Why I Haven't Gone to the Post Office. Yet
Goodness. I wish I knew. No matter how hard I try there's always bunches to do.
I have to patch the giant snowman since no one else seems to care that the sun makes him melt and in places he is bare.
Un-decorating the giant fir must be done with absolute care. Someone has to do it so the job fell to this semi-hibernating she bear.
Looks like a Snuffleupagus died and someone buried it in our back yard! Hacking and whacking a thwacking away with a machete hasn't made it disappear. It'll be decomposing well into this new year!
So I found time to help it along. A whole lot of work multiplied one long hump by five! Now there are four more smaller piles that need a disguise. Oh, my goodness, time is closing in on me. Forget visions of sugar cane juicing around inside my head! The big giant plant is dead for the winter.
I squeezed in time to make cream of broccoli soup. Today of all days! Flavor buds cannot be duped into eating anything canned. Hot homemade soup will never be banned, not even on a warm day like this. And we know homemade takes time. Cook now, write a letter about it later. Oh, yum! You're a mum too, right?
I found time to pick up this poor thing again. It's been over a year (I think.) since I first cracked the cover. This house is littered with unfinished books. How shameful. Right? Not really. Not much else says your cup runneth over the way a surfeit of books does, says the little girl who almost died of starvation for the written word bound and covered. Let the church say amen. And there's flossing and eye drops for too dry eyes, clay tools, stamps, a mouse, bookbinding and bookmaking and book illustrating and drawing fun stuff . . .
There's forever time to enjoy my very last Christmas gift! Homemade charcoal from Anna. I love how it smells and works on paper. My first charcoal came from our trash pile. Did I ever tell you that? I discovered the leftovers from Aunt Pauline's burn pile made lovely marks on paper, and I smuggled it out every chance I got. Thank you, dear Anna. And please, please, please post oh how to make handmade charcoal!
Even the box was chosen with thought and care. Did I tell you hover flies fed along side bumble bees last week before the first frost? I took pictures! Now all the sunflowers are dead and gone. Spring will be here though, before very long . . .
I had to try it out the very first day! Oh, I am so rusty, you say. It's true. Old artists never die they just get up and give it another try. Besides, drawing from memory shouldn't count. There's always time to draw. I have 365 more chances since December.
There's time to reminisce and laugh--look back, no over long lingering lest we turn into a pillar of salt. Heed Mrs. Lot on your way forward along the path. No chipping away for a little taste! Mind your manners and move on.
I'm still working on the story behind my great escape that never made it off the page. It's still raw. Almost too painful. My heart is still sore. (sigh)
It hurts a little less each time I wear my bracelet. Santa gave me the new Silver Stream charm. You know they let your practice driving and parking those gems before you buy, right? You learn right off the bat if you're incapable of soloing. The truth can hurt. But there's always someone else who can, and the word vicarious becomes a gentle substitute for the real deal. And links! A link can be balm. https://plantingalongtheverge.com/2016/09/11/pilgrimage-to-the-shrine-of-our-own-inner-darkness/ This is one of the best blogs ever. I hope you will find enough time to get to the "jumping off place." Wink at me when you do. Until then . . . let us live well that we may write well. See you in the mail first chance I get. I'll make it to the post office soon.