Jeremiah Pinkerton and the Thanksgiving Day Giving – Part Four

Jeremiah came flying through the crack in the wall, “Come dear, we must hurry!”

“What are you in such a rush for, did you find Mrs. Abigail? Is she okay?” Mrs. Pinkerton asked pulling back from Jeremiah who was grabbing for her hand and tugging at her trying to get her to follow.

“Yes, we found her. She was in the bedroom. There is no time to explain. We must get to the barn and inform the others. I have a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“A plan for the best Thanksgiving Day Giving ever. Now come on. We must hurry. There is much to do and we will need all the help we can get.”

“But what about the children?” Mrs. Pinkerton asked looking over at the seven youngsters who were sitting on the floor, tossing jacks.

“They can help too. There is no time to waste. I’ll meet you in the barn.” Then he slipped back through the crack in the wall leaving Mrs. Pinkerton to gather the children and escort them to the barn.

When Mrs. Pinkerton and the children finally arrived at the barn, it was quite a busy place. Cesar was using his strong neck and teeth to stack pumpkins in Mrs. Abigail’s buggy, while the field mice ran to and fro loading in spices and food. Everyone in the barn was pitching in.

Mrs. Cluck was no longer staining the wooden wall yellow. Instead, she packed the table setting in a picnic basket while her chicks picked the best of the remaining squash flowers and brought them to the mice to place in the buggy.

“What’s going on here Jeremiah? Why are they taking down all the decorations and putting everything in Mrs. Abigail’s buddy?” Mrs. Pinkerton asked.

“We are taking the feast to the cottage.”

“You’re taking the feast to the cottage? I don’t understand. Why would we do that?”

“I didn’t have time to explain earlier.” Jeremiah said, still rushing back and forth and up and down the wheels of the buggy placing as many items in the floorboard as he could explaining to Mrs. Pinkerton as he went. “Mrs. Abigail is sick. Doc Withers says it’s the flu. So I thought it would be nice if we moved our celebration to the cottage and shared it with her this year so she wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, but why all the pumpkins?”

“We’re going to bake the Thanksgiving Pies too. Cesar is going to take them to the shelter. We wouldn’t want Mrs. Abigail to be upset because there were no pies to deliver on Thanksgiving this year.”

“Oh Jeremiah, you have thought of everything.”

So the animals moved everything for the feast to cottage where they  went to work baking pie and a big pot of squash soup for Mrs. Abigail to help her feel better. When they were finished, they loaded the pies in the buggy and Cesar headed to the homeless shelter with his head held high in the air. The rest of the animals decorated the cottage and set a nice place for Mrs. Abigail to enjoy her soup in the wingback chair next to the fireplace.

“Is that Pumpkin Pie I smell?” Mrs. Abigail said as she emerged from her room and stepped out into the living room. “Oh, look at all of these beautiful decorations. And what’s this? Is this squash soup?”

“Yes Mrs. Abigail. Now come sit in your chair. You shouldn’t be on your feet too long.”

Jeremiah and Doc Withers lead Mrs. Abigail to the wing-backed chair. “Everyone pitched in and Cesar is taking your pies to the shelter as we speak. They may not taste quite as good as yours, but they are warm pumpkin pie all the same.”

Jeremiah went on to tell her how all the animals were so grateful that she allowed them stay in the barn that they wanted to do something to help her in return.  

Mrs. Abigail smiled and sipped her soup, as she listened attentively to each animal as they told his or her tale of cutting pumpkin for pies and baking squash for the soup.

When they finished, the little ones scurried up the chair and gathered around for a story. Jeremiah and his wife sat at the arm of the chair waiting patiently as Mrs. Abigail opened the book that had been sitting on the end table next to the chair. But just as Jeremiah began to read, something wonderful happened.

“Jeremiah,” Mrs. Pinkerton began to say tugging just a bit on his shirtsleeve, “I think it is time for us to go.”

“Go?” asked Jeremiah. “But we have just begun to read the story.”

“I don’t think this will wait,” Mrs. Pinkerton was getting very insistent. She leaned over to Jeremiahs ear and whispered, “The babies are coming.”

“THE BABIES ARE COMING! NOW? OH WE MUST GO!”

Understanding that these things just won’t wait he asked Mrs. Abigail, “Would you mind watching the little ones and reading them a story?” 

