If you missed the recent author showcase near Wurtland, Ky. , here's a great article all about it. (You'll see my good friend Cat Shaffer quoted.)
Authors event steeped in history: By FRANK LEWIS PDT Staff Writer When you step inside the historic McConnell House in Wurtland, Ky., on “Meet the Authors” weekend, it is a step back in time to the years of the Civ...
Monday, December 19, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
So how far done are you?
Once again, it's the time of year when the big question becomes, "Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?"
Hate me if you will, but I had nearly all my done by Thanksgiving. I am definitely not a Black Friday person; while others were chasing bargains at 4 a.m. I was snuggled down in my bed, enjoying my sojourn in Dreamland. While some were battling to grab that low-priced electronic gizmo, I was putting up my tree and unpacking my Christmas village.
I am a traditionalist. I like my lots of bright lights, tons of glittery stuff and a total transformation of my house into Christmas central – which would be much easier without my feline and canine companions.
Tabby, my gray Siamese-mix cat, and Maggie, my big old Sheltie, think I'm doing it all for them. They watch in anticipation as the boxes empty and the tabletops fill.
I used to worry about my Christmas village being endangered by the grandgirls in their younger years. I never dreamed that someday, I'd be chasing critters from in front of the foot-tall city hall.
My village, which has expanded every year, has a city component, a farm component (much like the Coulter farm in my Cat Shaffer historical suspense 'Bittersweet') and a small town component. The sheer volume of buildings makes it difficult to put in one place, but this year I thought I had it made.
Arranging the 1960s sewing machine cabinet, a small folding table I use for book signings, a TV tray and a bookshelf, I managed to get enough area. The grandgirls unpacked it all and set it up, leaving the various trees, people and statuary for me to handle.
I must admit, it looked pretty good when I was done.
And not so good when Maggie and Tabby were done.
Light-footed and certain she is entitled to go wherever she wants, Tabby has taken to stepping from the church pew that sits along one wall onto the sewing machine cabinet and picking her way through the village so she can hop on a high place to survey the world.
This does not please Maggie.
I know when Tabby's rambling because Maggie barks. And barks. Runs to find me and then rushes back, barking all the way.
She doesn't seem to realize that she's no angel, either. A while back, when Maggie discovered she knew how to pull binder clips apart with her teeth, I entered into an agreement: I'll trade her a puppy biscuit or some other treat for the forbidden thing she has in her mouth.
Last night, it was one of the little brushy evergreen trees from the "farm." The night before, it was one of the people from the small town display. I suspect that if she could figure how to get it, she'd pull the Royal Opera House off the table and drag it my way.
I suppose I should be more upset, but I look at it this way: As long as they remain intrigued by the village, my decorated tree, basket of scented pine cones and that mountain of presents may remain intact until Christmas morning.
Happy shopping!
Cammie
Hate me if you will, but I had nearly all my done by Thanksgiving. I am definitely not a Black Friday person; while others were chasing bargains at 4 a.m. I was snuggled down in my bed, enjoying my sojourn in Dreamland. While some were battling to grab that low-priced electronic gizmo, I was putting up my tree and unpacking my Christmas village.
I am a traditionalist. I like my lots of bright lights, tons of glittery stuff and a total transformation of my house into Christmas central – which would be much easier without my feline and canine companions.
Tabby, my gray Siamese-mix cat, and Maggie, my big old Sheltie, think I'm doing it all for them. They watch in anticipation as the boxes empty and the tabletops fill.
I used to worry about my Christmas village being endangered by the grandgirls in their younger years. I never dreamed that someday, I'd be chasing critters from in front of the foot-tall city hall.
My village, which has expanded every year, has a city component, a farm component (much like the Coulter farm in my Cat Shaffer historical suspense 'Bittersweet') and a small town component. The sheer volume of buildings makes it difficult to put in one place, but this year I thought I had it made.
Arranging the 1960s sewing machine cabinet, a small folding table I use for book signings, a TV tray and a bookshelf, I managed to get enough area. The grandgirls unpacked it all and set it up, leaving the various trees, people and statuary for me to handle.
I must admit, it looked pretty good when I was done.
And not so good when Maggie and Tabby were done.
Light-footed and certain she is entitled to go wherever she wants, Tabby has taken to stepping from the church pew that sits along one wall onto the sewing machine cabinet and picking her way through the village so she can hop on a high place to survey the world.
This does not please Maggie.
I know when Tabby's rambling because Maggie barks. And barks. Runs to find me and then rushes back, barking all the way.
She doesn't seem to realize that she's no angel, either. A while back, when Maggie discovered she knew how to pull binder clips apart with her teeth, I entered into an agreement: I'll trade her a puppy biscuit or some other treat for the forbidden thing she has in her mouth.
Last night, it was one of the little brushy evergreen trees from the "farm." The night before, it was one of the people from the small town display. I suspect that if she could figure how to get it, she'd pull the Royal Opera House off the table and drag it my way.
I suppose I should be more upset, but I look at it this way: As long as they remain intrigued by the village, my decorated tree, basket of scented pine cones and that mountain of presents may remain intact until Christmas morning.
Happy shopping!
Cammie
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