A New Old Horse...

now sits on the fireplace mantle.

Gifted to me by Jake's other grandma,

 Anna, my friend.

The tail is real horse hair, the horse is wooden.

I love it...Thank you, Anna.

Mag 116 Escape

 River Irwell by R.A.D. Stainforth

She had been carrying water from the river when the camp was attacked.  Hiding she knew there was nothing she could do to save her family.  It was over almost as soon as she heard the war cries.

With nothing but a bucket and the brown calico dress she wore, she quietly swiftly pushed the canoe into the water.  She lay hidden in the canoe as it floated down the river, her only escape. 

The trees and the sky were her view for miles as she silently cried for her lost family. 

Day turned to night and she viewed the stars, allowing the river to carry her where it would.

She heard children playing in the distance and hoped maybe she had reached a settlement.  The current moved toward the bank here.  Exhausted with no paddle she simply lay in the canoe.  Her fate was in the hands of the river.

Splashing, splashing, then hands on the canoe pulling her toward the shore.  Feeling the canoe dragging on solid ground she struggled to sit after so many hours of hiding curled in the bottom of the canoe.

Rising, there were tepees as far as the eye could see.  From a distance she heard the same war cry.  She answered it with her own screams.

The Thing I Fear...

This tiny arachnid is the thing I fear the most...a scorpion.  The irony is I'm a Scorpio. 

Give me snakes, spiders or any numbers of creepy, scary things and I can handle it.  You can chase me across the state with one of these tiny things.

This one is one of our own, found in the rock garden.  Just a tiny thing but it's sting is equal to about eight wasps an exterminator told me one
                                                       time.

Through the years my family has been continually inspired to help me overcome my "irrational" fear of this tiny thing.  I have been given some unusual gifts like this paperweight from Arizona.

Beneath this glob of twenty-two year old hot glue lies a scorpion.  A gift to me from my daughters and nephew to help me with this fear.  The  glue was clear for years.

This tiny arachnid was captured by them in the middle of the night.  Knocked out with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol and carefully hot glued into a tea jar lid for my viewing pleasure.  I heard the screams and laughter in the late night but was too tired to investigate.  They were teens, I knew they were up to something but I had to sleep...deal with it in the morning.

Strange but I do think these sweet, thoughtful gifts have made me a tad more tolerant toward this little monster.

The origin of my fear...when I was three I stepped on one.  When I see one today the same pain from the first sting shoots from my foot to my hip.  I guess pain is long remembered.

I Read...

a lot.  Sometimes the picking is not so good.  I've just finished a book. I shall not name it.  It was an enjoyable read until I came to one spot.  "They singed the chicken in preparation for plucking."

I have pucked many a chicken and I have never singed one BEFORE I plucked.  What did they do?  Set the chicken on fire?? When "dressing" a chicken first pull the big feathers out and then light a paper bag or newspaper and singe or burn the pen feathers off.

It took me at least twenty pages to get past this.  I guess that is why you should research what you write if you're not writing what you know.

This book was pretty good. Set in Southern Georgia and spanned a few generations.  They no longer had slaves but they had paid servants. 

This was my second aggravation.  One of the servants said, "I get ta t'at trekkly."  About three chapters later, she said trekkly again.  Okay, the use of this word implied "dreckly" should have been used as in "I will get that done directly (right away)".  Not to mention that after being a house servant for years you might learn to speak correctly.

Now, I understand my hubby's frustration when a six-shooter on a western fires nine times. 

Sadly, I will remember the mistakes far longer than I will remember the story.

Moral of this long windy story:  Write what you know!

Thursday's Things In A Row

My rows for Pat

to share with you.

Check out her place

There's more to view.