A Hop, Skip, and Jump
“If I can be sure of one thing,” thought Summer Moon as she flipped through her history book, “it’s that I haven’t the faintest idea of what was wrong with the Baroque period, and furthermore, why they never fixed whatever was wrong with it. I should think if they were sensible back in those days they would fix what was Baroque instead of calling it art.” Bored out of her mind, the young filly began absent-mindedly running a hoof through her blonde mane and sky-blue coat, for surely that was far more interesting that the comparisons of Romantic art and Baroque influences from the Church of Equestria. But, before too long, she thought, “Come Summer, get a hold of yourself! I really must finish this reading by tomorrow.”
Indeed, Miss Cheerilee would take the news quite badly, thought Summer, if she had slacked off on the assignment. Summer had come to think of Teacher and Student as two separate ropes that always went the way contrariwise to the other.
“Whenever I grow slack with my work… Well, we all know how much Miss Cheerilee tenses up whenever she gets heated at us. She really must take care not to stiffen her joints so or else she’ll get arthritis sooner or later!” thought Summer with a fright, as she was a thoughtful filly. But then it was that Summer started to daydream again of questions she raised pertaining to the reason of naming a style of poets and painters after a damaged piece of equipment. She foolishly only cared for her questions since the questions others ask are always so boring. But whenever she seemed to ask her questions to any grown-up of whether yearly daisies were simply reincarnated from dead ones, or whether the sky was really an ugly shade of pudding her mother made every Hearth’s Warming Eve, and thankfully, ponies were all made colorblind, all the grown-ups would simply hit her on the head and order her not to waste her time with such stupid trivialities. Summer thought this all hypocritical, coming to the conclusion that adults really didn't know the answers to these questions, and thus did not know everything.
However Summer suddenly found her hooves empty as a mighty gust of wind came and swept her book all but clear of its spine and sent it fluttering away toward the forest, which was odd to Summer, since she was indoors. Curious still, the book found its way through the door that just as suddenly slammed closed. This would have made little difference to Summer if the door was still affixed to the eastern wall, for now she found the door on the ceiling.
“Really now!” thought Summer, sighing in exasperation, “How am I supposed to get up there to get my textbook now?” Try as she might, she just couldn’t for the life of her manage to jump up to reach the door. Finally, she all but broke down and cried on the floor.
“Ah, me!” she sobbed. “If only I were a pegasus or a unicorn for that matter, life would be so much simpler.” But just then, she received a reproachful tap on the head from a wooden mop handle (from the mere feel of it, it was quite obvious!). Too surprised to give an “Ow!”, Summer turned around to see a mop wet with water and suds resting against the card table. Summer only wondered whom it was that gave her such an unwelcome punishment on the head when the mop began to hop and swirl about across the floor, pushed about by its own arms, rather furiously with an occasional, furious hiss, curiously, as it approached Summer once more as if to give her another piece of its mind.
Summer thought, “Do mops even have minds? If they did, where would they fit it? I assume their head would be a proper place, except it seems a bit busy working with the suds. Perhaps in the handle? But that would be an awfully small space to try and fit the mind in wouldn’t it be?” But Summer could only watch in astonishment until the mop finally spoke up.
“Harrumph!” It harrumphed, “I would think a filly like yourself, foolish as you are, would at least have the manners to introduce yourself or at least inquire of MY identity then. It's the least you can do for crying all over the floor I just mopped myself!”
“Truly I am sorry,” said Summer trying to be polite to the utilitarian piece of cleaning equipment, “but may I ask what I did wrong that you hit me on the head?” Of course Summer wanted to complain that she was already hit quite enough by her superiors already, but she didn’t want to risk being rude to the mop, who only gave another, “Harrumph!”
“You did nothing wrong, my dear. That hit was only to knock some common sense into that brain of yours. You say you want to get out of here? Then do what we all do instead of wishing you were something you weren’t. That’s simply ridiculous!” Summer, feeling rather grateful for the assistance at this asked further, yet slowly for she didn’t want to be hit on the head yet again. She had made it a point of honor not to be hit on the head twice for the same fault twice in the same day.
Once, she had gotten into serious trouble in school one day for talking back to Miss Cheerilee twice that afternoon, and even another time that morning when Summer and her teacher simply would not agree on anything for, honestly, the fun of it.
“Let us say,” Cheerillee tried to coax Summer, “That we are the teachers and you are the students. Therefore, you have to do as I say, am I right?”
“No,” said Summer impatiently, “because we don’t say that, you say that. And either way, we can’t be teachers and students. There’s only two of us.” But then, Summer’s attention turned back to her question that she intended to ask the mop:
“What, pray tell, good sir, did I miss that common sense would catch otherwise?”