“Well of course. You just run along and take care of your dear wife. We’ll be right here reading stories and snacking on this wonderful Thanksgiving Day Feast.”

Jeremiah and his wife retreated to the crack in the wall, while Mrs. Abigail proudly took Jeremiah’s place reading  to the little ones. She was so proud of Jeremiah and his selfless act. How special he made her feel that miserable Thanksgiving morning.

That year marked the beginning of a brand new Thanksgiving Day Giving tradition–A tradition that no longer took place in the barn.

From that day forward, Mrs. Abigail sat and read to the children, while the animals prepared the feast. Of course, she did oversee the baking of the pumpkin pies.

THE END

Jeremiah Pinkerton and the Thanksgiving Day Giving – Part Three

The two scurried from the barn back through the tall grass that had already changed from green to gold and into the cottage. But when they reached Mrs. Abigail’s door Jeremiah froze, motionless.

“Do you think it will be safe to go in?” He felt the tingle in his tail right at the spot where it crooked from being broken by the hairbrush.

“It will be fine Jeremiah.” Doc tried to comfort him by patting him on the shoulder and giving it a good firm squeeze.

Jeremiah knew that it wasn’t as if Mrs. Abigail had hurt him on purpose. She had just never seen a mouse wonder into the bedroom before. When he spooked her and she dropped her hairbrush, it just happened to land on his tail. She would never hurt a hair on any of her little mouse friends. After all, to her, they had become her family and soon she would find out just how much they thought the same of her.

Doc Withers figured the only way he would be able to get Jeremiah to conquer his fear of the bedroom was to take a bold move, and a bold move was just what he did. He placed his foot on Jeremiahs backside and shoved him under the crack in the door.

Jeremiah fell down on his belly and slide across the wooden floor like a mop and spinning around like a top. When he came to a stop, he got up and turned toward the door yelling at Doc Withers, “What did you do that for?”    

Doc had just finished crawling under the door and said as he stood, “I thought you could use a little inspiration.”

“A little inspiration, you shoved me under the door. I could have been hurt.” Jeremiah was so sore with Doc Withers that he didn’t realize he had walked backward almost all the way across the room stopping just inches from the bed.  

Doc hadn’t moved since he came out from under the door. He just stood with his mouth wide open and his eyes as wide as saucers facing Jeremiah and watching him move backward across the room. “Don’t move.” He whispered.

“Don’t move? Why Doc?” Jeremiah asked.  

Doc held his arms in front of him and shook his hands as if he was suddenly directing traffic, “Just turn around very slow.”  

Jeremiah swallowed very hard. So hard that he felt his Adams apple move from the very top to the very bottom of his throat.

When he turned around, he saw Mrs. Abigail’s hand. He looked up and Mrs. Abigail was peering over the edge of the bed wearing her light blue sleeping bonnet with a sheepish smile on her face and a feverish sweat across her brow. Her hand was hanging over the edge of the bed and she held it out flat so that Jeremiah could climb up on it. “It’s okay,” she said, “I am so glad you have come to visit. I could use the company. I see you brought the doctor. How did you know Jeremiah? How did you know that this old woman was sick?”

Jeremiah and Doc Withers hesitated for a moment before climbing up on her hand and letting her raise them up to the top of the bed.

“Mrs. Abigail, It is my professional opinion that you have the flu,” Doc Withers said after examining her. “What you could use is a nice warm meal, plenty of bed rest, and plenty of fluid.”

“Oh but I can’t stay in bed, who will make the pumpkin pies and deliver them to the homeless shelter in town. They are depending on me as they do every year. I can’t let them down. But I just feel so awful that every time I try to get out of bed, I just end up lying right back down.”

Jeremiah thought for a moment, and then it came to him. The best Thanksgiving Day Giving idea ever.

“Don’t you worry about a thing Mrs. Abigail,” Jeremiah said. “You just lay there and get your rest and let Doc Withers look after you.” Then he scrambled down the bedpost, back under the door and he was gone.

END OF PART THREE

Jeremiah Pinkerton and The Thanksgiving Day Giving – Part Two

The barn was such a sight to see. All of the mouse families had been gathering and decorating for the big Thanksgiving Day Giving Feast.  Even Cesar the Clydesdale had joined in on the celebration setting apples around the top ledge of his stall walls and decorating them with clover flowers from the field.

