Dumb subject lines. I even have things to blog about and they mock me. But anyway. I did have things to write about, I did--I had a full plethora of smells and tastes and sounds and thoughts that I wanted to hum about but then I got distracted. First, I gazed blankly into space for the inspiration due to the subject line, as I often do, but I accidentally focused on my old flower press.

I got it for Christmas one year from my father's parents. We sat opening presents in their living room with approximately thirteen other cousins as I tore the tape from the shiny wrapping paper. A picture of small faery-children dancing on the top of the wooden frame was the first thing I saw, and then the bright red bolts that held the papers inside.

When we lived on the East Coast, I used to press flowers to put in letters to my friends. A few of my sketchbook pages (the one with the purple cover) have pressed leaves and flowers in them. Before we left for the West Coast, I took leaves from my favorite plants in our garden--the rosemary had tiny violet flowers on it then, and I took a small dark rose from the trellis on the side of the house. Leaves of mint and thyme frame some of my journal entries from that time . . .

I took leaves from my favorite Reading Trees. Some of the trees along our walking path to the park grew flowers in the Spring--I used to tuck sprigs of them into my best friend's thick, beautiful braid . . . I took flowers from that tree and put them in my press.

The flower press is dusty now . . . I must begin to use it again--it doesn't only preserve plants, it preserves memories . . . but anyway, I was saying. I got distracted. And then the cat jumped in my lap.

Or, I shouldn't say "the cat" because we really have two (that are each, in their own ways, very fine). Elanor is the one that jumped in my lap, my plump and adorable one. Ramone the Cosmic Bisqit is most of the time too boyish to sit still for very long. So, anyway, I was petting Nora and listening to her purr and thinking about how I should sit and read for a couple of hours tomorrow because I have a lot of reading to get done, and Charles Dickens does take a little while to sink into, even if you have read his stuff before or enjoy his style or both (which I have). And then I realised that I should pick up Emerson's essays too, and the bits of Blake's poetry that are assigned. Then--I should really get on the ball using my organiser. It is already half way through January and I haven't written in it, like I meant to before Christmas. Well . . .

And, like I said, I was getting distracted . . .

I suppose this day''s entry will have to wait until tomorrow:)

*hums*

"I like deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."
--d. adams