At the risk of sounding like the Four Yorkshiremen: when my sister and I were small, we used to get the same advent calendars out every year. They were the kind where you open a little door and there’s a picture behind it – Santa, or a snowman, or one had a dark haired girl holding a candle. There definitely wasn’t any chocolate, and that meant you could re-use them. Continue reading “Advent Calendar Your Kids Will Love (#blogmas day 2)”
It could be said that I have a bit of a notebook problem. There are 25 here, and that’s not the full set. Contents range from nothing to full and everything in between, including random scribbles on random pages (seriously, what possessed me to start writing six pages in?).
When I saw this week’s photo prompt was love, I thought of three things – my boyfriend and words were two, and the third was my family. They are always there for me, with encouragement and support that manifests itself in all sorts of ways, and one of them is this funny little box.
I’ve had it since I was quite young – probably about eight or so. My Grandma gave it to me at some point after I sent her a letter detailing the many ways in which I was feeling unloved (I can’t remember what these were, exactly, but there’s a 99% chance it related to my sister getting a biscuit and me not getting an equal number of biscuits. That sort of stuff sent me into the depths of despair until I was about 23). If I saw the attached poem out of context now, I’m sure I’d probably pour scorn on it for being so twee… But it’s not twee. It’s something to remember my grandmother by, and a visual reminder that she – and the rest of my family are completely, unconditionally excellent.
Having not entered the Pictonaut Challenge (to write a 1000 word short story based on a picture found at The Rogue Verbumancer’s blog) for a couple of months, I thought I would get in a bit early with January’s one. Initially the picture didn’t fill me with ideas. ‘Cowboys,’ I thought, ‘and horse bums. Oh.’ Then I thought, what about the person seeing the picture – the one watching them plod away. Who is she? There was never any question in my mind over the fact it was a she.
So I wrote about her, and why the others were leaving, and thought my tale quite OK (although over the word limit a bit). Then, reading it back this week, it occurred to me it owes a lot to The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey, which I read towards the end of last year. That is a lovely book, which I would certainly recommend – particularly if you like my story and want to read something in the same setting and better written…