“Oof! There you go again! How many other silly ideas do you have in your head among ones like those that Common Sense, though a fine fellow he is could catch a problem like a fish, or a train for that matter! No, no, no! I only know Common Sense well enough from seeing him at the public house in Trottingham, that he would tell you in this country, unicorns with magic and pegasi that could fly are just as real as five sided parallelograms, though I myself saw one last Tuesday dealing in twine and sealing wax at the market. But here you’ve gone and put me off track! And thus, you derailed my train of thought. Help me out, I say!” Yet poor Summer was far too confused to be of any assistance at the thought of wingless pegasi haggling with impossible quadrilaterals over sealing wax. The mop continued to tap his own handle against the wall in frustration over losing his words, as those were quite a terrible thing to lose, like losing your keys or your perception of time.
“Ah! I've got it!” he cried, “I know for a fact that Common Sense would also tell you that if you’re in a quandary for directions, you should look for a sign.” Summer obliged, though not optimistic about finding any directions to the door that was on the ceiling. However, she then noticed a sign hanging prominently on the wall opposite the door. But then again, perhaps that made it a sign resting on the floor. It said:
“NOTICE: IN CASE OF DOOR BEING UNREACHABLE, WHICH IS A LIKELY INSTANCE; PROCEED TO BEND THE RULES OF REALITY WITH A HOP, SKIP, AND A JUMP.”
“Now how silly is that!” remarked Summer. The mop came closer to inspect the sign himself as though he had never seen it before. When he thoroughly checked the message after affixing a monocle to his bad eye (though he was blessed to have two eyes, you know), the mop rebuked poor Summer once again for her foolishness for not taking the sign seriously, though at this point Summer was a little bit justified in not taking things around here seriously.
The mop said, “My dear, this is a very simple procedure. As you were trying to get to the door by jumping and flailing about, you forgot the first two steps of the way to get where you’re going. It’s the best way to get anywhere in this land that seems impossible to get to. Just follow the instructions carefully, or else you’ll never get how anything works, I suppose. Now then!” he shouted while standing upright in a salute, “That’s a hop!”
To which Summer hopped.
“A skip!”
To which Summer skipped.
“And… A Jump!”
To which Summer jumped once more, only to find herself looking down high up off the floor in midair as though she were shot out of a cannon with springs on her hooves. Just as quick as she flew up frightfully quickly to the ceiling, for Summer was so terrified to look down again she didn’t even bother to wonder how on earth she got up to the ceiling so swiftly, the door flung open, sending Summer tumbling onto a grassy plain where she could see her book fluttering away in the breeze as she got up and dusted herself off in a fit.
“Well THAT was certainly a very discombobulating way of going through a door if I ever saw one!” exclaimed Summer to herself, for she was an observant filly. “And yet, I can’t help but wonder WHERE I am.” But her thoughts presently were interrupted by an industrious Trottingham duck parading past her, quietly playing a beaten harmonica to try and lift his spirits that seemed to sink from carrying what appeared to be a picnic basket full of items Summer had no business of even trying to make out. It seemed to be a mixture of miscellaneous do-dads that consisted of everything from broken tinderboxes to quills that seemed too small to use.
“I suppose he works around here, and thus knows the name of this place.” thought Summer as she approached the tired looking duck. “Excuse me,” she began quietly, “Do you know where I am?” The duck paused and looked at her thoughtfuly for a moment, but then shrugged his shoulders.
“Nope, can’t say that I do. But maybe if you hum a few bars I could pick up on it.”
“I’m afraid that’s not quite what I meant.” giggled Summer. “I meant, do you know where I am, not songwise?”
“How could I answer that?” asked the duck, perplexed. “Since there are so many ways to answer that question, I could stand here all day and list them to you if I weren’t already pressed for time, and if you had a memoranda collection to record them!”
“How so?” asked Summer, growing curious.
“Simple.” quacked the duck matter-of-factly. “There’s many different directions you could go that would lead you to a unique place from where you once were. For instance, you could go north, and I would say you’re north from here. Then there’s south from here, east from here, west, upwards, downwards, backwards, forwards, diagonalwards, tallways, shortways, and even noways! That is, to say you didn’t even move at all. But then don’t even get me started on the difference between saying you’re here and then you're there. It really is so confusing, I just can’t stand it! I can never tell the difference of when ‘here’ becomes ‘there!’ I’ve tried measuring it, but found nothing, because everyone keeps disagreeing with me! So why bother?” Summer, feeling her head throbbing from trying to comprehend what just came out of his bill, tried a different approach.
“Then surely there’s a better way? Maybe if we start with where we are in a large scale, it would be easier to work our way down. For instance, we could always start by acknowledging the fact that we are in Equestria, no?” The duck only looked more puzzled at this point.
“I don’t know any Equestria, but if you want to start with the names of countries, then I would say we are in the lands of Queen Pinkie, whom I simply MUST get these hub-dingers and doo-dads to.”
Without another word, the duck waddled off playing the harmonica, leaving Summer standing in a field of the most peculiar flora made out of candy.
An Introduction
Sitting on a stump of rock candy, Summer found a spectacled Bear who, while staring at an abacus he gingerly held, occasionally grazed at a few daffodils of licorice. Summer thought him to be a knowledgeable fellow and went closer to inquire more of her whereabouts. Yet as soon as the Bear caught sight of her approaching, he quickly leapt off his boulder and charged at her with the abacus ready in hand. At once, much to Summer’s confusion, he stared at her intently while adjusting the beads every so often (but not too often, which meant he was careful in what he measured).
