Tindaisies

Solomon Grundy

Where does the time go? Why does it seem the older we get, the faster time flies? The weeks zip by in a blink. I design a quarterly publication, three months pass by and before I know it, I am in meetings again.  I had my first meeting for the summer issue, today. As if that’s not enough, I’m staring at another approaching birthday in the upcoming week, in fact, I know a number of people whose birthdays are in April, but now I’m prattling – just practicing for my old age (which is how many quarterlies away)?

Solomon Grundy’s  entire life blows by in one short week.  The verse is  a 19th century nursery rhyme and each day represents the Seven Ages of Man. I admit, I like the Sesame Street version better:  poor Solomon Grundy washes a part of his left side each day and at the end of the week, only half of him is clean.

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Grew worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
That was the end
Of Solomon Grundy

This is my entry for this week’s Illustration Friday prompt “Fleeting”

Then one morning, there was a curious advertisement in the newspaper.

Mrs Spratch took her baby and the sock monkeys to 70 Prince Albert Road. She paused before climbing the stairs to apartment 19A. Strange exotic drawings had been scribbled on the walls and the building hinted of previous splendour.

Whoever L. Enza was, Mrs Spratch was steadfast in her resolve to find a cure for her baby’s Melancholy

This is another Spratch drawing,  you can see the other drawings in this series here.

When Lucy Spratch grew older, she discovered numerous sealed jars with small figures enclosed in them, hidden in the backyard shed. She pretended they were her friends. As she played, she discovered that instinctively she knew their names.

This is part of the series of Mrs Spratch drawings that I began a year ago. You can see the rest of the drawings HERE

In this drawing, Lucy Spratch is the inordinately heavy baby grown into a young child.

They visited doctors, researchers and scientists but all were of similar opinion. Baby Spratch’s affliction was intriguing from a professional standpoint, but they could do nothing to help the child.

This is another Spratch drawing,  you can see the other drawings in this series here.

One morning, Mrs. Spratch warmly bundled Baby Spratch in the inky black wool blanket that seemed to be the only thing that settled down the poor little scrap.  She called for the sock monkeys and together they set off to see the first in a lengthy line of medical professionals.

This is another Spratch drawing, once again you can see the other drawings in this series here

The baby didn’t care for her toys, not even her teddy bear. All she was happy wearing was an inky black wool blanket. As hard as she tried, Mrs Spratch discovered that solace could not be found. Mrs Spratch was at her wits’ end.

This is another Spratch drawing, once again you can see the other drawings in this series here

If the crying didn’t cease, it would radiate across whole housing complex, creating a morose blanket that draped itself over every sidewalk, alleyway, tree and shrub. The only way to escape it was to close one’s windows and wait for silence.

Mrs Spratch knew that something must be done to purge the gloom from her baby.

The crying radiated across the neighbourhood…

Before long, the crying would change to a deep wail, filled with a despair far deeper of which any infant is capable.