Costumes, Candy and an Untimely Death

Trick or Trick

Let’s imagine it’s Halloween, and you just ran out of candy. If the neighborhood kids (or anyone else, really) were to truly scare you, what trick would they have to subject you to?

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1973 was an infamous year in our family.

That was the year my Grandfather got into that accident on the Duwamish Bridge.

Something hit his card pretty hard from behind and his car was forced off of the bridge into the water.

That happened on Halloween Morning.

After the Police came by and told us that he was gone, where to collect his body and how sorry they were my Mom sent me and my brother outside to bring in the pumpkins.

She and our Aunt took down the decorations Dad was to busy to buy candy because he was talking with the Funeral Home  and for the rest of the evening relatives came by and our house went from Holiday to Mourning in less than three hours.

As darkness fell me and my brother could see our friends darting from house to house in their Halloween Masks made from plastic and swinging their Trick or Treat Pumpkins wildly in the air.

” Grandpa would say we should be out there.” My Brother said ruefully. ” He’d have bought us eggs and TP too. Grandpa knew how to do Halloween right. Remember the time  he stuck those fake heads on poles  Because Mrs Green gave us toothbrushes and apples?”

” Yeah. He said he was surprised the old bag didn’t hand out socks and underwear too.” I remembered out loud. ” And remember the time the Brices forgot it was Halloween and he helped us wrap their car in plastic wrap

Just then my best friend Prixie waved as she ran by our window.

I flipped her the bird in return.

” They’ll be sorry, we’re gonna get tricked for sure and you know who will have to clean up the mess right?” my brother said with some satisfaction in his voice. ” I’ll bet this time our house gets tricked and I’ll bet eggs and shaving cream are in our future. THEY deserve it.”

“Serves them right for keeping us in doesn’t it?”

” Right.”

We ran up the back stairs to our bedrooms- I put on my  thin plastic scary witch mask complete with scary witch plastic costume and met my brother  was dressed up as race car driver on the way back down.

” Your costume is dumb” I told my brother.

” You don’t need to wear an ugly mask he told me.

Then  snuck down into the basement and out the  basement door  that let us out into the  alley and disappeared into the chilly Halloween Night.

When we got back our family was stunned.

” Do you know what tonight is? ” they asked us all at once.

Actually they were yelling it.

” Um. The day Grandpa died.”

” Yes. ” My Grandma said patiently. ” It’s also Halloween “

” That’s why we went trick or treating. It’s Halloween.”

” And you two should have been home a half hour ago.” Grandma scolded us ” Kids your age shouldn’t be out after seven-thirty alone.

My Grandma took my plastic jack-o-lantern and shook the candy out on the table.

” I hope you two didn’t eat the good stuff on the way home…”

” Hey!”

” Your FATHER ” Grandma said pointedly at her son
“didn’t buy any candy and if we don’t have any of those chocolate bars your Grandpa liked-“

We heard a knock on the door-

There’s  going to be Hell to pay.”

The 511

They were two ladies- about the same age with the same  hair style and both had the same type of phone and both were riding the bus to work on what would turn out to be a very hot summer day.

The woman who sat close to the window looked over to her seatmate and smiled and said:

” I really like this phone, don’t you?”

Her seatmate looked up from her phone ( they had the same models ) and down into the hands of the woman who sat close to the window and she saw ” Proverbs” and lots of writing under Proverbs in bloody red bold print. The woman smiled. Her eyes were dark, her smile was darker and her voice was as cool and refreshing as first breath of Spring.

” I love it. You can find anything you need to know on this, can’t you? “

The woman near the window looked down and saw that the screen on her seatmate’s phone was black.

Her Dark Eyed Companion said,  ” You wouldn’t believe what I have on this thing. Notes. Pictures. More notes. It’s just chock full of what I need to make it through my work day.

They rode in a comfortable silence and then  the woman next to the window said, ” My name is Lia Anne. “

Her seatmate smiled. ” Embers. Embers Eastman.”

” You have a very interesting name.”

Embers shrugged. ” My Father has a very unusual sense of humor. For example, I wanted to travel. I ran away a few times. I was quite the upstart. He said if I liked traveling so much I could hit the road for the family business and do all the traveling my heart could stand. So here I am. Working the family trade. “

” Well you know what they say, Spare the Rod and spoil the child.”

