Sybil Bruncheon's TALES & TAILS!... NANNY PRUMBLE and her Kiddie Kollege......

Mrs. Fernanda-Marie Prumble had been widowed for over ten years when she made a decision. She had never had children herself, and her husband had been 18 years older than her (that’s 126 in human years), and she realized that her heart was too full of nurturing love to let it go to waste one more day. She had always been popular with neighbors’ children who came to spend the afternoon playing in her yard, listening to her stories, learning her nursery songs, and pretending to be burglars stealing her delicious cookies while she pretended to have her back turned not noticing! She was so well known in the neighborhood, that everyone nicknamed her “Nanny Prumble”, and that’s exactly what she became! She opened a school in her own home calling it Kiddie Kollege, and she oversaw every aspect of the care, feeding, education, and enrichment of her charges!… Children who came to her “academy” could expect to be tutored in history, geography, poetry, advanced mathematics, and literature with special attention on the classics; “My Friend Flicka”, “Charlotte’s Web”, “Black Beauty”, “Make Way For Ducklings”, “The Wind In The Willows”, “International Velvet”, “The Incredible Journey”, “Old Yeller”, “The Velveteen Rabbit”, and “Lolita”…

Everything went smoothly for years, all of her children growing and going off to school to be replaced by their younger brothers and sisters, generation to generation, until one particularly disturbing incident in a late afternoon in mid-Winter. The sun had already set as it does at that time of year, and the parents were due to pick up their young within an hour or so, when suddenly there was a crash of glass in one of the rooms off the main hall in Nanny Prumble’s home. The children screamed in terror, and Nanny Prumble ran into the playroom in time to see a large burly man with a surly manner lumbering through the smashed window in a dog-catcher’s uniform and cap and wielding a huge and very soiled grab-it net! He must have been 6’ 4” and weighed 240 lbs.!!! Nanny, being a terrier-mix, was very petite and couldn’t have weighed more than 12 lbs herself! But the “terrier” part of her so-called “mix” was the operative factor in what followed. Apparently, the fight lasted less than 3 minutes, according to the police…and the forensics experts.

The intruder, Mr. Filbert Fullers, a lower echelon civil servant in a neighboring town, had heard about the Kiddie Kollege, and had decided to spy on the property, finally making his move that fateful evening. He had climbed a hedge, raided her tool shed for a ladder, gotten through the window, and crossed about 12 feet into the room. Nanny Prumble had probably finished him off there but had dragged his mauled body into the front hall and was headed to the root-cellar, perhaps to bury him along with several old bones, some rubber balls, and a much-loved spiked collar that she had received from her college beau in the Westminster Obedience School. It turned out that humble and lovable Fernanda-Marie Prumble was actually from an exclusive family of rare Cпаржа-Hounds, a breed created and adored by both the Hohenzollern and Hapsburg dynasties. At a young age, she had escaped the international whirlwind and frantic pace of that “show-business” world, to live simply in the countryside with a nice older spaniel who wooed her with games of fetch, various chew-toys, and longing looks into her big brown eyes.

All of this came out in the newspapers along with extraordinary photographs of her with her many awards and prizes and parties with famous celebrities. Nanny Prumble was mortified, not only by all the attention, but also by what any formerly glamorous beauty would be; the passing of her youth, the public’s dismay at how she had changed, and of course the loss of her ready ability to catch a Frisbee in her mouth. She returned gratefully to the welcoming hearts of the children who loved her and their loyal and supportive parents and resumed her work with Kiddie Kollege. (postscript: All charges against her had been dropped, but the court DID request that, as part of her release, she add something to the cur-riculum at the school; HUMAN-ities….. “to give her students perspective and empathy for lesser species”. She complied, but with reservations. Nanny Prumble lived a long and very accomplished life. She died in her sleep at the age of 26….that’s a 182 in human years!)  

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.....MISS PRAKE.... and her gardening secret....

