him his name–to this day, my mom comes up with the best stuffed animal names.
Fuzzy has seen a lot of love over the years. I like that his nose looks like a chocolate peanut, and I love the sad, slightly wistful look on his face. It makes me want to give him a hug. Fuzzy isn’t really as ferocious as his name suggests–the most he can muster is a pitiful roar. There’s something endearing about a peace-loving lion, I think. And his string tale is simply adorable.
These days, Fuzzy lives in my office–the room where I do all of my writing. He sits on my roll top desk and watches me while I work. Writing can be a lonely job, but every now and then, I will look at Fuzzy and it’s like I have some company, even though he’s stuffed. I know he’s urging me on in his own quiet way.
What’s your object?
Portrait of Fuzzy Ferocious by Chris Brogden
When I was twele years old, I bought a framed picture of a unicorn. I bought it at a garage sale with the earnings from my first week delivering newspapers. It is a small picture, about 6″ x 8″ and it cost me all of 25¢, but I was so proud to have bought it with money I had earned.
The unicorn picture has hung in my bedroom above the bed from that day. It travelled from my bedroom at home in peace river, to my grandmother’s house. I fought to put it up when I moved in with my first husband, and took it with me to my parent’s house in Grande Prairie when that marriage dissolved. The picture has followed me through several rooms and apartments throughout the past seven years I have been at University of Alberta, but it no longer hangs over my bed in my room.
My husband and I moved into a home shortly after our son was born. A home that was big enough that he could have a room of his own. My Unicorn watched over me for almost twenty years; now he watches over my son.
What a beautiful story, kungfusinger! Brought a tear to my eye. Well done….
I never knew you were divorced. Sorry to hear. Guess it turned out for the best in the end. 🙂
I’ll be blogging mine on http://mystic-mom.blogspot.com later today, stop by and see my response…loved your story of Fuzzy! 🙂
Thanks, MM. I will for sure! Thanks for participating. This may be the last Fun Friday exercise, because they don’t seem to be very popular.
This is a somewhat unusual item to follow stuffed animals and unicorn paintings, but I’d like to tell the story of a large knife… my first khukuri.
Many years ago, when my love for shiny sharp things was maturing, I became interested in the history and aesthetics of the khukuri. Khukuris themselves are about 450 years old, but you can trace the ancestry of their curved blade design back to Greek and Egyptian times.
I met Bill Martino on bladeforums.com, a knife-lover’s playground, where he hosted a forum for his khukuri company, Himilayan Imports (http://www.himalayan-imports.com). The man was as fascinating as the knives. While in Nepal with the Peace Corps, he fell in love with, and married, a Nepalese woman named Yangdu and converted to Buddhism. Determined to give something back to the country, he set up an export business so that the kamis, skilled Nepalese bladesmiths, could get a fair price for their knives in the North American market. In this era of mass production, Bill’s khukuris were made by hand, using only primitive tools and hard work. He treated his employees like family, paid them well, and made it easy for Westerners like me to buy knives that meant something.
How easy did Uncle Bill, as he liked to be called, make it? Well, let’s just say that my first khukuri arrived in the mail about a day before my cheque made it to Bill’s place. That’s how trusting he was. He helped me choose it over email (a special blade, a 15″ Ang Khola made by the head kami, Bura), and I had no sooner decided on one than it was on its way to me. That’s a crazy way to run a business, but a beautiful way to live life. And, as I came to understand, not so crazy a way to run a business. Bill’s madness had a method: he always gave more than he received. I took from him much more than a piece of steel.
My experience buying this khukuri came in my early days of internet access, and played a formative role in how I see the net even today. My khuk is not just a knife – it’s an ongoing reminder to me of the inherent goodness of people. I never fail to be emotionally moved whenever I pick it up. I can feel the part of himself that Bura put into handcrafting it, and the love that Bill Martino gave so freely to everyone who crossed his path.
Uncle Bill passed away several years ago, but not before I had the pleasure of relieving him of another two beauties. They’re my go-to camping knives, and every time I strap one on my belt or send chips flying from a hunk of firewood, I think of Bill.
Some people pray; others prefer to think of it as projecting positive thoughts or well-wishes. The oldtimers on the forum call it “sending smoke.” I’m not a religious man, but to this day, when campfire smoke dances its way up to the heavens, I send (and not always with a dry eye) a little smoke Bill’s way.
Beautiful story, Chris. I know how much this object means to you, and I think even Fuzzy would approve. Thanks for sharing.
I don’t think you should stop the Fun Friday quest – I like it!
Thanks for sharing Chris…I’m sure the smoke carries your thoughts!
Thanks for your comment, MM. I’m not sure if I’ll keep them going or not, as participation is so low. Of course, this Friday is different since I’m at the retreat, and I’ll have to reassess whether I should bring it back next week.