Embers rolled her eyes up and shook her head.

” What sort of business are you in?”

” Import/Export. Do you know the Sardo Building on 6th and Main? That’s where my office is.”

Ember’s phone pinged and she honestly looked surprised. She turned and looked around and she even stood up and looked at the people seated in front of her. She shook her head and sat back down and then  she held her phone up and squinted at it with annoyance running rampant all over her face.

She made a clicking sound with her teeth  and then she pushed the little silver bar on the side and the screen popped up. When it flashed on she squinted at the sudden burst of light and read what was there.

” Oh hey. This is was an easy one and look here’s our stop.”

” Mine is the next stop.:”

Embers Eastman was  her father’s  protégé and his favorite child- which was hard for the people who knew them to believe. On her good days, it was said,  she even had his charm.

This was not one of those days.

She held her phone up and showed it to Lia Anne, ” Murdering your lover’s wife and killing her dog…her DOG Lia Anne is a sin. Now get up. Follow me. “

” No. I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re insane. “

 ” Very much so.” Embers assured her seatmate ” And if you want to see how bad I can really get, I can crawl into your skin like a maggot going to town on road kill and you can see for yourself exactly why Father chose me to go from one end of the Universe to the other to pick up the trash.”

” He keeps me as far away from pleasant company as he can.”

Embers put her face so close to Lia Anne’s it looked like they were going to kiss.

” You are not pleasant and you are coming with me.”

Embers pushed her palm against Lia Anne’s chest, just over her heart and they were gone- just like that.

Embers- as her Father would say-  was a handful but she was an efficient Little Devil when it came to doing her job.

Today’s Special

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Five a Day

You’ve being exiled to a private island, and your captors will only supply you with five foods. What do you pick?

This took me awhile to figure out. But when I did I went straight for my bathroom mirror and kissed my reflection.

:::DRUMROLL PLEASE:::

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I would take:

J sometimes referred to in some circles as G

( old , tough and  probably gristly but  it’s soaked in wine so I’m sure it’s  good for broth making )

C

( definitely good for roasting )

S

( a little of this goes a long way )

T

( Oh, why not)

and of course

E

( no taste at all- for garnish only  )

So is this me being clever?

Do I intend to take as many food stuffs with those letters with me to the nowhere place that I’m going to be sent to?

Uh.

No.

All I can say is, I’m well schooled in human anatomy, corpses hold no fear for me I’m one hell of a cook and I’ll eat like a queen till help arrives.

You know.

Help for me.

Not them.

For them it would be too late.

 tofu turkey

If I Only Had A Brain…Or Two

Clone Wars
If you could clone yourself, how would you split up your responsibilities?

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 Writing is about the only thing I can make myself do.

I can do it on my bad days, my good days even on days when I don’t have anything to say.

So if I could clone myself what crud jobs would I give my secondary me?

I’d have that ‘me’ do all my caretaking stuff- the day to day grind- the housework, the cooking- almost everything except for my day job and taking care of my cats and dog.

But the reality is, I hate that stuff myself and when I slack off I don’t feel bad about it.

So how would I get my clone to do it?

I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, me and my clone would agree to blow it off.

I know myself, if I don’t want to give I don’t.

However, I’ll bet if my clone and I put our heads together we could find someone else to do the work for the BOTH of us.

And The Truth Shall Send You Straight To The Principal’s Office

Truth or Dare
Is it possible to be too honest, or is honesty always the best policy?

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Of course honesty is the best policy.

Honesty earns you trust and respect.

On the other hand, we’ve seen honesty used as a blunt instrument in many a murder of the heart and mind haven’t we?

So, that led me to wonder, are you being honest when you take the truth, twist it around someone’s neck until they turn blue and their tongue pops out of their mouth and they are for sure dead?

I don’t think so, I think at that point you used honesty for your own personal gain that makes it a lie.

 

When I was a kid one of my classmates referred to me as ‘ the black cat sitting on a Cadillac’. It was a TV jingle at the time. But before you knew it I was being called a Black Cat by everyone…she would not stop. So one day I hauled off and punched her in the eye and ended up in the Principal’s office with my Teacher- who was very fond of grabbing me by hair on the top or back of my head and shaking it  from side to side to get my attention.

In fact, that’s how she got me to the office that day. Dragging me down past my classmates, other teachers and a janitor by the hair on the back of my head.