All the neighbors marveled at Miss Rovina Prake’s way with her flowers! Her garden had grown in size and complexity with every passing year, and she spent her modest allowance from careful investments on one project after another; new stone walls enclosing the lovely flower beds, cobbled paving for the pathways around them, imported and exotic specimens and species, and on a couple of bronze streetlamps and a special trickle-fountain all the way from Paris, France to make the place even more romantic for the young couples that came to stroll at sunset. Carrying her watering can, she would smile and nod to all the nice visitors; young children in baby carriages being rolled by their proud parents, elderly people who came to reminisce about the “good old days”, artists who came to sketch and paint each and every lovely vista. Although she drew no attention to herself or the fact that all this greenery was, in fact, her private property, a few of the strollers knew that Miss Prake was their gracious hostess and were deeply grateful and respectful to her. And all the other visitors who had no idea who she was were still aware that she seemed to be always present weeding a little here, trimming a loose branch there, cleaning the sharp line of a box hedge, or dead-heading the lavish floribunda rose bushes from England….always with her watering can. Photographers and journalists came from far and wide to honor and immortalize her creation…. her LIVING creation that changed and evolved with every passing minute, hour, day and month. The budding beauty of early April was matched by the full lushness of mid-June and the glorious blaze of late-September! The twinkling dew in a misting sunrise framed each day that finished with the evening fog that hung on the climbing ivy and hugged the arbor arches…. And always there was the musical whispering of the reflecting pool with its lily pads and trickling fountain. What a magical place she had created, all inspired by her own talent and imagination, and completely hewn with her own physical labor. It was lucky, perhaps, that neither the press nor the public ever caught Miss Prake behind the potting shed, urinating into her watering can…..  

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BOBSY & CAROLINE...... "bad kitty!...bad kitty!".....

…. Bobsy and Caroline had always been notoriously attractive kitties, even from birth. And, unusual for siblings, they had always gotten along quite well with each other which was a source of great comfort to their parents!…(well, to their Mother! Their father, Ragged-Ear Randy, was a knock-about ne’er-do-well always getting into fights in alleyways or yowling drunken and impolite songs in the middle of the night. He was always absent and served as no fine example of citizenship or responsibility to his children, of which he was rumored to have dozens scattered far and near! Perhaps that’s where Bobsy and Caroline got all of their hooliganism from…. And eventually their criminal behavior. That’s why people in the town of Tuscumbia, Alabama were devastated on that lovely Summer morning when they played their first really terrible prank! It was on the eighth birthday of a little local girl, that they decided to upset the party that was being thrown for the guests and the birthday-girl by tripping her during the dance that had been arranged…. They had cut down some clothesline in a neighboring yard, trampled all the clean linens and bedsheets in the mud nearby, and then stretched the line across part of the family’s lawn. It was at that point that little Helen Keller, who had just learned the hand-signals for words like “nihilism”, “dowdy”, “bad touches”, and  “Cashews can kill me” fell flat on her face, much to the horror of her family and guests. The crowd immediately picked up knives, forks, and various farm implements to chase the kitties off the property and to register complaints with the police and the local Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty to Blind Persons by Ungrateful Household Pets. Bobsy and Caroline were apprehended an hour later with their father in a local bar of ill-repute called the Pooosy-Galore Bar & Grill. They were dining on Mrs. Paul Fish Sticks which they were eating with their paws (can you imagine?!?!) when the police burst in…. the three were led away in collars and leashes, still impudent and proud….Bobsy even brushed things off a neighboring table as he passed and looked the other way....yawning! The three were sentenced to 70 hours of community service, which they never showed up for anyway!….. And Helen?.... Although she achieved international fame and adulation for her deep wisdom and amazing accomplishments in later life, she never was able to master the hand signals for “fur”, “purring”, or “nice kitty”…..

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Sybil Bruncheon’s Merry Memoirs: Paris....he who laughs....

Paris, November 5th, 1922..... I had rented the sweetest little flat on the Rue de Chou-fleur Puante, an infamous cul-de-sac, where, in 1871, a gang of 19th-century pickpocket/contortionist-mimes held most of the neighborhood in a reign of terror during the Communard. The gang members, mostly prepubescent boys with a predilection for wearing too much eye make-up, and dressing in their mothers' discarded foundation garments, mugged and robbed local merchants of odds and ends; day old croissants, manicure instruments, French postcards of farm animals and tattooed lady sailors smoking cigars, the usual stuff that kids like to trade and hide from Mother in their treasure-boxes under the bed! At the height of their mischief, they numbered perhaps 30 or so, but as the political fortunes of the 1871 Commune unraveled, angry parents raided their clubhouses and dragged them home for spankings and dinners of cold gruel, castor oil, and raisins found under the sofa…..

