Are you on the table?
I am in the basket.
It’s what the kids do when they win all the trophies at the Maysville Band-A-Palooza competition and qualify for State Marching Band Finals.
The trophies are for:
Class B First Place
Class B/C Overall Marching
Class B/C Overall Music
Class B/C Grand Champion
They also tied with Northridge for Class B/C Overall General Effect.
They only thing they didn’t win was the ice cream eating contest.
“Oh, honey. Look at your fingernails. They’re filthy!” I say some variant of this to Lucy every day. It’s the first thing I said when I saw this picture.
Why? It’s true, her fingernails are filthy and she needs to learn to keep them clean. But why did I say this first and foremost to her? Look at her face, those incredible freckles, her perfectly pink cheeks, that thick hair, the long eyelashes, the gentleness with which she’s holding that precious baby chick. When I showed her the picture, her eyes lit up and her cheeks swelled with a smile. “Aw,” she cooed. “I love those baby chicks!” Then I spoke and she shrunk, her face like the sun being blocked by a cloud. I hate that I did that to her.
Her fingernails are hidden for this picture with the world’s cuddliest cat Mabel.
Full name: Mabel GET OFF THE TABLE! Mabel’s best quality? No matter what she’s doing, if you pick her up and hold her, she purrs like a motorboat and melts like cheese and she will let you hold her as long as you want. She never gets tired of being held. The worst thing about her are her farts. They’re like Satan’s breath. It amazes me that something so small and sweet could smell so terrible. You take the good, you take the bad. (You take them both and there you have The Facts of Life!)
National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) is coming up in November, which is also NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and I’ve thought about doing one or the other this year. I actually have a story idea (or two!) that I love, maybe not novel-worthy, but short story-ish? It might be nice to write them. But then a neighbor stopped by and my house was so messy I was embarrassed to invite them in and I had to stand in the doorway to chat, so maybe I should be cleaning instead of writing. I’d like to be a person who has a house clean enough that a surprise guest doesn’t faze her. I’d also like to write stories. The clean house is the practical goal. The writing is the dream. It would be lovely to do both.
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