Information
Meditate_468 has a minion!
Goldie the Hush
Goldie the Hush
Meditate_468
Legacy Name: Meditate_468
The
Spectrum DemiOwner:
ClassyAge: 16 years, 10 months, 2 weeks
Born: June 18th, 2007
Adopted: 16 years, 10 months, 2 weeks ago (Legacy)
Adopted: June 18th, 2007 (Legacy)
Pet Spotlight Winner
February 7th, 2011
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
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"Hey, girlie." Momma used to stroke my head before we all went to sleep at night - me, tucked into my thick, purple comforter, and her, wrapped up in a thick robe. Winter time kept us all cold, and when the tulips would die and the snow would fall we struck the fire into life - and, often, it wouldn't die until May. May, when everything came alive again - when the irises rise up, white, yellow, violent, pale, pale pink and, sometimes, orange, or the tulips, or daises and various strains of nightshade. The world is a colorful place when it really wants to be. Have you ever looked around, I mean, just looked?
When I dig in my garden I find earthworms, and they bend and shine against the sun. I sigh and apologize when my spade hits them, cutting them in two, and tell them they're silly. I find centipedes, too, these thick, black, leisure-loving creatures with as many legs as a stomping army, but without the hassle, without the hatred and the burning smell of metal and gunpowder. The bees, too, and butterflies. I'm not so much of a fan of the moths, but I know the jays love them and so do the robins - and something's got to keep them feathered and red-breasted.
Momma was the one who taught me how to make sure the roots grow from the starts or seeds, and she taught me who needed sun or shade or water daily. I was one of those, the ones who needed water daily. I needed life, vitality, I needed something to keep me alive, no matter what. I needed a lot of sun to grow, I needed substance and love. Even the angry cactus needs that.
She loved a man, but it was so long ago. His name must've been Steven or Richard or Justin - something generic but strong and intelligent sounding, she liked those kinds - but I was too small to care about the way he came in and out of my little garden plot, and he never bothered to stop and smell my budding freesias or my lovely, pale wisteria. He was a cold man, to me, and he was the dark cloud that came over.
When he left, so did Momma, in a sense. She became dry, humorless and weary. She stayed inside and let her roses wither and get eaten by beetles. She would listen to sad music, and any food she made was gray and sludgy. I was missing my sun, my life, my lovely little garden, and her gloves which used to help my own, tiny hands dig deep into the ground. I was not surviving. I was turning into a parasite - living only off of what I could scavenge from elsewhere, and only wishing I could feel and feed, again, from the sun.
So I left. I left with my little legs planted happily in the ground, and while I left the little, honey-suckle scented yard that my life was, I found concrete and dark, screaming creatures that spit out black smoke and made the worst noises - like a flock of geese simultaneously being mauled by an antelope who had just been bitten by a cougar and shot in the nose.
I think I was ten, then, and had been home-schooled and raised by the Earth and Sun. I knew little of life outside of my little white-fenced yard, but I guess I knew just enough. I wound up in California, on the coastlines, letting my bare toes dig into decaying redwood bark, and it was five years passed. Big Sur and Cambria, San Louis Obispo, and even the more populated Santa Cruz - I loved the ocean, the ocean loved me, but I longed for trees and wild primrose. The constant cack-cacking of gulls and the smell of street life wasn't worth the strawberry vendors and seaweed. I longed for meadows with hip-high grass, snuggled comfortably in the nooks of hillsides, or in sharp valleys with caves and mountains. I missed the strong winters and the unbearable summer heat.
So I went there. I followed Highway 1 along the coastline, walking and meeting people. I drove with strangers, but only the ones with kids, like me, or the ones that were just that - kids like me. We had conversations about the ocean and fish (I loved jellyfish and stingrays, most people talked about their little goldfish at home, or big sharks like in Jaws or the ones they said they saw swimming or surfing), or about our lives. They always asked how I walked everywhere barefoot, and why my legs hadn't fallen off yet. In the end I wound up in the north, not too high, not too low - somewhere nestled in the mountains, near the headwaters of the Mighty Sacramento. I had fresh water and my trees, and when I was there I started my garden - with carrots and broccoli and, my favorite, basil. I grew string beans at the base of big oak trees, and they climbing along the haggard bark - so high that I could pick them all, and when they dried and the wind came in, they would rattle and sing like my own personal wind chimes.
