Sunday, November 11, 2018

Wintry Autumn and Warm Pumpkin Pie

Little Shoppe of Amazing Beasts

Are You Being Pitched Out the Door in a Timely Manner?

Please tell us how we may serve you...

OH, Good Grief...
This is Thanksgiving, not Halloween!

I'm taking this blog post away from you ditsy felines and finishing it myself :(

HEY!  Give me a break!  No breakfast until all this yowling stops!  It's Thanksgiving, my furry piranhas.  What do we do on Thanksgiving morning before we eat?

Count our blessings!  Count our blessings!!  Count our blessings!!!  Yip YIP YIP!!!  Food, FOOD, FOOD!!!  Where's the food?

Just a minute, doggy woggy.  What are you thankful for? pans full of turds and the meat-and-drink god!

What?  The meat-and-drink god?  What the hell is the meat-and-drink god?

Meeeow!  Silly mommy!  We cry out with hungry tummies, the meat-and-drink god hears us, and you feed us the goods he sends you. 

What the...!  There is no meat-and-drink god.  The food comes from me...from me!  I work hard to keep you fat and happy.

Whatever you say, mommy dearest.  We love you.  We're going to yowl extra loud now to appease the meat-and-drink god so he will finally send you some food to feed us.

Why do I even try?  Maybe the meat-and-drink god will send me a mile high cream puff and a handful of aspirin.

Maybe... >'-'< meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow  
meeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooo0000000000w!  meow. 


Thanksgiving without a generous slice of warm pumpkin pie under a mountain of whipped cream is...well, it's just another day in my life.  That's probably as close to Thanksgiving as this chat is going to get.  I'm thinking I'm running out of time on this icy grey day, running out of time to be so brilliantly clever in what I write next.  Perhaps, to be not talented when it serves me least is my destiny this day.  We shall see.

Water hoses drained, coiled, and stashed away for a long winter nap, and the last hurrah of Parris Island Romaine picked, washed, spun dried, and stored incognito in the dutch oven at the back of the fridge.  A flurried search ensued for the illusive immersible heater until it was found and plunked into the one chosen birdbath, while the others were drained and converted into useless chunks of cast stone for the cold months ahead.

Grey squirrel has been busily hiding red oak acorns here and there throughout the gardens as two juvenile squirrels busy themselves at the bird feeder, and too much that has not been finished with the landscaping is frozen in time until the arrival of next spring.  An old bluebird nest is evicted from the woodpecker box to give the red-bellied woodpecker a winter residence, and hopefully prevent a repeat of his pecking the chickadee box into oblivion last fall.

Melancholy notes come and go as the winds ebb and flow past the sail of the weathered wind chimes, but the chit chat of a dozen purple finches doesn't miss a beat as they hungrily pluck seeds from the swaying feeder.  Soulful whimpering from a neighbor's pup two houses down tugs at my heart as I pull my jacket forward and button it up tight.  Winter is impatient this year.

Now into the house to turn up the heat until I'm toasty warm, while the tea pots water comes to a boil for a welcomed cup of English breakfast tea.  A brick of Amish cheese, stone baked rolls, and the oven heating to a hot 350 degrees - cheese toast it is...all gooey and doesn't get any better than this.

1 comment:

  1. Yvonne, first thank you for your visit. I just read your post and have to say you are a beautiful writer.
    I'm not sure if that's the way to put it, but It's the only way I know.
    You should be writing novels or poems or something ..
    Happy Thanksgiving. !


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