JC mailed Hannah's prize yesterday. He said she shouldn't have to wait. I agreed. Hanna, enjoy!
What a cool box. My name is on it! It looks like my kind of box. As in the length and shape of the box a bracelet comes in. I never imagined anything else possibly fitting. Boy was I wrong. Don't you like being I-don't-have-a-clue surprised? Okay, it happens a lot but with me it always feels like the first time. I like when I forget some things.
We love seeing our name in lights, don't we? This is like having double billing on the same marquee in Vegas. Who knew I could look so good? Not only on paper but on a box as well.
Check out the fat cat! I had the same look on my face the first time I saw it.
I looked at this from every angle. Can you tell? How could she know how I feel about Scrabble? No one in our family will play with me any more. It's not my fault that I know more words than they do. Wait. It is my fault. I read more. Who invented that not my fault business?
Did I ever tell you how I became a limner? Well, since you asked, I read a book about an American artist who wanted to be a limner. My grandma's sister gave me the book. Older people always gave me books because I was the only person they knew who'd read just about anything simply for the sake of having something to read. I read our encyclopedia. I was a serious word nerd; too bad I didn't spend half as much time on grammar. The thing about that is we tend to use the same grammar as the people we live among. I live among people who still say git, ain't, grits is groceries . . . and they're the wealthy, prominent Texans, but that's a whole other anecdote.
So. This poor American limner wanted to be an artist as much as I did. Impressionable me. I wrote the word in my diary and never ever shared ti with anyone else. Heck, I couldn't even pronounce it, but it was still too precious to have it tarnished from sharing.
Anyway, all the limners in colonial America were trained in England, and this new American wanted to earn his living as a portrait artist. Portraitists traveled across the country, plying their skills to the landed gentry; they lived with the family who commissioned the work, and once in awhile they painted the wife's portrait during the same visit. Portraits were status symbols then. Imagine living with a family for a year while painting portraits for each member in a family. Chances are good that never happened; the same artist might have been commissioned several times, or a different artist was granted the privilege.
I don't remember how the story ended but I never forgot the word. Limner C sounds a lot like middle C to me. To this day I still cannot find the key, middle C, but I have my moments as Limner C.
Wordsmith, limner, illustrator, graphic designer, or simply me . . . Such a lovely word for a single dream that fits on a Scrabble board. L I M N E R. An extra tile she included. Turned on its side it looks like a C. Limner C!
Thank you, Jenny N..
And there's this. Wow. Who knew such a book existed? We left it on the patio overnight. It didn't help. What I wouldn't give to be able to enjoy such a gold mine. We Googled tips on how to get rid of the musty smell. We didn't find anything new or helpful. Some of the results were scary: When you open a dusty book, an air current is created which pushes up the dust accumulated on and in the books directly to your nose. There are no other normal cases that you blow dust in your nose by yourself. Since dust particles can be very harmful . . .
The dust particles damage the body; begins its attack in the eyes and on the skin by making irritation and allergy problems.
A part of dust, with diameter more than 10 microns, is absorbed in the saliva and mucus in the mouth, throat and nose. This inhaleable dust can cause allergy and irritation in the nose and throat.
There's good news too. I have to write to Hallmark now.
I like this paper! I had a top with this pattern and I have a skirt too. Only the colors are different.
Thanks for thinking of me, Pamela. The warning saved me from much misery. This is definitely my kind of book, and I'm touched that you thought of me when you saw it. Some of my favorite Vermeer art books include his paintings that involve letters. I'm trying to watch the Downton marathon and my pulse quickens during scenes that include letters! I'd hyperventilate if I weren't careful. (grin) Mr. Bates had such lovely, thick, rich gray stationery in prison! Mrs. Bates' paled in comparison.
See? Fun, different, unexpected, seriously creative . . . The stamps are so sweet! Why can't our postal system create such fun stamps? These hang on the edge! Clever Anna, did you make this envelope yourself? Was it a kit? It reminds me of a party and bubbles. I'm surprised the Mangler didn't take a bite. Thank you! I have to show Alex. (grin)
There's so much more to share but I'm a little selfish. I can't always wait to share but I hold back just as often because I need to savor a gift. And some things aren't meant to be shared. Sometimes I tell only my journal. Oh. And Erin. JC, my sister, Alex, Fatima, Myrna, my friends at the post office--who see most of it before I do and tell me to make sure I check my box before I leave. Oh, oh! And there's the other blog that was meant to take over from this one . . . I tell everything, huh? Or I will. Someday.
Let us write on.