Well, decades and decades passed, and in 1922, about three weeks after I moved into my charming garret up in the dormered roof of our six-story townhouse, I became aware of a strange presence and a series of little occurrences, all innocent enough at the beginning... but as the days passed, the problem began to intensify. I thought I saw a face in the mirror one gray rainy morning, of an older woman with brown lipstick smeared way outside her lip line, and a unibrow that she kept raising and lowering at me... suddenly I realized it was me! I had been bingeing on expensive chocolates into the wee hours of the morning and there was a caterpillar crawling on my forehead! It wasn't the sight that startled me (well, not COMPLETELY!)... it was the soft chuckling that came from inside the walnut armoire in the corner, and continued even after I threw it open and tossed all my fine trousseau all over the floor. But no one was there, and the wall behind the armoire was an exterior one with the courtyard below. Even as I stood right there, the chuckling continued, hearty and actually quite charming, literally within inches of my face. I looked around convinced it had to be some acoustical trick of the architecture or the placement of the furniture or perhaps the building and the street, but no. It had to be something or some-ONE inside the room!

When I look back on it now, I marvel at the fact that I wasn't frightened exactly, only a little startled and more curious really... the sound was so pleasant, almost musical, and it rose and fell slightly as if the person was watching me in my confusion. It grew as I pulled open drawers, looked under the settee, pushed aside the heavily embroidered draperies, and almost roared when I screeched at the sight of a spider on the sash! Normally, I would have been furious at an actual person laughing at my fear of spiders, but the thought of a ghost laughing at me only made me chuckle myself, and I thought I could feel a warmth directed at my ability to laugh at my own foolishness, something I learned after years on stage in Vaudeville when my ukulele playing and novelty songs often got me paid only in thrown vegetables... (to be continued..)  

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MARBELLA..... & ......

Poor Marbella.... she had first seen the clown in her mirror after her 4th birthday party when she was alone in the bathroom brushing her teeth.... She screamed and begged her parents to look! "LOOOOK!"... but no one could see it..only she could! And so it went....all through grade school and high school, and college.... and finally even at her special job at the F.B.I. Of course, by then, Marbella knew better than to tell anyone about her secret clown who followed her around in mirrors!... hallways, public restrooms, even her compact! And she'd gotten used to it too....well, until the clown told her he had 34 more clowns out in his car...and they all had grenade launchers....

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Sybil Bruncheon’s “My Merry Memoirs!”… Just Floating Along... April 15th, 1912...

APRIL 15th, 1912...

So many of you have asked how Mummie survived the Titanic disaster... and I've explained that when the liner struck the iceberg, I was in the casino hosting the "Smarty-Pantz Trivia Challenge" with the famous electrified Chauncey Wheel!! We had just completed several amazing questions from the categories "Give Me Head...Lines", "Artsy-Fartsy", and "Let's Visit Uranus"! We had our three finalists, and the crowd was on the edge of their seats, when suddenly we struck the iceberg!... and they were literally on the edge of their seats!!... and then dumped on the floor as the room began to tip! The entire Chauncey Wheel broke loose from its decorative platform and swept me up in its gear-works! We slid the full length of the grand ballroom, through the Pastry & Fine Custards Pantry, past the silverware and crystal closets, then right out onto the deck...AND OVERBOARD!...

Technically, I was the first person to actually leave the ship according to a nice stewardess who was having a quick smoke and tried to grab one of my epaulets as I slid by! I floated away on the Chauncey Wheel while the whole tragedy unfolded, and I actually conversed with Rose DeWitt Bukater as she paddled by on a bathroom door.... or was it a 2nd class ping pong table....whatever! The tremendous suction of the sinking ship was no match for the bouyancy of the brightly colored Chauncey wheel… or of my own spirits while sprawled on its cheery face! Interestingly, I had been saved by the very same Chauncey Wheel when I dove under it at the Veterans' Convention Hall on the corner of Post and Grant Avenue.... during the San Francisco earthquake six years earlier... almost to the day!! And, of course, my beloved Chauncey Wheel was my heroic companion again later in 1936 on a trans-Atlantic tour I did that ended on the Hindenburg... ah, good times... good times... Oh! Did I mention the Andrea Doria??...