Mrs. Cluck and her chicks brought back squash flowers from the field. They grinded them down extracting the yellow liquid to make a bright yellow stain for the dingy wood walls. They were over half-finished; the wall was bright, and beautiful. The whole barn glowed from the sunlight that poured through the broken window and reflected off it.

“Excuse me Mrs. Cluck, I don’t mean to interrupt, but have you seen Doc Withers?” Jeremiah asked, almost out of breath and wheezing heavily.

“Oh, no, no, no! Is everything, ok, k, k with Mrs. Pink, Pink, Pinkerton?” She asked scratching her talons across the squash flowers in the bottom of the silver dog dish.

“Mrs. Pinkerton is fine; It’s Mrs. Abigail that I am worried about. I have not seen her and she is not baking pie.”

“Not, Not, Not, Not, baking pie you say. There must, must must, be something wrong. Check with Cesar I believe he had a doc, doc, doctor’s appointment with him this morning.” Mrs. Cluck clucked.

“Thank you Mrs. Cluck, and by the way, the wall looks beautiful,” Jeremiah exclaimed as he ran across the barn toward Cesar’s stall.

When he entered the stall, Doc Withers and Cesar were just finishing up. Doc Withers placed his stethoscope in the black bag. “Now Cesar, I keep telling you, you are as healthy as a horse, no pun intended.”

“Are you sure doc? I’ve been feeling kind of tired lately,” Cesar was always a bit of a hypochondriac. Ever since Budweiser turned him down for having thin ankles and not enough strength to pull the cart.

“You are fine. Now lay off the straw a little and eat some more apples. If you dropped a few pounds it would do you a world of good.”

“Oh no, am I overweight? Is it my heart? Am I going to have a heart attack doc?” Cesar’s eyes opened very wide and he reared his head back throwing his ears forward. He was making quit a show of himself when he noticed Jeremiah enter the stall.

“A few pounds aren’t going to kill you,” the doc said, “But if you don’t slow down, you’ll be too fat to fit in your harness come Christmas and you don’t want to miss the Christmas parade do you?” Doc Withers knew exactly what to say. Cesar lived for Christmas. Each year Mrs. Abigail would brush out his coat real nice. Then she would polish the brass on his harness decorate it with garland and bright shiny Christmas bulbs then they would head off to the Christmas Parade where Mrs. Abigail would toss candy to the kids from the buddy drawn by Cesar. 

Cesar grabbed an apple from the top of the stall and started eating right away.

“Doc, Doc, come quick. I think there is something amiss at the cottage.” Jeremiah said, scurrying up to the doc and leaning on him even more out of breath than before.

“Something is wrong at the cottage? Well what exactly is amiss?”

“I don’t know doc that’s why I need you to come with me. It’s Mrs. Abigail she has gone missing.”

“Gone missing? Are you sure she has not gone into town?”

“Maybe, but it’s not like her to go to town this late. Please just come with me so we can be sure everything is okay.”  Jeremiah was yanking on doc’s vest pocket trying to get him to follow behind him.

“Well alright, we will check, but I am sure everything is okay.”

END OF PART TWO

Jeremiah Pinkerton and the Thanksgiving Day Giving – Part One

Jeremiah Pinkerton was a busy mouse.  With only a few hours left to prepare for the grandest of all mouse traditions, Thanksgiving Day Giving, he barely had any time to spare.

It’s a well-known fact that mice can be the most industrious gatherers. However, when it comes to the day of Thanksgiving Day Giving, mice are enormously generous creatures.

Now this was Jeremiah’s first year as an adult mouse and he was sure to be extra diligent in his duties. After all, he and Mrs. Pinkerton had been quite busy starting a large family and it was his responsibility to make sure that each and every one of the little ones in his nest would have a gift to offer at the Thanksgiving Day Giving Feast.

Jeremiah scurried about gathering every morsel of cheese, crumb of bread, and grain of wheat he could find. It was hard work. Times were tough and there was not much food to spare. He felt lucky to find a handful of pumpkin seeds that had fallen from the hearth while being roasted on Halloween. As well as a cinnamon stick Mrs. Abigail dropped once while making pumpkin pies for the town’s homeless center. This she did on Thanksgiving every year. 

