Sunday, November 25, 2012
'TIS THE SEASON
It's a few days after Thanksgiving, so it's the season, right. If you didn't happen to see my FB entry about our Thanksgiving, I'll post one more photo to show you how we transition and tradition from holiday to holiday. After bellies are stuffed and the table is cleared, we make wreaths.
Besides this wreath, I have my picture book story for PiBoIdMo (picture book idea a day for the month of November). And this should be the end of my story for today, but the kitten is in the middle of everything and we think he's somewhat tamed the cat that likes no one. Sometimes they even play-sometimes, Grumpy hisses! But this is somewhat of a miracle
and....mine on my "new" old red door that I painted this summer (and the yellow porch ceiling!) As I posted these, I thought of my writing friends. Give us all the same prompt or set of words, and each story will turn out different than the other. All beautiful. All unique.
Here's another wreath story. This is actually where I was going to start this blog, but I'm not going to edit or delete the beginning, as I might when I'm writing fiction.
I mentioned to my husband that I was going to take my clippers and walk down back to clip brush so I could make another wreath here at home. He kindly offered to drive me to the edge of the woods on his "Johnny" to gather the tips. Okay, so this is "Johnny" and I have to show him to you so you'll get the the full image.
He says, "Climb up on it like you would a horse."
Me-"I don't ride horses." I figured he meant lift high because I have short legs. So I climbed high and sat on the seat. Wrong!
He- "No, get up there like a horse."
Me- You mean there!!!"
I did...and picture this...Me, straddled on the hood (is that what you call the flat part on a tractor, in front of the steering wheel?) one leg hanging over each side, riding backward!!! Now, that's a picture book illustration, believe me. But there's my three kinds of brush-fir, pine and hemlock. And here's my undecorated (for now) wreath that replaced the twig wreath on our woodshed door.