(Sybil photo by Koitz F. Etxeberria)

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Sybil Bruncheon's "GREAT MOMENTS IN THE ARTS!!"... January 22nd, 1918...

Sybil Bruncheon’s GREAT MOMENTS IN THE ARTS!!.... On this date, January 22nd, 1918, Vaslav Nijinsky premiered his shockingly provocative ballet/contortionist/juggling/tragi-comic/spectacle: "Chef Grand Jette-Comme-Une-Fille Rencontre L'homme Natif Musculaire." ...He danced the role of Big Chief Throws Like a Girl. The critics were especially outraged by his fourth act entrance "en pointe" in nothing but a beaded pouch shaped like a tee-pee and some strategically placed feathered pasties.... But his tomahawk juggling got him thirteen bows to standing ovations... (although he DID lose two toes...) 

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Sybil Bruncheon's "BUT MUMMIE! WHAT IS THAT?!".....

True story!!! It is still disputed as to whether rambutans made their first appearance at AREA 51 in Nevada or at Roswell, New Mexico! What IS known definitely is that they are NEITHER a fruit NOR a vegetable, but rather the unborn fetuses of highly sophisticated citizens from another galaxy! They should under no circumstances be eaten... or indeed brought anywhere near the face. They have been known to bite, scratch, and even re-do one's hair against one's wishes! Please use extreme caution when handling them... and please advise your fellow shoppers in the Fresh produce aisle.   

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Sybil Bruncheon’s “Latest news about Winter!!!”...

Dear Friends....You may or may not be happy to hear that the Elders on the "Winter Bureau" have conferred and declared that any reprieve we may have imagined we had from cold weather is OVER! They have had a bit of dissension among themselves on timetables, regional schedules, severity issues, meteorological strategies, and scarf-knitting. And even if there IS an occasional "warm-up" where the temperatures climb to 45° again, we are warned that we fall for it at our own peril! It will NOT last!

For more info, pamphlets, and a professional set of tools, equipment, maps with strange and indecipherable weather doodles, and a lifetime supply of yarn that can keep you cozy this season, call G-O-O-Z P-I-M-P-L-Y ... That's right, dial 466-074-6759. The nice man will tell you how to order! (The Elders include from left Filbert Sickles, DeeDee Shivarry, Bonk-Bonk, Countess Snowden, and Chill Willikers)

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Sybil Bruncheon’s MY MERRY MEMOIRS... (Chapter 23)...

...when I was very young, I went to the Lucas County Fair every August!... for entire days at a time. I loved all the sights and sounds, especially at night!... the long strings of colored lights and mismatched bulbs draped between the carnival rides and novelty tents.... the tawdry calliope music jumbling different melodies against each other, the arcade games with their bells ringing, the shooting gallery pings and bangs, the laughing and screeching on the tilt-o-whirl, and the wooden ratchety roar of the roller coasters. I was mesmerized by the mysterious gypsy fortune tellers, the handsome and sweating barkers, and the wranglers who ran the rides and did the heavy lifting around the grounds...

When I was about 12, I asked a nice man with a big smile and a thin mustache who was standing near one of the Belgian waffle stands how I could get some job there with all the traveling folks that moved across the country along the carny circuit together..... maybe I could just start out as a helper in the cotton candy trailer? He looked down at me with great humor and gentility, lifted his crisp boater to mop his glistening brow and the thinning hair that was trying to stay carefully combed, and murmured, "Darling girl! Look over at our Miss Gloss! Now THAT'S what a cotton-candy hostess looks like! You need to have the look!! The LOOK!!!....now run along and stay out of trouble!".... then he winked at me and smiled even more broadly with a warm and faintly sexy chuckle, and a twinkle in his eye...

Many years later, I ran into Miss Gloss... she had the same hair-do, had married a dentist in Toledo, and had gotten a job in a grade school cafeteria kitchen serving chipped beef, chicken tetrazzini, and creamed corn to children at Our Lady of The Vapors Academy.... (Miss Gloss was always so efficient, so rapid in the execution of her duties, so quick to dash about the cafeteria serving everyone that she eventually was given the nickname "Flying Butt-ress!".... it was scrawled on bathroom walls for years after her retirement...along with loving portraiture.... and anatomically correct sketches of the football team)

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