A Fuse #8 Production and the Mystery of the Tiny Fuseman
I just had the nicest l'il ole birthday this year. 29 is a great age to be, it seems. And some wonderful blog readers out there were kind enough to send me gifts. I got a lovely CD from a fella in California, and two beautiful books from someone in Texas. All fairly anonymous and all very lovely.
So what I could not have expected today was the latest gift. Let's see if you can help me solve this mystery. A box arrives at my office. It bears an address for San Francisco, but no name is attached. Interesting, no? I do not know anyone in San Francisco except my married cousin with whom I do not communicate often. I do not know any authors or illustrators off the top of my head either. Head scratching takes place.
The box is addressed to "Betsy Bird (The Fuse)", which is amusing. The fact that they know my real name suggests that they pay attention and read me regularly. This is not a gift from a fly-by-night personage. So I open it up and inside is a lovely little wrapped gift, entirely enclosed in bubblewrap. I should note that on the outside of the box is a large "FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE" sticker.
The present is wrapped in orange string with a tiny note that reads:
And that might be interesting in and of itself, but just look at what you'll find when you flip it over.
Um. Someone in the world has a printer so tiny they can type on labels that used to be attached to articles of clothing? Woah.
Mysterious? It gets better. I open up the present and look what's waiting for me inside.
Do you realize what this is? I could only get my camera so close before it blurred the image or the flash reflected in the glass. This is a teeny tiny shadowbox. And inside is a teeny tiny Fuseman. His head is a fuse. One that EXACTLY matches the ones on my blog. His arms are little coils, his body a mechanical construction of some sort, and he's balancing perfectly on one small leg.
He is, in short, absolutely perfect. The banner above his head is, as far as I can make out, handwritten. It reads, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FUSE #8!"
No more perfect creation in all of heaven and earth exists. There is also, I shall point out, no note. The address on the box appears to be that of a post office in San Francisco. So basically, thank you notes are out of the question on this puppy. Therefore, if my mysterious someone is out there, I'd just like to thank you properly. You absolutely made my day. My co-workers stood around me as I unwrapped it and stared at the little Fuseman in pure unadulterated astonishment and wonder.
I love my tiny little man.