Nobody looked surprised.

So, we get into the office and the Principal and Teacher tell me, in all honesty ( they said )  that it wasn’t my classmate’s FAULT that I was different. I was told -almost kindly- by our Principal that I looked different and what I NEEDED to do was develop a sense of humor about BEING DIFFERENT from everyone else.

And then they brought my classmate in – with her Mother who they called right away ( my Mom got a note two days later) and told me I needed to apologize.

I looked into those self righteous  faces, and into my classmate’s smirking expectant one- and from the bottom of my racing little heart-  in all honesty-  and on the verge of tears said with amazement

” That shiner is a beaut, isn’t it?”

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Really?

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Just a thought:

Sometimes when I mention I used to work in a Funeral Home some people  will say that they always wanted to do that work because

” They feel comfortable in a funeral home” , that they think death is “beautiful”, and dead bodies don’t ‘bother’ them.

For the most part I listen politely.

But this is how I really feel:

The living VISIT funeral homes, even the people who work there. It’s not your home, it’s a weigh station for the dead.

Show some respect for that. It’s not a club house.

Death is NOT beautiful.

It’s brutal.

It takes babies and children, old people, good people, bad people, beloved pets .It takes you when you’re happy, vulnerable, when you’re sad and depressed and lonely,  when you’re driving your car or just living your life and minding your own business.

How messed up is that?

Like Lister said in Red Dwarf, ” If Death comes near me, I’ll rip it’s nipples off “

For the most part that’s how I feel about death.

Bastard.

And FYI dead bodies SHOULD bother you.

They should make you think, feel, react, run, vomit SOMETHING.

Once there was all the hope in the world for that dead person and now it’s gone.

No more chances, no more reset, you get put into the ground or and urn and that’s all she wrote folks.

So please, if you want to work in a Funeral Home remember you are in service to the living and your job is to care for their loved one who has passed.

You’re not ‘of the night’.

You’re of the living and if you forget that you’re not going to be of much help to anyone.

I’m Pretty Sure You Don’t Want To Do That

Buffalo Nickel
Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

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About 17 years ago I lost 50.00.

I was shopping and I’m pretty sure that when I reached into my unorganized purse and pulled out my unorganized wallet the 50.00 dropped out.

Do you know what really made me mad?

It wasn’t that I lost the  50.00- though that did sting. No. What really made me mad was that some lucky ducky found 50.00.

I have never looked down and found anything larger then a penny.

That’s what really made me mad- in my life I have never been that lucky but on that day I sure as Hell made sure somebody else was.

So ever since that black marked day I don’t carry cash.

I use my debit card.

And here’s the reason why.

When I was in high school I went to church with my friend.

Her Church was one of those people speaking in tongues and writhing in the aisles with snakes kind of church.

It was better then any horror movie because  the feeling in that church was dark and oppressive and if something would have reached up through the floor  in an explosion of brick and mortar  and faded plum colored carpeting and pulled us down  one by one and  kicking and screaming and dripping entrails all the way through the gates of Hell..I wouldn’t have been surprised

But on that day they were going on about people being marked with numbers- specifically credit card numbers.

That was how Satan was going to mark us…so whatever you do, don’t get one of those cards.

No problem. I was like 17 at the time. I didn’t see myself to ever be in a position to be ‘marked by Satan’.

It was shortly after I lost that money and made someone else very lucky I remembered that day in the Church- how we would be marked and cursed and turned into Demons doing the Devil’s work for all of eternity  if we got numbered.

Oh really? I thought. Is that how it works? Because I was tired of being the softie who gave in ( most of the time m)  with just about everyone in my life…my kids, my job, holding the doors open for people, and now apparently I am throwing money around like confetti at a New Years Eve Party.

I dug through my desk drawer, found my Debit card, activated it and since then I haven’t carried cash. I’ll be damned ( literally ) if I ever make someone’s day like that again.

I must say though:

When I pull that card out I feel wicked.

Very wicked.

And it feels….good.

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Tick Tock Tick Tock

Twenty-Five Seven

Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?

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I love to watch those tv shows where women are looking for the perfect bridal gown.

My favorite dresses are the ones that Gypsy women wear. They’re big and over the top and the drama behind it all…I love it. And do you know those dresses actually cause them physical pain? Bruises? Cuts?

And they do it anyway because this is the biggest day of their lives.

