Get out the sweaters–but don’t wear ’em just yet

points out that today is Bilbo’s Birthday and Frodo’s Birthday! Hooray! I’ll pass on those seed cakes (too many relatives with those painful pockets in their intestinal tracts who have problems with seeds and nuts, and they sound kind of dry, too), but let’s have a sniff of that cider.

Also birthdaying today are , , and . I don’t mean to belabor the point, but this weekend some people will celebrate the birth of the world. I’ve always had a feeling of renewal around this time, but that is related to the start of the school year (even though I’ve been out of school for years). The air starts to feel cooler and crisp, and everyone breaks out a new wardrobe.

Last night when I put a couple of sacks of clothing out for the charity society to pick up early this morning, there was fog or mist sitting in the treetops. It was almost on the ground. I thought for a moment that the electricity must be off across the street because I couldn’t see the porch lights or anyone’s windowspill, but when I got to the courtyard gate, I could see the glow of a few windows through the mist. Billowy clouds in the sky looked grayish, and I couldn’t find the moon. I suspect that was a pre-power-day sort of thing. Or maybe just a sign that humidity is moving in.

Whichever, it was kind of neat.


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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