I once had a kitten
With which I was smitten
Catnip slept in my shoe
Which he quickly outgrew
So I gave him my bed
But it went to his head
So I slept on the floor
Listening to him snore…
The lovely Mridula at Dementia’s Diaries tagged Love a Good Yarn with a challenge…
YIPPEE! with a side order of UH-OH.
Thank the person who nominates you:
[That’s easy. Thank you Mridula!]
Post one quote per day for three consecutive days:
[I think the QUOTES in my book collection were a bit confused and thought we were playing hide and seek instead of tag… I must say they’re very good at it. Three consecutive days… Hmm… I might be able to startle a quote or two out of hiding over the course of a week or so… Does that count?]
Nominate three new bloggers each day:
[Let’s just say I find it IMPOSSIBLE to choose! Now I have to add a big dash of OH-NO to the previous YIPPEE! and its generous side of UH-OH.]
That said, I’ll be fulfilling this challenge rather loosely.
If you’re reading this or the two 3D3Q3T posts that may follow [assuming the remaining QUOTES ever come out of hiding that is…], consider yourself nominated.
This nomination comes with a truckload of GRATITUDE for your creativity and a heartfelt THANK YOU for stopping by. If quote fever strikes, have fun with it!
And don’t forget to visit Mridula at Dementia’s Diaries!
I chose this as the first quote because it’s planting season.
And because my paternal grandmother sang a lifelong ‘slow song’ to her garden…
One of my fondest memories —
eating her squash blossom pancakes.
From THE DESERT IS THEIRS
by Byrd Baylor
illustrated by Peter Parnall
One might think ‘hen house.’ Followed closely by ‘oh those poor helpless chickens…’
But perhaps there was a pillow fight…
Or a rainy Saturday craft project suddenly went ‘POOF.’
Maybe a flock of geese stopped in for tea and biscuits and molted then and there.
Stranger things have happened…
Librarians love books, as much as they love air and food and water, all except one, the Librarian with the Beehive Hair.
No one knows just how she came to be a librarian in the first place. As far as anyone can tell, she’s never had so much as a library card or checked out a book. And no one seems to know which library, exactly, she works for… She just shows up. Unannounced and officious.
The startle factor works in her favor. As startled people tend to give vague descriptions and make lousy witnesses.
Which is why it’s taken years of detective work just to gather the following:
She’s either very tall or very short. It’s a bit hard to tell because of her
She carries a GIANT key ring loaded with so many keys that she jingles while she walks. [If you’re lucky you might hear her before you see her, in which case, make like a jack rabbit and RUN or HIDE or FREEZE.]
She never smiles.
And she’s vain of three things:
Her ’57 Chevy Convertible.
Her Hair [which requires an entire can of B-Hive’r Hair Shellac daily and a constant supply of teasing combs].
And her d’red•ful ♥ lacquered Fingernails.
Well, four things.
Let’s not forget her Reputation.
And then there’s her Shoe collection…
So five that we know of… and counting…
It’s not much to go on.
But it’s a start…
The scullery maid often dreamt of a cottage in the woods, despite the cautionary tales cook joyfully recounted about cottages and woods and the wolves who visited.
Quite frankly, she was weary of all the drama and drudgery. What if, she wondered, as she drifted off to sleep.
When the wolf came knocking, lured by the smell of buttery scones baking in a wood-fired oven, she welcomed him in. She’d set the table with a blue gingham tablecloth and filled her favorite vase with geraniums and petunias. The napkins she’d folded into birds lent an elegant air.
The wolf bowed at sight of the lovely tableau, then pulled out her chair.
Even the mistress of the manor had few visitors with such refined manners.
At the touch of her guest’s dewclaw their napkins flapped wildly into a pair of startled geese. When he turned his attention to the floral centerpiece, dozens of petals took wing as butterflies.
The wolf ate and drank with equal delicacy. After they’d finished their tea and scones, he rose and held out his paw. She hesitated for a moment, then allowed him to take her hand.
A haunting orchestral melody spoke to her of fern and moss covered dells, and although she and the wolf hadn’t moved, it felt as though they were waltzing through a familiar doorway…
The wolf at her side.
A canopy of towering trees above them…
Leaf litter and loam cool beneath their paws…
Ask any librarians [except The Librarian with the Beehive Hair], “Is there anything better than a soft chair and a good book?”
Well, depending on the library, and the particular librarians, the answer might just be, “a fresh catnip mouse and a wedge of sharp cheddar…”
No matter the weather, the Librarian with the Beehive Hair drives her ’57 Chevy with the top down. She has to. Her hair is that tall.
It’s so tall, that if a mouse took up Beehive-Hair-Climbing as a weekend hobby, not only would it require professional Hair-Climbing Gear, but nerves of sterner stuff than cheese in order to reach the summit of the highest “Up-Do” in all the world, where it would, of course, plant a flag, and take a selfie.
Never underestimate the value of proper ‘Hive-climbing gear…
If you’re ever so unfortunate as to meet THIS particular Librarian, whatever you do, don’t stare at her hair.