Jeremiah loved the smell of pumpkin pie. Oh, the glorious aroma of ground ginger, cinnamon, and cloves as it warmed in the oven and filled every crease, nook, and cranny of space in the old wooden cottage. The smell brought back such wonderful memories.

He remembered when he was just a young mouse gathering behind the straw broom at the corner of the fireplace with his brothers and sisters. Then, one by one, they would scamper across the floor and climb to the top of the old wing backed chair where Mrs. Abigail would sit and read while the pies baked.

Jeremiah being the older of the mice by almost ninety-three seconds would read over Mrs. Abigail’s shoulder to his younger brothers and sisters. Mrs. Abigail would just sit there, turning the pages as Jeremiah read.

You could almost tell time by the smell of pumpkin pie wafting in the cottage. But this year something was wrong. Something was missing in the quiet little cottage. It was the smell of pumpkin pie.

      “I think there is something terribly wrong,” Jeremiah said to his wife as he dragged the last of the pumpkin seeds through the crack in the wall and behind the electrical box where they stored their food.

      “Why do you say that,” Mrs. Pinkerton asked, not stopping for a second from fluffing the straw in the tiny straw mouse beds.

      Jeremiah started walking toward his wife, removing his cap from his head and wringing it between his small mouse hands. “Mrs. Abigail has not started baking pies.”

      Mrs. Pinkerton gasped spinning around and clutching the fringe of her lacy white apron, “Oh Jeremiah, something horrible must have happened! Did you check on Mrs. Abigail? Is she at home? Did you check the bedroom? She didn’t leave us did she?”

      Mrs. Pinkerton understood that if Mrs. Abigail decided to move there would be no more scraps for them to collect. No more cheese, or crackers, or rye seeds, or popcorn to feed their growing family, after all she was expecting again.

      “I’ll go check the bedroom, but I am not going in there alone. You remember what happened last time I ventured in there.”

      “I remember it was horrible. I didn’t think your tail would ever heal,” said Mrs. Pinkerton as she leaned her head upon Jeremiahs green vest and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You’re right. I’ll run to the barn first and see if Doc Withers will come with me,” and he kissed his wife on the forehead, placed his cap back on his head and scurried back through the crack in the wall.

END PART ONE

Are you ready to find out?

Has the suspense been killing you? Are you ready to find out what the surprise is?

Now don’t be disappointed. I warned you that it’s just a little special something. Ok?

Well here it is. 

During NaNoWriMo I needed a little distraction when Cesar, Alice, Sonya and Dr. Vernon wouldn’t cooperate. So I started a second story. Not another novel, but a short story. 

With the subject matter in Caveman’s Mosaic being somewhat dark I decided to write a fun children’s story. 

Now you may remember me mentioning a few days back, that a mousetrap had propelled me into a holiday story about Thanksgiving. I was secretly planting a subconscious seed in your minds. Because I knew that instead of my normal postings for the week I would be posting this short story.

Because the story is a little too long to post and have everyone read in one sitting. I’ve decided to break it up into four parts. The first you will see posted on Monday and the conclusion on Thanksgiving Day.

During all of the crazy things that will be happening this week, like, novel-writing, cooking, guest, turkey, pumpkin pie and all the fixing, I hope you take the time to read a short story about a wee small mouse and how he spends Thanksgiving. 

I thought it would be a nice treat for you. Something you could share with the children in your families–young and old alike.

So there it is–my special surprise. 

This is my way of saying “Thanks for being my friends and for standing by me as we all share in this mysterious journey”  I hope you’re not disappointed.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

I hope you enjoy Jeremiah Pinkerton and the Thanksgiving Day Giving.

 

A Little Special Something

I have a surprise for my friends. It’s holiday treat that I have been working on. It’s not anything grand. It’s just a little special something to bring you some holiday cheer.

You’ll have to tune in tomorrow to find out what it is.

Flash 55 – Emma’s New Puppy

“Are you sure?” Emma’s mom said, “It’s a long road.”  

“It’s not far and I don’t care anyway. If you won’t let me have a puppy, I’m going to grandma’s.” Emma said placing her hands on her hips. “Grandma will let me have anything I want and you can’t stop her cause she’s your mom.”

