Freddie has to say:

“At least in this life, even though I’m a gander, I have a nice, round bum! Will you just look at it? And Lord knows…I still love baths, but sharing the pool with ducks is another matter. They muddy the water before I have a chance to get in. And there are no more bubble baths, though I do sing in the pool the same as I used to as a man.”


Notes From A Gander On How To Have A Proper Tea


Freddie says:

This is how you hold a teacup-


 This is how you pour tea-


  • These days you add milk to your tea and not the other way around. This way you control the color of the tea. You want your tea to look like tea, not milk. (Unless you use antique bone China, then pour the milk first.)
  • Always use milk, not cream.
  • Do not use lemon AND milk together. The milk will curdle.
  • Don’t teabag your tea. Let the tea bag rest and then take it out. No teabagging, as amusing as it may be.
  • Make sure the water went past the boiling point.
  • Tea bags without strings and staples and paper and doodads are preferable.
  • Never stick your pinkie finger out.
  • Never use the microwave.
  • Only hold the saucer under the tea while standing.
  • Don’t leave the tea bag or spoon in the teacup.
  • If using a teapot, take the teapot to the kettle and pour the hot water in and not the other way around.
  • Some say the teapot must be swished with boiling water to prepare it for the tea. Tea cannot be steeped properly in a cold pot.
  • A tea cozy keeps the teapot warm for a long time; they’re not just cute afterthoughts. (Someone please knit a tea cozy for me.)
  • Tea cups do not have to match.
  • When stirring tea, do so silently, without clanging the spoon on the edges of the cup.
  • A tea pot should have multiple holes in the spout, not just one.
  • Do not substitute Earl Grey for English Breakfast tea. Ha! Ha!
  • When removing the tea spoon, set it leaning on the saucer to the right of the tea cup.
  • If serving tea with scones, cut the scones in half. Dab bits of curd and jams onto your saucer with the serving spoon and then return the serving spoon to its proper place. Do not use the serving spoon for your personal spreads. Use your own spoon or spreading knife.
  • Take small bites. Tea is a time for conversation and relaxation. DON’T EAT LIKE YOU WERE CULTURED IN THE BLOODY USA.

The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Delayed Contact

The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt

How would you get along with your sibling(s), parent(s), or any other person you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?


Freddie wants a go at this one. I will type for him.

“Well, darling, now that I’m a gander I wouldn’t care one way or another about that person, now would I? Having been imprinted, as they say, I am just another person in a goose body who only cares about the person who fed me and kept me warm after I hatched.

Had I not been imprinted, I think matters would be worse. For one thing I wouldn’t get to listen to my music and think, ‘My how awful! What was I thinking?’ and I wouldn’t get to see myself wearing black nail polish with long hair and women’s blouses, all glam rock, and also think, ‘How embarrassing! I was such a young tart.’

I have these moments when all is not going well and I am frustrated to think I’m stuck inside this body where I am required to preen all day and step in my own shit, but it could be worse: I could have come back as the ghost of Sid Vicious.”

Perfectionism Does Not Prolific Produce

17 days.

That’s how much time has passed since my last entry. The mouse fiasco was winding down when I started this blog. When this blog began I thought, “Hey, I’ll have time to write every day since this mouse craziness is over!”

Did I?

Freddie, a Chinese swan gander, named after Queen's charismatic (talented, beautiful, genius, the list goes on) frontman, Freddie Mercury.
Freddie, a Chinese swan goose gander, named after Queen’s charismatic (talented, beautiful, genius, the list goes on) frontman, Freddie Mercury.

Does photo documentation count? Freddie says it does. He’s right here, staring at me over the back of the laptop from the other side of the picnic table. We are outdoors. Thunder and lightning, he says is “very, very frightening”, kept him indoors until around ten a.m. today, which does not make him happy. He practiced his coy prancing back and forth in front of the tri-pane window of the duck shed because he knew my guests and I could see him from the kitchen. But still he had to stay in. I guess that’s the frustrating part of being a rock star reincarnated as a goose; you have to rely on some dumb human to promote you.

