Can you believe it? That's a lot of posting, a lot of writing. I can't claim credit for it all, but most of the last year's posts are mine. As long as I'm posting a bit of prompt writing, I feel like I'm still a writer. It's been a long hard year; I've got my fingers crossed that 2010 is better, all the way around.
October 30--Edwaert Colyer, Vanitas Still Life. Every flat surface in the house collects stuff. It's like a disease; no one puts things away. Just look at the table in the library. There are books, of course, but on the bottom is Amos' lute. It should be in its case or at least on a stand but, no, it lays there face down with books lying on it adding their weight, crushing the bridge, stretching the strings. What's that under Antonia's silk scarf? A femur? Why doesn't Grant keep his bones in the study? I see he's left a jawbone and skull there too where any passing spaniel can just make off with them. Careless. I see Livia and Oren have been here too. The empty wine glass and the rosary beads must be theirs. Who else? Nora's flute is part of the installation and Uncle Leo's quill and ink pot are there too. It's a wonder the ink hasn't spilled all over. And little Meg has topped the whole sculpture off with flowers. It's an intriguing pile, but why am I always the one cleaning up?
We just got back from a Barbershoppers concert; it was fun and entertaining. I was afraid I wouldn't think of what to write before bedtime, but I managed. The wind has come up and it's roaring around sweeping tornadoes of leaves ahead of it. I love it when it's windy.
--Barbara
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