At least they don’t pretend otherwise. I know a lot of women who have marched down the aisle and when they got to the end of it that was it for them too.

They’ll never admit it though.

But I digress.

I noticed that the women who have a small budget and the ones who aren’t concerned about the cost have the same problem-

finding a dress.

One is hampered by the lack of funds and the other is hampered by their endless choices.

That leaves me with the question- what would I do if I had an extra hour everyday?

I could write, read, shop, eat.

In reality I think I’d sleep it away or do what most people do- I’d still be complaining that there aren’t enough hours in the day.

So instead of having 24 hours to bitch about I’d have 25.

But if I had an extra minute- I could use that.

It only takes a minute to decide to turn left or right- that’s life changing.

And who wouldn’t like to have a chance everyday for that to be a possibility?

When This You Read Think Of Me…

Reader’s Block

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without reading a book (since learning how to read, of course)? Which book was it that helped break the dry spell?

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I have to have a book on me.

There’s one in my purse, one in my tote bag and another in the backpack I carry my laptop in.

I change them out, but for the most part  I travel with Dickens, King and M.R James.

I won’t say I prefer books to conversations, because I really do like to talk to people. But books, I love to read them. Every chance I get.

When I get my hands on a new book I’ll read it staright through. And whoa be to the rotten books because I won’t stop reading until I’m done.

If I invest that much time in a book, I feel like I have every right to tell anyone who will listen exactly how I wasted “X” amount of time on a piece of junk and how I will go to my grave and through all of eternity regretting the decision to pick up that book ever.

Or I will say, ” I can’t believe an innocent tree died for this piece of junk”.

There are times though when I will read one book for the pleasure of it, because the words are music to my eyes and I will read it slow. One chapter a night ONLY.

That book is Great Expectations by Dickens.

I love the way he uses the language, I love every single character, I love the darkness- both in the characters and the scenes- every turning point takes place in the shadows even when the characters are in full sunlight.

Lucky for me, I’ve never suffered from Reader’s Block…but then again I have had Charles Dickens in my life for a very long time.

That’s probably why.

It’s A Living Thing

Dictionary, Shmictionary

Time to confess: tell us about a time when you used a word whose meaning you didn’t actually know (or were very wrong about, in retrospect).

There’s something to be said growing up in a family where English was not the first language  on one side  and not exactly mastered ( there are no Grammar Nazis hanging in this girl’s family tree ) on the other side- what can be said is this:

If you didn’t know the meaning of a word or needed one you just asked.

No problem.

But you will always have that one person in the family who will get it wrong on purpose. Because she has mastered the perfect poker face, because she is so focused on you that she will watch you cringe, or try not to laugh or feel embarrassed for her because…

she thinks it’s funny.

And no I’m not talking about myself, I’m talking about my Mom- the slayer of syntax, the butcher of innocent words, the serial killer of complete sentences.

My Mom would have you believe she doesn’t know better, but the fact is in order for you to twist things around like that you really do have to know what you’re saying.

Of course there’s no fun in that so…

My Dad and his cousin built my dog this great dog house and he hardly used it because he was an Alaskan Malamute and we lived outside of Seattle, so the weather never got so bad he had to take shelter in it.

My cats on the other hand loved that house because it was carpeted and warm.

So it was at Thanksgiving and the family is enjoying this great meal and we’re all dressed up when my Mom looks out the kitchen window and says to my Dad and his cousin John:

” Look at those cats, they’ve taken over Sham’s dog house. I’ll bet that’s why he won’t go in it. You know what you should do Bert? You and John should build a cat house. They’d really enjoy it.”

” So would the rest of the neighborhood. ” my Grandma said.

I bit down on my fork and the evidence is my still slightly chipped front tooth. My brother slapped his forehead- hard- and my Dad and his cousin both enthusiastically   agreed a Cat House was a good idea.

” The girls could make curtains for it- ” my Mom said referring to me and my sister- she led us to believe ” and put little beds in there…”

I couldn’t stand it anymore.

” Mom! Do you know what a Cat House is?” You do right?”

My Mom shrugged. ” Of course I do. It’s where Cats live.”

” Ma! It’s where Prostitutes live…”

One of my other cousins enlightened us all ” Oh, I think they just work there,  they don’t live there.”