This is where I met Goldie. He is a strange soul, at best, and with his spots and fur he always seems so sleepy and aloof. When he yawns his teeth show, but you get distracted by his purple tongue and the way he squeaks when he's all finished. He stumbles when he walks, and his eyes are always big and confused. But he is so small! So small for a bear, and one like I have never seen before. I swear someone comes and paints him while I'm not looking - each day he gets a new spot, or a new color, or a new bruise.
Sometimes we wander up into the hills and he finds big, big bees nests and knocks them down - and once the bees have cleared, he takes the biggest piece and we pick the ants away and share - me, licking honey from my fingertips and he snorting with the sticky mess bubbling out of his nostrils.
Most of the warm days you can find me here, in the meadow, by the creek, or at the farmers' market selling my share to pay for my little plot of land. There's not much to it, a large tree house an old man helped me build, with a big bed and a pump for fresh water. In the winter it gets cold and snows, and sometimes Goldie and I are stuck. Sometimes we make igloos together, or I dig my snowshoes out and carry him out on my back. Usually someone with a pickup truck is brave enough to believe that this little bear isn't too much of a hassle, and we'll go ice skating while he digs in the snow, or he'll stay behind and sleep while I read in a warm coffee shop, sipping Chai or green tea.
My feet are always covered in mud. If they aren't, I guess you could say I'm not really having any fun.
MEDI otherwise known as Emma Rose Waters is female.
She has a bear named Goldie. He is adorable.
She lives in a tree house in a meadow somewhere between 'far Nor-cal' and southern Oregon.
She loves to travel, and also gardening, singing, dancing, and just overall being amazing.
She is single and doesn't care about relationships. She's more interested in bugs.
She is lovely.
SUNSHINE ♥
"Hey, girlie." Momma used to stroke my head before we all went to sleep at night - me, tucked into my thick, purple comforter, and her, wrapped up in a thick robe. Winter time kept us all cold, and when the tulips would die and the snow would fall we struck the fire into life - and, often, it wouldn't die until May. May, when everything came alive again - when the irises rise up, white, yellow, violent, pale, pale pink and, sometimes, orange, or the tulips, or daises and various strains of nightshade. The world is a colorful place when it really wants to be. Have you ever looked around, I mean, just looked?
When I dig in my garden I find earthworms, and they bend and shine against the sun. I sigh and apologize when my spade hits them, cutting them in two, and tell them they're silly. I find centipedes, too, these thick, black, leisure-loving creatures with as many legs as a stomping army, but without the hassle, without the hatred and the burning smell of metal and gunpowder. The bees, too, and butterflies. I'm not so much of a fan of the moths, but I know the jays love them and so do the robins - and something's got to keep them feathered and red-breasted.Momma was the one who taught me how to make sure the roots grow from the starts or seeds, and she taught me who needed sun or shade or water daily. I was one of those, the ones who needed water daily. I needed life, vitality, I needed something to keep me alive, no matter what. I needed a lot of sun to grow, I needed substance and love. Even the angry cactus needs that.
She loved a man, but it was so long ago. His name must've been Steven or Richard or Justin - something generic but strong and intelligent sounding, she liked those kinds - but I was too small to care about the way he came in and out of my little garden plot, and he never bothered to stop and smell my budding freesias or my lovely, pale wisteria. He was a cold man, to me, and he was the dark cloud that came over.When he left, so did Momma, in a sense. She became dry, humorless and weary. She stayed inside and let her roses wither and get eaten by beetles. She would listen to sad music, and any food she made was gray and sludgy. I was missing my sun, my life, my lovely little garden, and her gloves which used to help my own, tiny hands dig deep into the ground. I was not surviving. I was turning into a parasite - living only off of what I could scavenge from elsewhere, and only wishing I could feel and feed, again, from the sun.
So I left. I left with my little legs planted happily in the ground, and while I left the little, honey-suckle scented yard that my life was, I found concrete and dark, screaming creatures that spit out black smoke and made the worst noises - like a flock of geese simultaneously being mauled by an antelope who had just been bitten by a cougar and shot in the nose.