Freddie is a perfectionist. But you already know that, don’t you? He does whatever he damn well pleases no matter how long it takes and he tends to be persevering and somewhat frivolous with his funds. Some might say he’s a good friend to “have”. Freddie will tell you to interpret that any way you like, that he’s not going to spell it out.

“I hate actually trying to analyse my songs to the full. You should never ask me about my lyrics. People ask, “Why did you write such and such a lyric and what does it mean?” I don’t like to explain what I was thinking when I wrote a song. I think that’s awful. That’s not what it’s all about.” –Freddie Mercury

Along with perfectionism, Freddie has drive. He stays up all night, keeps his honker in tune in case he needs to bellow out a Hong-hoooonnnnnnnngggg! at 3 a.m. just to jolt the neighborhood. Sometimes, like right now, he utters a melodramatic, “Hoooooooooong…” while standing on one leg with his neck arched gracefully and his eyes closed. Then his head dips forward with a start and he opens his eyes and shakes his head as if to say, “I meant to do that.”

So I can imagine he would ask me why I don’t just get on with it already. This isn’t junior college back when I scrawled each letter by hand on a page of ruled paper as if each letter I wrote on a page had to be the bearer of perfection, as if I’d invented the alphabet with all these little curls and swirls and small handwriting that had to be better than anyone else’s in class. I didn’t get it then. I held on to what I had: focused handwriting techniques.

Well, you still don’t get it!

THAT. Coming from a goose.

I suppose I should listen. After all, he knows how to ponce about while hundreds of thousands of people sing along in a trance. He’s proven himself. I haven’t.

There must be more to life than this.”

I’m searching for that drive I once had. The same drive that kept me in my bedroom hour upon hour as a preteen who couldn’t put a pen down as she filled notebook upon notebook with fiction stories. The same drive, I suppose, that pushed me through ten years of schooling while I worked full-time. I couldn’t do that now. Exhaustion. I found out the hard way that some things in life are not for me. The big bang socializing scene, the 9-5 work-a-life-away within four walls with people I do not understand–didn’t work out for me. But I won’t declare myself a failure. Yes, I’ve had to give up trying to succeed through those old avenues. Hold the phone.

So                       here                           i                                  am.

I’m a solitary duck whisperer who has recently learned she can cook.

I’m a backyard farmer who records what may appear to be frivolous details.

I’m a human being who entertains herself with bizarre notions of Freddie Mercury reincarnated as a pet goose.

I can’t wait to experience more joyful moments of what makes this world so fascinating. Because it really is fascinating. We’ve all had that moment when we’ve looked up at the sky, particularly at night when the stars are like tunnels of light gently pulling us towards…what?: the heavens; our destiny; our imagination; aliens? I don’t know. We don’t know. But we’d like to, wouldn’t we?

So let’s pretend.

A few moments ago I was doing the same thing I’ve done for a long time, which is to walk back and forth with what I like to think of as a sense of purpose, replacing objects where they belong (picking up), looking for particles to disturb (cleaning), using water molecules to expel particles from within fibers (laundry) and so on. As I was doing these things I kept thinking that I’d promised I would write this blog and that I wasn’t writing. Why wasn’t I writing?


I wanted to begin at the beginning of something. This beginning I had chosen meant I needed to upload photos from my phone to my computer, but I couldn’t find the cord. How could I begin without those photos?

There are too many options when it comes to a perfect beginning. (Or so I’d like to believe.) <—Now that’s sillier than Freddie Mercury reincarnated as a pet goose. Where/when/what is the beginning anyway? Is it the beginning of my life? Well, I don’t remember being born, so that’s out. Is it the beginning of this day? Perhaps. I wanted to begin, of course, with a duck and I needed duckling photos. Now, talk about a way to hold myself back, eh? Those duckling photos I needed…on my phone, which I don’t have the cord for.

How convenient.

Many a vignette for skipping too many a day. 

Here goes.