Word: Saponaceous

saponaceous

[ sap-uh-ney-shuh s ]

adjective

resembling soap; soapy.

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              Mary had just sat down and was about to really settle in when she heard it. The sound that sets all parents into high alert: their child screaming and crying. Mary rushed to find the source. She found it coming from the bathroom. The bathroom where her son, Henry, should have been taking a bath. Instead, something had set the child into a frenzy of panicked screams.

               She burst into the room and stopped dead. She was not quite sure what to make of the scene. She knew she should be mad and her boy. But it was also one of the funniest things she had seen in her time as a mother. She had to fight the urge to laugh at her son’s distress.

               The entire bathroom floor was filled with bubbles, and more were pouring out of the bathtub at a steady rate. Henry was huddled in the far corner, doing everything he could to avoid the slow advancement of the white bubbly soap. He sat there, curled into a ball and screaming his tiny head off like he was being attacked by wild animals.

               Mary waded through the bubbled and turned the water off. She made her way through the soap, parting the suds like Moses through the Red Sea. At least, that’s what she hoped she looked like to Henry. She scooped the wet child into her arms and said soothing words to comfort him as he clung to her.

               When he finally stopped crying and sniffling, she set him down on the counter. Now that his terror had passed, he looked ashamed and scared of the wrath of Mom.

               “Now then, can you tell me what happened?” Mary asked. Henry tucked his head into his shoulders and mumbled something. “What was that? You need to use your big boy voice.

               “I…I wanted bubbles.” Henry said. “So I did what you do and I got the bubble stuff out and I poured it in and then there were a lot of bubbles.”

               “How much did you pour in?”

               He did not answer. He simply pointed at the tub. Mary waded through the soap until she got there and then waved her hands around, dispersing the bubbles until she found what she was looking for. On the small ledge of the tub was the bubble bath mix. When she had started the bath for Henry, it was almost full. Now it was almost empty.

               “You poured the entire bottle it?”

               “I wanted lots of bubbles.” Henry said. “So I put a lot in.”

               Mary looked around. “Well, you did get a lot of bubbles. But next time when you want them, call me or Daddy and we’ll put them in for you, okay?”

               Henry nodded.

               “What did you learn from this?”

               “That Mommy and Daddy know how to do the bubbles best?”

               Mary stifled a chuckle. “And what else?”

               Henry thought about it for a little while. “That a little bit of bubble stuff can make a lot of bubbles.”

               That was about as close as she was going to get with a six-year-old, so she went with it.

               “Now you know what we have to do now right?”

               Henry shook his head.

               “We have to clean up all these bubbles.”

               Henry looked around and the soapy floor and his eyes went wide. Mary picked her son up and set him on the floor. Soon enough, the much nicer sound of a laughing child filled the air.

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Hope everyone is staying safe and disease free.  I know it sucks, but it's better than the alternative, right?

Word: Stewardship

stewardship

[ stoo-erd-ship, styoo- ]

noun

1) the position and duties of a steward, a person who acts as the surrogate of another or others, especially by managing property, financial affairs, an estate, etc.

2) the responsible overseeing and protection of something considered worth caring for and preserving: New regulatory changes will result in better stewardship of lands that are crucial for open space and wildlife habitat.

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               There was someone coming. James could feel them. They were entering the manor. And none of them were Wolworths. That much was certain. He felt the manor. Occupied it. He could see them. Five people, only one of whom was known to him.

               Those he did not know were a family. They seemed nice enough. Parents and two children. While James had always had a soft spot for the young ones, he could simply not allow them to occupy the house. He did not know this family. They were not his lords. And so they could not occupy this house. They could certainly not purchase it.

               The other person was someone he did know, to an extent. Her name was Joyce Becker, and she was a real estate agent. She did all she could to sell the Wolworth manor. James had quite a bit of respect for the woman. She did her job well, no matter how difficult James made her task. She was the only agent that had stuck around for long. That was an admirable quality.

               But, as much as he respected Ms. Becker’s work ethic, he had a job to do. James spread his consciousness through the manor. He invoked his right as the Steward of the Wolworth manor. It would listen to him. Obey him. At least, it would until a true master arrived.

               At first, he invoked small things. Things that made the house undesirable. He weakened the walls, showing damage that would be too costly to repair. That usually worked. This family was industrious though and said they would fix it. Had there been a Wolworth in residence, James would have recommended bringing such a family on as staff, or maybe even retainers. But there was not, and James had his duty to perform.

               He moved next to sounds. Sounds that would frighten the children and unsettle the adults. Creeks and cracks. Pounding like footsteps, and whistles from nowhere. This had an effect. To their credit, the family did not immediately leave. It was only when James started shifting shadows that they were unsettled enough to abandon the idea of purchasing the manor.

               When the family left, Ms. Becker stayed and voiced her frustration.

               “God damn it!” She cried. “Every god-damned time.” She turned her face up and yelled at the ceiling. “Why do you do this to me? What do you want?”