“Excuse me,” interjected Summer trying not to get annoyed, “but may I ask what about me requires so much measuring. The only things I measure are my height and weight and age.”
“Precisely!” retorted the bear. “It never occurs to anyone but me to measure your mouth size. Consider it a complimentary service.”
Summer, thinking the notion to be quite absurd answered hotly, “I don’t ever see why you would go about that sort of thing to perfect strangers. And furthermore, I thought it was quite impolite to be remarking about strangers’ looks right in front of them.”
“And what did you mark in the first place if you never commented on their appearances nor did you record your findings in the first place? How can you remark on your discoveries if you never marked them down in the first place? No, I simply must record how large your mouth can get, especially if you want to be sociable at tea time.” Summer, although feeling hurt at the Bear’s rather unfriendly calculations, tried to imagine what one’s mouth size had to do with tea time.
“I don’t see what one has to do with the other, if you would care to inform me.” She replied with interest. The bear only smiled.
“Certainly.” He said cordially. He then proceeded to produce a teacup and spoon and started to mix in a spoonful of sugar. Afterwards he set the cup down in a scientifically cautious fashion on the boulder as if it were a delicate operation of the most critical caliber.
“Now see here.” he began while brandishing the spoon at Summer, “would you not take a spoonful of it to see if it were cool?”
“I suppose so.” Replied Summer, feeling rather engaged in the lecture.
“In order to do that, it is a well-known imperative that your mouth must be wide enough to drink it. Observe!” the Bear proceeded to take the spoon and lower it into the cup, only to draw it out with the concave side facing into the pool of tea, so Summer found it scarcely odd that the liquid ran quickly off the sides of it. Nevertheless, much to Summer’s surprise, the Bear tried as hard as he could to lift the dripping utensil to his mouth and let whatever drops of tea remained fall into his gaping maw!
“How silly to even think he was a bright fellow!” thought Summer to herself, for she didn’t want to offend the Bear who was having a difficult time about getting a satisfying amount of tea into his mouth at once.
“I suppose that might work well for an umbrella to use the outside. I think I’ll stick to the inside for my tea, thank you very much.” said Summer as politely as possible. The Bear, however, looked at her with a queer expression.
“Well you certainly know how to turn things all topsy-turvy, don’t you? Saying not only the inside of a spoon is better for drinking, but saying an umbrella should be turned to the outside? What ever would we do for swimming pools?” Not waiting for Summer to question the notion, he stiffed his mouth full of dough and produced an umbrella and spread the crown, placing it prominently on the ground. After searching for a minute or two in the tall sour-sweet grass that desperately wanted a gardener’s attention, he found his swizzle-straw hose and filled up the concavity of the umbrella with cider that would have been too tart for Summer’s taste, as she was a picky filly. When the umbrella was thoroughly filled, he proceeded to jump in and wildly splash about, making a terrible mess of things, sloshing about, sending the stuff soaking everything in sight, including Summer.
“Now do you see?” asked the ear with a rather smug look on his face. “How could one do without having a swimming pool on hot days such as this? If we were to tip it over, as you suggest,” he said while overturning the umbrella, sending the apple juice splashing everywhere, not helping to dry matters, “what would we do about cooling off?” Summer thought of supposing that an upright umbrella could keep you dry, but as they were both a sorry sight, dripping with cider, it seemed to be a rather weak argument, so she decided to let the matter drop. Besides, it was quite hard to make out what he was saying with a mouth full of dough anyway. The Bear, with a satisfied grin, laid out once more on the rock candy boulder.
“Now then, do you know any poetry to pass the time until the do-hickey rush?” he asked. Summer enjoyed a bit of poetry from time to time, however she really needed to find her book before it flew too far away, or else she feared she would never find it! But as soon as she made a step to trot out to the woods, the Bear called her back.
“Stay for a spell!” he cried. And then began, “The clouds were drifting…” Summer raised her hoof in interruption.
“Is the poem very long?” she asked.
“Not at all!” the Bear hollered and continued:
The clouds were drifting up around
A clearly cloudless sky.
The chef at home could fry no fruit
There were no fruit to fry
The mason and librarian
Trudged along the heath
To cut through pricky shrubs they would,
A sword, not dare to sheath
“I bleed and bled,” the mason said
“My clothes the shrubs do prize.”
His companion only nodded,
“I dearly sympathize.”
“Come, my dears!” he said to fawns
And pulled his camera out.
“Let’s gather for a photo shoot!”
The group yet pranced about.
“I think not.” the buck replied.
“We shan’t pose today.”
And yet the herd dropped dead because
He shot them anyway.
“What a terrible pony this librarian is!” exclaimed Summer, who couldn’t get a reaction from the Bear, for she now stood face to face with a pink mare with a cotton candy mane wearing a coronet of confectioner’s sugar, smiling so hugely, Summer was afraid the smile might wrap around her head and disconnect it from her neck!
“Hi!” squeaked the pink pony, whom Summer could only vaguely recognize.