I think I was ten, then, and had been home-schooled and raised by the Earth and Sun. I knew little of life outside of my little white-fenced yard, but I guess I knew just enough. I wound up in California, on the coastlines, letting my bare toes dig into decaying redwood bark, and it was five years passed. Big Sur and Cambria, San Louis Obispo, and even the more populated Santa Cruz - I loved the ocean, the ocean loved me, but I longed for trees and wild primrose. The constant cack-cacking of gulls and the smell of street life wasn't worth the strawberry vendors and seaweed. I longed for meadows with hip-high grass, snuggled comfortably in the nooks of hillsides, or in sharp valleys with caves and mountains. I missed the strong winters and the unbearable summer heat. So I went there. I followed Highway 1 along the coastline, walking and meeting people. I drove with strangers, but only the ones with kids, like me, or the ones that were just that - kids like me. We had conversations about the ocean and fish (I loved jellyfish and stingrays, most people talked about their little goldfish at home, or big sharks like in Jaws or the ones they said they saw swimming or surfing), or about our lives. They always asked how I walked everywhere barefoot, and why my legs hadn't fallen off yet. In the end I wound up in the north, not too high, not too low - somewhere nestled in the mountains, near the headwaters of the Mighty Sacramento. I had fresh water and my trees, and when I was there I started my garden - with carrots and broccoli and, my favorite, basil. I grew string beans at the base of big oak trees, and they climbing along the haggard bark - so high that I could pick them all, and when they dried and the wind came in, they would rattle and sing like my own personal wind chimes.
This is where I met Goldie. He is a strange soul, at best, and with his spots and fur he always seems so sleepy and aloof. When he yawns his teeth show, but you get distracted by his purple tongue and the way he squeaks when he's all finished. He stumbles when he walks, and his eyes are always big and confused. But he is so small! So small for a bear, and one like I have never seen before. I swear someone comes and paints him while I'm not looking - each day he gets a new spot, or a new color, or a new bruise.Sometimes we wander up into the hills and he finds big, big bees nests and knocks them down - and once the bees have cleared, he takes the biggest piece and we pick the ants away and share - me, licking honey from my fingertips and he snorting with the sticky mess bubbling out of his nostrils.
Most of the warm days you can find me here, in the meadow, by the creek, or at the farmers' market selling my share to pay for my little plot of land. There's not much to it, a large tree house an old man helped me build, with a big bed and a pump for fresh water. In the winter it gets cold and snows, and sometimes Goldie and I are stuck. Sometimes we make igloos together, or I dig my snowshoes out and carry him out on my back. Usually someone with a pickup truck is brave enough to believe that this little bear isn't too much of a hassle, and we'll go ice skating while he digs in the snow, or he'll stay behind and sleep while I read in a warm coffee shop, sipping Chai or green tea.My feet are always covered in mud. If they aren't, I guess you could say I'm not really having any fun.
MEDI otherwise known as Emma Rose Waters is female.
She has a bear named Goldie. He is adorable.
She lives in a tree house in a meadow somewhere between 'far Nor-cal' and southern Oregon.
She loves to travel, and also gardening, singing, dancing, and just overall being amazing.
She is single and doesn't care about relationships. She's more interested in bugs.
She is lovely.
Pet Treasure
Bottled Fire
Happy Tree
Lime Wedge
Papaya
Raspberries
Blackberries
Sunflower
Long Blade of Grass
Shinwas Flower of Morning
Daisy Memento
Leafeather Moondust
Multicolor Hibiscus
Filled Round Harvest Basket
Filled Arm Basket
Filled Square Basket
Lazy Hillside Bottled Summer Day
Bottled Night
Bottled Ice
Bottled Lightning
Little Balls of Sunshine in a Bag
Petite Lightbulb Vase
Orange Flower Basket
Purple Flower Basket
Black Flower Basket
Red Flower Basket
Blue Flower Basket
Pink Flower Basket
White Flower Basket
Woodland Following
The Sun and the Flower
Rainbow Powder
Bottled Rainbow
I-Love-You Rainbow
Pair of Lovebirds
Ducker
Gold Meditating Bear Trinket
Bear Hug Carved Pumpkin
Autumn Hibearnating Plushie
Bebe New Bear
Black Friday Bear
Disgruntled Bear
Flarb