” Well,” my Mom went on as if she hadn’t heard us say a word. ”  I always said the best cat to have around is one that works hard- you know catching mice- so why shouldn’t they have a nice bed to sleep on and pretty curtains? “

” Mom! A Cat House is a Whore House. You know what they are right?”

” Of course I know. And I also know you weren’t listening to a word I said.”

It took me awhile to figure out what she meant. She was right. I wasn’t listening to her, I was listening at her. I knew exactly what she intended to say. So why didn’t I let it go?

So now when someone twists a word around I sort of go with it. And when I use the wrong word- it’s no sweat.

But when my Mom does it I just stand there and drop what I’m doing and watch the carnage unfold right  before my eyes.

It’s like looking at nine or ten cars right after they’ve rear ended each other on the freeway- there’s broken glass and bits of cars and Fire Engines and First Aid Cars and Police  cars all over the place- and I know I shouldn’t- but I’ll look. And then I’ll stare. I’ can’t help myself.

My Mom and her impact on language have the same effect on me.

Fish Sticks, Pirates and Me

Ready, Set, Done

10 minutes. You and your keyboard (or smartphone. Or tablet. Or pen and paper). No pauses, no edits, no looking back: it’s free-write time!

When I was little I had two goals- I wanted to write, and become a Pirate.

On most days I saw no reason I couldn’t do both.

 I was eight at the time.

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Out of my two life goals the Pirate gig seemed to be doable and practical.

I could see myself sailing a ship, bossing around a crew of scurvy sea dogs and kicking heinie  in all of the Seven Seas and a few lakes and rivers to boot.

I didn’t care so much about finding treasure, but the idea of sneaking up on another Pirate ship in the middle of the night and stealing their flag and crew?

My little old heart would race with happiness thinking about what kind of things I could do as a Pirate.

I would go to church just so I could pray like crazy for God to please make me a Pirate.

Please God, I’d pray, I don’t want to be a stewardess or a waitress or a Mom. I want to be a pirate and sail a big black ship and have other Pirates be so scared of me and my crew that they’d all stay home and I would have the Ocean to myself.

And for some reason I had it in my head that I’d leave the Ferry Boats alone and probably fishing boats too.

Fishing boats because I used to love fish sticks and unless someone went out there and fished  I figured  I’d probably starve to death and as for the Ferry Boats? Well. Back in the day my family went to Victoria BC so I didn’t see any reason to give up on  my great family vacations  – so for sure the Ferry Boats wouldn’t have to worry about me or my wicked crew.

Nowadays there are times when I’m riding the bus home for work, or when I’m in line at the grocery store and I remember those days when anything seemed possible and I thought one day I’d be a Pirate.

And after a moment or two, I think…you know…anything is possible.

After all, I did manage to become a writer ( of sorts )

So anything is possible.

Anything at all.

Once Upon A Time

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Fictional Intruder

Go down the rabbit hole with Alice; play quidditch with Harry Potter; float down the river with Huck Finn… If you could choose three fictional events or adventures to experience yourself, what would they be?

Oh where to start.

Where to Start.

If I could choose three fictional events to participate in I would:

Want to be  with Father Merrin in the Exorcist when he is standing in the desert in Iraq and he’s looking at the statue of Pazuzu and he knows that dark days are ahead.

I’d have loved to have been there with Scrooge in the graveyard when he sees his name on the tombstone  and

I’d really have liked to have taken that carriage ride with Johnathan Harker to Dracula’s Castle in the Carpathian Mountains.

I’m going to be honest here.

I would want to be that Statue of Pazuzu and have been able to have looked into Father Merrin’s eyes…I would have invited him to run, but of course I would have hoped he wouldn’t

and I’d like to have been the Ghost who took Scrooge to the cemetery to see his lonely grave and I would have told him to relax. All graves are lonely and eventually they are all forgotten

and I’d have liked to have taken those reigns and taken Harker on the ride of his life through the Carpathian Mountains. By the time I was done he would have  walked all the way back to England and Dracula would have been a different book all together.

Those are just moments in a story but I’ve been there over and over again and those moments feel like a lifetime.

GPS THIS!

Back to Life

After an especially long and exhausting drive or flight, a grueling week at work, or a mind-numbing exam period — what’s the one thing you do to feel human again?

 

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 Just before I turned 49 one of my cousins died, my Dad died, both of my dogs died and  for the first time since I began writing at age 9 I honestly could not write a word because the inspiration, the joy of it all was just gone.

