Turkey Time Trader

Thanksgiving is coming, and I get nostalgic, remembering my misspent youth. Ah, the stories. LOL I’ve had a love affair with narrative my entire life. I’ve been devouring the written word like a ravenous wolf ever since I was able to comprehend the combinations of letters that form them. I craved stringing them together into stories like most kids crave candy. I craved candy too, but I craved the words even more. This led me, as a savvy 5 year-old, to bribe my cousin into trading me a coloring book for a piece of candy. It was a circus peanut, which I despised anyway. Of course I pretended it was the greatest candy ever invented for the purpose of my ploy. Every holiday was a pilgrimage to Grandma’s, for all of her clan. My grandmother set all of us pre-schoolers in her bedroom with a bag of "goodies," to keep us out from underfoot. As soon as she was out of sight, the rougher youngsters would yank the bag away and take the prize pickin’s. By the time it got to me there was half of a blue crayon and a smashed orange circus peanut left in the sack. I pulled them out and surveyed the other youngsters, smugly chewing on Bazooka Joe and Bit-O-Honey, or thumbing through a coloring book. I wanted that book. I was not a good colorer. But it was a book. It was ripe to make up stories about. I could see the outline of a bird on the back, and already my mind was inventing great adventures for the feathered creature. I plotted. I held the circus peanut in my hand like a Fabergé egg, admiring it, cooing over its delectability. I thought I was brilliant, not having read any of Twain’s works. Sure enough, the coloring book owner took an interest in my interest, and tried to snatch it from me. I’d been bamboozled by that trick on Memorial Day, and jerked away, as protective of my treasure as a mother bear. Frustrated but wary, remembering the spanking that followed the Memorial Day theft, the cousin negotiated. "Wanna trade?" I must have been a Moroccan street vendor in a previous life, as I had an innate understanding of the art of the deal. I examined the circus peanut, then the stub of blue wax, appraising their value, and at last, agreed to the exchange. Coloring book in hand, I slipped quickly into the kitchen to sit under the table, watching the womenfolk’s feet scurry by, preparing for the big meal. I knew the instant the circus peanut was eaten, the value of the barter would be realized and my life would be in peril. But protected by the fortress of chromium kitchenette chair legs and scurrying female relatives, I felt secure. I opened the book delicately, and invented magnificent mental tales for every picture. I’ve been doing so ever since. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Still crazy-busy around here. We got our first snowfall yesterday, but none of it stayed. First hard freeze last night; wind chill this morning was 14 degrees Fahrenheit. {{SHIVER LOL}} I still have much to do to the house to seal out old man winter, but I missed all of you, so I had to pop in. I hope this finds all of you happy and well. I will try to get around to stopping by and visiting you sometime soon. Until then, peace be with you. Marti