In some ways it feels like it should be Friday because it seems like quite a while ago since I posted last. But on the other hand, it doesn't seem possible that it could be Friday the 20th! Does anyone else feel like the days are going by much too quickly?
It's been a good writing week for me. I have not written this much in one week since the beginning of April! Yeah. Crazy. If I can write tonight and tomorrow night I may set a new record. Perhaps I'll even get ten thousand words written. I've never written that many in one week before. It sure would be fun. And if I did, I would hope that would mean I could finally get this Christmas story finished. It's already 13 parts long. And now I have an idea for another Christmas story. Though I really hope this one will be shorter. :P
Update on Through the Tunnel:
I only have one more person, my sister, who has to finish reading this book. But she can't get to it until Sunday as she's way too busy sewing. I got the cover fixed and uploaded last night. Hopefully it will be right this time. I'm going to work on making corrections on the interior hopefully today or tomorrow. And there is a chance that the book will be available on Amazon by next Friday. Anyone excited?
And now I'll let you get to your story. Enjoy!
Brad was frowning. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be in a sleigh on top of a house, but . . .” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “The dog house! If we could put it on wheels of some sort, we could cut a cardboard box so it kind of looks like a sleigh and the whole thing can be pulled or pushed.”
It was an ingenious idea. Brad raced home to ask his dad for a little help in getting the dog house to the lot. One of their neighbors, who had been talking with Mr. Miller when Brad arrived, offered the use of his small gator and flat trailer to put the doghouse and such on. “You can use it if Hunter’ll drive it,” Mr. Johnson agreed. “I don’t want any youngster accidentally running into the next float or dumping Santa Claus into the street.”
It was almost noon before the “Neighborhood Macy’s Parade” was ready to begin. From all around the neighborhood families and friends gathered in the front yards along the side of the street. The end of the street had been blocked off with bright orange cones, so there was no fear of traffic to interrupt the parade.
Loud were the cheers when the “floats” began to appear. There was one with pilgrims and Indians. Who cared that the Indian’s feathers were bright blue and pink, or that the pilgrim father’s paper hat blew off and he had to chase it. Next came the “band” consisting of a pot beaten enthusiastically, a kazoo, and a trumpet.
The onlookers roared with laughter when they beheld Cherry leading on a string an enormous “turkey” who seemed strangely tall considering that its face appeared to be that of Trenton wearing a beak and red floppy comb under his chin. It took only a look at the boots under the yellow paper “feet,” however, to realize that Sgt. Crawford, home from the Marines for several months, was the lower part of the bird. “He’s probably got couch cushions or his pack on his back covered with a cloth,” whispered one lady to her husband amid the laughter.
“Yep, and I reckon it’s supposed to be one of those balloon things.”
The “Macy’s” float came next, with a large sign, and a wagon full of stuffed animals, and dolls all sporting fashionable clothes.
Three bicycle riders came next, followed by a few more ingenious “floats,” but the crowning moment came when “Santa Claus came to town.” No one minded or even commented on the fact that Santa’s legs stuck out the bottom of his sleigh and the toes of his boots were hooked on the edge of the roof so that he wouldn’t fall out. His outfit was splendid, and he sported a beard of white batting which made him sneeze several times as he was carried slowly down the street waving to the people and shouting, “Come to Macy’s and buy your Christmas presents!” This last bit brought down the house, and even the sound of the gator’s engine was drowned out.
Pulling off the itchy beard, Brad asked, “When is the game, Dad?”
Mr. Miller chuckled. “Not yet. You’ve got to give everyone a little time to recover from the parade. And besides, aren’t you all hungry yet?”
“I am!” Rosa exclaimed. “But we can’t eat a Thanksgiving dinner, can we?”
“Well, not like we usually do, but we’ll eat a feast later in the afternoon. We’ve got three turkeys roasting in roaster ovens powered by a generator Mr. Leeks had. Between all the families, I imagine we’ll have enough to at least taste a bit of turkey. If they don’t get done, or if anyone is still hungry after we eat, they can roast hot dogs.”
At two o’clock everyone gathered in the “Neighborhood Bowl” behind Mr. Merrik’s house for the big foot ball game. All the players had been divided into two opposing teams: Panthers vs. Cowboys. All around the field chairs had been set up, a few trucks had been parked and more chairs set up in their beds. “To give the impression of stands,” Mr. Miller had told his wife. Since no one had real padding, the game was tag football, but no one minded. One of the men used to work as a referee and he had pulled out his black and white shirt and hung his whistle around his neck.
At half time the score was 3-1 in favor of the Panthers. Most of the ladies left the game then, as did a few of the men who weren’t playing. The ones who remained, however, cheered every play and shouted encouragement to the younger players until they were hoarse.
When the game finally ended the Cowboys had managed to win the game by one point at the very end. Brad came off the field rather winded and hot. He found his sisters and brothers waiting for him in the back of their dad’s truck. “Well, I thought we were going to win,” he remarked, reaching for the water bottle Rosa held out to him.
“But it was a really close game,” Rosa said, waving to a friend who had been sitting on the other side of the field. “Now you have to go get cleaned up so we can eat.”
Everyone agreed it was a most unusual place for a Thanksgiving dinner, but the middle of their quiet, blocked off street seemed to be the perfect place to put tables and chairs. “Of course, anyone is welcome to sit in the grass or on their porch, if they’d rather,” Mrs. Miller told everyone as they all gathered.
It wasn’t the traditional Thanksgiving meal most families in America would be partaking of, but it was a feast. The three turkeys had been roasted to perfection and, with the use of three grills, two gas stoves, and two dutch ovens, the ladies had managed to prepare potatoes, both mashed and baked, stuffing, corn, cranberry sauce, and a few other dishes, not to mention the pies which had been baked ahead of time. As for rolls, Mr. Henthorn, who worked at a bakery, had brought home dozens of rolls the evening before, when he had learned of the intended feast. Though there wasn’t enough turkey for everyone to have as much as they might have wanted, no one was hungry by the time the meal was over.
Brad leaned back in his chair and looked down the length of the street. “It sure is funny to be eating our Thanksgiving meal in the middle of a street.”
Rosa nodded. “But we wouldn’t have fit anywhere else very well, except for the empty lots, and that would have been a long way to carry all the tables and things.”
Have you ever eaten in the middle of a street before?
Do you like playing football?
Are you excited about "Through the Tunnel"?