Just 24 hours later...

...this is what the same area looks like. Sometime during the night, it began to snow and it hasn't stopped. It's snowing relentlessly and shows no signs of slowing down or stopping. Our road hasn't been ploughed so that although Donald spent half an hour digging our car out (without a proper snow shovel, I might add), our road has not been ploughed and so we are going nowhere in our car as the snow on the road is up to Don's knees.

How to get to Ninewells Hospital? Well, Neil Aitken (husband of quilter friend Morag) is one person I know who owns a 4-wheel-drive Land Rover and also volunteers to drive locals to medical apppointments. He is going to pick us up at 12:30 and drive us to Dundee. What a knight in shining armour he is! I've now collected all the things I'll be taking with me and Don has gotten down a bag for me to pack. It only remains for me to pack it.

I've had my shower, washed my hair, and Don made us some wonderful French toast with leftover crusty bread from Comrie's new bakery. I'm all set. When I phoned this morning at 9 to check that there was still a bed available for me (something the hospital asked me to do), I was told they are waiting for me and not to worry if I'm not there at 2 exactly. Word is they got less snow than we have and, according to the radio, the A9 is clear until much further north.

In addition to the photo of the construction site in snow, you can see my latest quilt, "15 Short Stories by One Author." The 15 small blocks with circles are obviously made on the same basic pattern but each one is distinctly different and made me think of a short story collection by one author. So in addition to making the quilt top, I also wrote 15 "excerpts" from possible short stories, printed them out on fabric, and attached them as part of the quilt's border (those little rectangles edged in a dark wine colour). Here are the excerpts:

The cows stood in a cluster, as though engaged in conversation. As he watched them from the fence, Richard saw that one had turned her head to look at him appraisingly and somewhat haughtily over her back: See these greedy cows? She might be saying, They just eat and sleep all day long. I try to enliven the conversation but all they want to talk about is food. Try to engage a cow in a discussion about global warming and you get absolutely nowhere. Some days one wonders why one bothers.


Josephine tried to look interested in what Hilary was saying, but it was the same tired routine she'd heard for years, about how Hilary wasn't appreciated at work and how put-upon she was by her family. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP," Josephine shouted inside her own head, as she nodded at Hilary and smiled sympathetically. Suddenly she heard herself asking out loud: "Hilary, why don't you just run away and join the circus?" Hilary, stunned, stopped mid-sentence with her mouth agape. "Why don't I what? What are you talking about?"


Near the water's edge lay an abandoned book, smudged with mud. Elena picked it up and brushed it off. It was slightly damp and the pages made a crisp rustling noise as Elena flipped through and saw quickly drawn sketches of stones, leaves, flowers, water and then some writing: "How easy it would be to just walk away from it all." Something beneath this had been scribbled over. The other pages were blank with the exception of a tiny


As the board meeting wore on and the air in the conference room grew staler, Gordon found himself drifting off into thoughts of the golf course. He could almost smell the fresh air and feel the sun on his skin. What was he doing here? He should have retired years ago. His wife knew it, his children knew it, all his friends knew it, and deep down, even he knew it. So what was he waiting for? It wasn't the money and it certainly wasn't the excitement or the prestige. It was intertia.


Budge and Simpson rounded the corner to find the girls waiting for them, sitting on the fenders of a roadster parked by the curb. Budge thought to himself, How lucky can a guy be to come out of the war alive and have Lucille waiting for him, pretty as ever and seemingly, more eager than ever? Simpson was having similar thoughts only more along the line of God, look at that body. Perfect condition. Just needs a bit of paint and some chrome polish!


In the cool late afternoon shadows as the sun began to set behind the mountains the deer, one by one, could be seen, creeping almost like shadows from the fringe of the forest and onto the edge of the lawn. Their aim, the tender trees planted in the spring by the gardener at the request of Mrs. Doughty. She had chosen them without consulting him and so, in spite, he planted them exactly where he knew the deer would eat them. When she asked recently what was happening to the trees, he told her some sort of parasite must be getting at them. Serves her right, he thought, for owning this lovely property and visiting it so seldom.


If you wanted to get lost somewhere, this would surely be the place. Lonely and wild and isolated as it was, the glen still had a friendly feeling to it rather than a foreboding that might be connected with such a remote area. But it was so vast, that you could start walking through the hills and you might go for days, weeks even, and not meet another living soul.


Azaria sat down at the piano and arranged his hands over the keys. The room was in total silence. This was the moment he would always remember, the silence before he struck that first crashing chord, when he would have the hearts and minds of hundreds of people within his control. He breathed in, unclenched his teeth, and began.


The baby stirred in its sleep, making a murmuring, sighing sound. How amazing that this little creature, so new and so helpless, could hold Gregor's attention so completely. He would not have believed that he could spend so much time totally absorbed in the simple act of watching a baby sleep. This is a moment of utmost majesty, he thought.


"Lunchtime!" Mother called from the screen door. Lauren eagerly dropped the rake and ran into the house, knowing that today's lunch was one of her very favorites, tomato soup and a toasted cheese sandwich. Something satisfying and alive with pleasurable anticipation twinged inside her tummy. As she ran into the kitchen, her Mother said "Wash your hands first," like always.



"Get off—NOW!" screamed the little boy as Sarah started to climb onto the merry-go-round.

"Jeffrey," said a lady standing nearby. "That's no way to behave. Let the little girl ride with you."

"NOOOOOO!" the boy screamed, his voice rising higher and higher as he cried out. Sarah got off the ride immediately and burst into tears.



Long before the settlement grew up on the other side of the river, there had been a camp on this spot. Gypsies, some said. Tinkers, others called them. Still others cried them "Traveling folk." Whatever they were labeled, the locals treated them with contempt and suspicion. They resented their free and easy ways of assuming this right to reside in the village, albeit on the fringes, whenever they took the notion, which was twice a year.


Libby took the shoebox from her mother and went to her room. She was to put her new shoes in her closet to protect them for Sundays and special occasions, but she put the box beneath her bed, instead. That night, after she had turned off the light, she leaned over, opened the box, and removed a shoe from its tissue paper. She hugged it to her and fell asleep, smelling the new leather and feeling the silky patent leather. New Mary Janes were Libby's treasure.


As David sat at the bar, staring into the mirror ahead of him and trying not to drink his whisky as quickly as he wanted to, a vision passed behind him. He felt a change in the air current around him, heard the swish of some slinky fabric, and smelled the scent of a garden in summer. In the mirror, he saw her back and her exquisite white neck beneath the upsweep of golden hair. Before he could turn around, she turned


The horse champed at the grasses and waited in the cold, its breath issuing from its nostrils in plumes of steam. Franklin stood on the stone staring at the black rusted ring in the centre of the massive wooden door. He grabbed the ring in his right hand, feeling bits of corroded metal crumble in his grip. Taking a deep breath, he banged the ring against the door with as much strength as he could muster and heard the echoing sound from within. No one came.

Each one was printed in brown ink using a different font. So I guess you could say I am now self-published.

Anyway, that's me. I'm away now to pack my bag. We'll stay in touch.

Love,
Lynn