Losing my ability to write was the hardest thing that happened that year, it was hard because I had always seen myself as being the person who wrote.

So with my identity in the crapper and on it’s way to wherever raw sewage gets sent ( oh sure…it ALL gets sent to a treatment plant I am SURE) my entire life came to a screeching halt.

I felt less then human on so many levels.

The first thing I tried to get back was my Writing Mojo.

Do you know the world is full of advice on how to do that? They write books about it, you can go to lectures about it, ” All you have to do, ” I was told over and over again ” is just sit down and write.”

” Oh really? ” I remember thinking. ” Wow. That’s SO obvious. Why the heck didn’t I think of that?”

Well of course it wasn’t that easy.

Most of the time I wrote snarky obituaries for people who thought it was so simple, all I had to do was just ‘sit down and write’. You know what I wanted to do? Tell them I took their advice and show them what I was writing. I remember thinking I’d lose some friends but there would be a few less red wagons in need of fixing out there in the big bad world.

So in the end, as it often is often the case, I found my own way,  sat down and started to write again.

I didn’t read advice books, I didn’t go to a meetup and talk to other writers about not being able to write.

One day I sat down here at my blog and started to read my stories.

The older stories were the first stories I wrote- and I left them as is because over the years I thought it would be cool to see how I grew as writer. I’d do a lot of them different, but why mess with the work of a writer who worked that hard? As it was, I loved those. I’m proud of them. Even if they are far from perfect.

 And then I got to the more recent ones and I couldn’t believe they were mine.

It made me want to write again so I picked up on these daily posts at WordPress. I looks forward to doing one ( or two ) a day.

Of course I don’t think I’m doing them exactly right, but what’s the worst that can happen? I can’t get fired for not following the rules and nobody is going to die over it.

 My responses are what they are.

In  the end I felt human again, like Anita Marie the writer again because I went back and found myself lost there in the weeds and ruins- and there in that mess was my writer’s voice just waiting for me.

I think I was lucky this time.

May we never part ways again.

Lurking in the Deep, Dark Forest

Prehistoric Gardens, Copyright © 2009 Jade Leone Blackwater

Attention writers, bloggers, and artists of all media: if you’re looking for a prompt or a bit of inspiration this month, consider looking for what’s hidden (or lurking) among the trees.

This September Arboreality will host The Festival of the Trees issue 39 on the theme of Secrets, and you’re all invited to join me, Jade Blackwater, and bring your friends too!

The Festival of the Trees is a monthly blog carnival featuring trees and forests.  For the September Festival, our theme is Secrets:

“Forests, farms, gardens, urban trees, and ancient-rock-clinging-wind-whipped Bristlecone pine stands can be an escape, a place to hide, a space to rest, a home for buried treasure. This month, I invite you to reveal a small glimpse of a secret among the trees. Consider the quiet spots you go to sit, the trees which have stood in silent observation of the events of your life, the aromatic memory of the garden from a place you have visited. With word, image, sound, or otherwise inspired creation, give us a peek at what you see, or what you can imagine.”

Grab your free-wheeling creative license (and maybe a big, heavy club) and reveal what’s hidden in the dark, mutable forest.

Then post your creations online at your blog, photo album, or other web-based resource, and send me the link:

trees[at]brainripples[dot]com

Deadline for submissions is August 28, 2009.

Questions, comments, suggestions? Drop me an email.

(Don’t forget to drop breadcrumbs along the trail as you go!

…..wouldn’t want to get lost out there.)

Prehistoric Gardens, Copyright © 2009 Jade Leone Blackwater

[Photos taken October 2008 at the Prehistoric Gardens]

PS – We’re still seeking volunteers to host The Festival of the Trees #40 and beyond! This is a fun way to broaden your audience, and of course – have fun in the trees.
To learn more, contact Dave (bontasaurus[at]yahoo[dot]com) and Pablo (editor[at]roundrockjournal[dot]com), and visit the Volunteer to Host page for details.

PS – We’re still seeking volunteers to host The Festival of the Trees #40 and beyond! This is a great way to broaden your audience, and of course – have fun in the trees.

To learn more, contact Dave (bontasaurus[at]yahoo[dot]com) and Pablo (editor[at]roundrockjournal[dot]com), and visit the Volunteer to Host page for details.