Saturday morning is almost over. The kittens are contentedly playing on the three feet of carpet between my bed and the wall. Lunch time is quickly approaching, and I haven't done anything constructive yet--at least not anything considered constructive by most folks. I have spent the last one-and-one-half hours reading the short, creative pieces written by my classmates in my Beginning Writer class.
The stories are creative as well as diverse. Fighting sisters from another planet, warring meercats, ice fishing old folks, suicides, murders, humorous tales, sad stories, they are all available to be read. Our instructor has her work cut out for her as she comments on them all.
I really wanted to start the next lessons of my new class, but felt I should write for the blog first. I also need to fix up a place in the playroom for the kittens. That means picking up small lego pieces, plastic army men and valiant knights, as well as stuffed animals before I can vacuum. There is only one problem with that location. It is right off the entry way. I'm afraid Licorice Kitty will make a quick escape if several people come in the front door at the same time. But, on the other hand, she is still quite leery of strangers, so will probably stay out of sight. Who knows? I certainly don't.
As for the kittens, they will need to be corralled. Here is my plan as of this moment. What used to be a closet now contains a long, built-in desk top with storage under one end. I think I can block off the under-desk area so that Licorice and kids have plenty of room to move around, but not enough room to get into trouble. The room has plenty of natural light, which is also good. I'll give it a try, later, after I finish this posting, and after I write some exercises for my class, and after I eat lunch.
One big question has been bugging me all day. Do I post my creative piece I wrote for my class? The original is 500 words long, as requested by the instructor. After reading a couple of her comments, the little changes she suggested will probably add another ten to fifteen words.
Tell you what. I will post it on the very end, after I sign off. Read if you wish. It's different from anything I've written before.
Getting ready to get busy,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and kittens
The Shoebox of Bones
“Allie, look at those long legs. I think you will be a model
when you grow up,” Grandma told her ten-year-old granddaughter as they snuggled
on the couch.
Allie giggled. “Grandma, models don’t wear glasses or have skinned
up knees. Models don’t have messy hair or freckles. I’m not going to be a
model. I am going be a dinosaurologist when I grow up, and I have a shoebox of
bones to prove it.” With that, she pulled her box closer to her side and
crossed her arms.
Several hours later, when all the baking mess in the kitchen
was cleaned up, Allie’s mother said, “Allie, you make the best chocolate chip
cookies in the entire neighborhood.” Leaning forward she whispered in Allie’s
ear, “You’re going to be the best mom in the whole world when you grow up.” Then
she pinched her young daughter’s rosy cheeks and smiled.
Allie’s return smile quickly changed into a frown as she
replied, “No, I’m not, Mommy. I don’t
like cleaning my room. I don’t even like babies, especially ones with runny
noses. Grooooss.” Then, reaching under the kitchen chair, she grabbed her
battered shoe box and declared loudly, “I’m going to be a dinosaurologist when
I grow up, and I have bones to prove it.”
“Allie”, Dad said
after dinner, “do you want to help me figure out how much yellow paint we need for
your bedroom?”
“Yeees,” Allie shrieked, and grabbed him around his waist. “I
love figuring out stuff with the best dad in the whole world.”
After holding the end of the tape measure while Dad measured her room, and after helping figuring square footage, Allie beamed when Dad told her, “Your math is right on the money. One gallon should do it,
Allie. No wonder your teacher says you’re so smart. I bet you will be a teacher when you grow up.”
He reached over and tousled her already messy hair.
“Dad, I’m not going to be a teacher.” A faint little smile crossed
her lips before she added, “My knees shake if I have to answer questions in
class.” Then, her eyes brightened and she fetched her battered treasure. “Besides,
I’m going to be a dinosaurologist, and I have a shoebox of bones to prove it.”
Allie McDonald Remembered
Yesterday, Allie McDonald, lifelong resident of Old Town,
was laid to rest. According to her daughter Julie Smith, “Mom, the best
chocolate chip cookie baker in town, always stopped whatever she was doing if
any of us needed help. She was the best mom ever.
“My mother used to say Mom would be a model when she
grew up, and Grandma was right. Mom’s face was never in Vogue magazine, but it was
reflected on the faces of all she met. With her gentle spirit, she modeled how
to love chocolate chip cookies, children, life, and even dinosaurs.”
Mrs. McDonald’s youngest son James remembered his mother as,
“the best friend a Brontosaurus ever had.” He then added, “Her stories of the
dinosaurs she loved mesmerized generations of school children visiting the Natural History Museum she loved working at. Mom did more than show visitors around, though; she
also taught everything she knew about dinosaurs.
“Today our family is presenting the museum with these gifts in
her memory, a plaque which reads, Allie McDonald—Mother*Teacher*Role
Model*Dinosaurologist, plus her most treasured possession. In this battered shoebox are the bones she dug
up in the gulley behind her childhood home. To you and me, they are chicken-leg
and thigh bones, pork ribs, T bones and round steak bones, but to a little, ten-year-old
girl, they belonged to dinosaurs. They created in her the dream of being, as
she called it, a dinosaurologist. So, here is her shoebox of bones to prove it.”