Plant Your Seat in that Chair!

So why is it that the novel draft I’m throwing together for NaNo is turning out better than the draft that took me over a year to write? Is that How NaNoWriMo Works?  Could it be that pure literary abandon is the foundation for a “novel” success? 

Maybe, but maybe there is more to it than that.

Many things have transpired between the start of my first Work in Process almost two years ago and NaNoWriMo 2009.  I’ve furthered my education and received great advice from wonderful instructors like Ann Linquist and Steve Alcorn.

There has also been the continuing support of my peers and fellow bloggers/writers: Kathan , Dayner , Nancy Drew Too aka Natasha, and Paper Cut Screams who is better known as our new friend Shaddy. They have all been such a blessing to me.

Therefore, I have to stop and reason, maybe the culmination of these elements are contributing to my success. These combined with other things.

***

My journey began with a desire to write and continued education. In the past year, I’ve taken several courses on the craft of writing and writing fiction, as well as grammar and English composition courses.

Then there is practice. Daily writing and blogging are helping me identify my weaknesses not only in communicating my point of view, but also in recognizing patterns in my writing that are overly used.

Planning has been a major component. I’ve devoted more time to planning processes, such as developing theme and conflict, than in any previous work.

I’ll also admit that literary abandon has served its purpose. Being forced to quiet the inner editor during the month of November has definitely kept me motivated toward reaching the final goal of a complete draft from hook to ending. Maybe there is a great truth in the words:

 “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor.” – Anne Lamott

Also, as intended, facing that impending NaNoWriMo deadline has prodded me to keep writing a piece of that novel every day–Even when other projects have their place in my day.

Therefore, when I consider how all of these elements have mingled together I cannot say that any one thing has helped me grow as a writer more than another. Nevertheless, I can say that NaNoWriMo 2009 has been an important element added to my writer’s arsenal.

I intend to take full advantage of National Novel Writing Month every November to ensure that I produce, at minimum, one new draft a year. Because if there is one purpose that  nanowrimo fulfills, it is making me plant my seat in the chair.

Quote of the Day – William Faulkner

Sound advice from William Faulkner!

***

“A writer must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid. ” – William Faulkner

***

When I stumbled upon this quote I thought, wow how true this is.

The physical process of writing is difficult in itself. However, even more difficult is managing the emotional turmoil generated by the need to release your thoughts in the nakedness of writing and then fearing that your thoughts will either make you appear imbalanced, or in some way undesirable, or weird, or worse yet a complete idiot.

I learned that as a writer, you either embrace the fear of complete nakedness and use it to craft the best work you can possibly produce, or you cave to it and hide under your desk trembling and paralyzed by the fear.

At times, I may still tremble, but at least now, I remain in my chair.

Novel running out of Steam? Try this!

It’s day 17 of the NaNoWriMo Challenge – Is your novel running out of steam?

Do you need a few ideas to get the creative juices flowing?

Here are ten ideas you may not have thought of:

1. Your protagonist buys a winning lottery ticket only to lose it and spend an entire day running around town chasing down garbage trucks trying to find it.
2. A venomous snake corners your protagonist in the kitchen. After spending several hours trying to capture it or chase it away with items from the kitchen, your main character realizes the snake is just a leftover prop from Halloween.
3. A tiger escapes from the zoo and has taken over the doghouse in the backyard.
4. Someone has mysteriously snuck into the protags closet and replaced all of his/her clothes with plastic wrap right before the most important meeting of their life. What do you do?
5. The neighbor’s Thanksgiving turkey has fled to your protags house for safety and is hiding in the bathtub.
6. Space monkeys have kidnapped your totem and you must build an intergalactic spaceship to follow them to the planet NaNo and get it back.
7. Your protag starts hearing everything that is said backwards after hearing it forward. Forward it hearing after backwards said is that everything hearing starts protag your.
8. Your protag gets trapped in a giant bubble after entering a bubble blowing contest featuring a new floating bubble gum and starts to float away. How many ways can the other contestants come up with to save your protag from floating off into outer space?
9. A skunk is sleeping in your protags car and he/she has to make the long walk to work. What does he/she see along the way?
10. Your protagonist suddenly finds out he is actually the antagonist!

Good Luck and Happy Day 17!