               James considered the question. She had never voiced her thoughts before. She had always simply left with whoever was being shown around. This was an opportunity that James would not pass up. He manifested himself, choosing to show himself behind her. Speaking was hard for him, as he lacked a true physical body, but he could make do.

               “What I want, Ms. Becker, is a Wolworth.”

               The reaction was understandable. The poor woman nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned quickly and her eyes opened wide with fright. She backed away until she touched a wall.

               “Wh-who…”

               James bowed formally. “I am James Weignman. I am the Steward of Wolworth manor. I have been watching your work, Ms. Becker, and it is a pleasure to finally formally introduce myself.”

               “Wha…huh?”

               “Quite.” James said. He could not really take offence to her lack of speech. Suddenly being confronted by a spirit was jarring, especially when such things are considered the things of fantasy. “Now, to answer your questions, I want a Wolworth. I am chasing away your prospective buyers because I will allow no other to reside in this illustrious manor. This place belongs to them, and only a member of that family shall reside here.”

               “I…I don’t…I mean…”

               “Now, I know you are a seller of homes, not a finder of men. As such, I will strive to aid you in this task, now that I have presented it to you. I am sorry to say it is not ready now, as I was unprepared for your inquiry. Now that I am, I shall prepare a tool you may use to find my true master post haste. Now, unless there are other pressing matters, I must adjourn. I have much to prepare, and you still have a fine family to find residence for. Good day to you, Ms. Becker.”

               With one last bow, James allowed his form to fade from mortal sight. The real estate agent blinked in shock for a moment. She took a few calming breaths to steady her well frayed nerves and then left to join her clients.

               James stood by, watching them leave. He nodded to himself. He was satisfied with the day’s activities. He had finally found himself an agent that could actively search for the remains of the Wolworth family. He now had much to do. Much to prepare for the woman. He would do his utmost to ensure the mission’s success. For he was the Steward of Wolworth manor, and his work was never done. 

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OoOoOoOo ghost butler.  Okay, not a butler, but still.

Word: Panacea

panacea

[ pan-uh-see-uh ]

noun

1. a remedy for all disease or ills; cure-all.

2. an answer or solution for all problems or difficulties: His economic philosophy is a good one, but he tries to use it as a panacea.

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               The boy stood in front of the worn hut, wringing his hands nervously. This was his last chance at making something of himself. Of being more than everyone thought he would be. And so, he knocked on the old wooden door and waited. He did not wait long.

               The woman who answered was old.  The oldest person his had ever seen.  Her face was worn and wrinkled.  Her body stooped and bent. But her eyes. Those were keen and sharp.  He knew she could still see with perfect clarity, despite the years they had been through.

               “What do you want, boy?” The woman asked.

               “Are…are you the Alchemist of Worwood?” He asked.

               The woman sighed. “Well, I am an alchemist, and this is the Worwood, so I suppose I am. Now, what do you want?”

               “I…I want to learn from you. Learn the ways of alchemy from you.”

               “If that’s all you want, then go to an academy somewhere.  They’ll teach you everything you’ll need to know about the art of potions.”

               The boy hung his head. He knew this would not be easy, and he came prepared. Well, as prepared as he could ever hope to be.

               “I can’t. They’ll never take me, since I can’t pay the gold they need. Besides, everyone knows you’re the best.”

               The woman raised an eyebrow. “Oh, am I?”

               “Yes. Everyone knows it. They say you can brew potions that nobody has ever seen before. That you can heal better than any priest. That your potions can even do things that mages can’t do. They even say you’ve brewed the legendary Panacea.”

               The woman let out a single sharp laugh. “The cure-all? They say I made that, really? Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s all rumors and lies. If I was half as good as they seem to think I am, I wouldn’t be living in some backwater woods, now would I?”

               “I…I…just heard that…”

               “Go home boy. I’ve got nothing worth teaching.”

               “I don’t have a home.” He blurted out. “Not anymore. My family abandoned me. I’m too weak to work, and I can’t bring home much any other way, so they abandoned me. Nobody in the village I came from thought I’d amount to anything. They think I’ll just end up as some poor beggar, just living off the pittance of others. Nobody will teach me a skill or trade. Nobody will house me. People barely look at me. You are…were my last chance to make something of myself.”

               The old alchemist looked at the boy critically. He was rail thin and covered with dirt. He looked like he had not had a good meal in days, and probably not much in the ways of clean water either. She closed her eyes in thought.

               “Fine, fine. You can stay here. I can use someone to clean up my workspace. And if you happen to figure some things out while you’re doing that, well, so be it.”

               The boy’s face lit up. He had done it. He had finally found a place to learn something. And no matter what she said, he knew she was the best alchemist around, even if she said otherwise. His teacher entered her hut and he followed, ready to learn everything he could.

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We could really use a cure-all nowadays, huh?  Too bad they don't exist.