Wednesday, in other people's stuff

One of the projects this weekend was sorting through boxes of crap stuff crap from the attic spaces in the house. The steamer trunk I posted earlier was part of that - more of a treasure than a crap - as well as a solid-wood kitchen cabinet that had been sitting in our (wet) basement (dealing with the leak in the basement is our Major Home Expense for the year, knock on wood).

But among the piles of stuff were two boxes of fabric. Stash, if you will. Someone in this house had, in the 70's from the looks of things, been the sort of sewer who saves every little scrap. Of polyester plaid. And polyester denim. Oy.

Most of it was too small, too polyester, or too random-bits to be of any use, but I salvaged a few pieces of cotton flannel, their denim scraps (the real denim), and a few other things. And since I found this little contest, some of those scraps will be getting a new life. :-)

~~~

Micah has posted to let us know she's not dead!

ysabetwordsmith has introduced me to the Dreamwidth community poetree.

Icon Flash - The Pumpkin - Dragons Next Door

New flash series! I'm going to write one flash for every Icon I have, over 4 LJ accounts, 1 DW, and a whole bunch of not-currently-in-use, until I get bored or run out of icons.

Today's icon:

A creepy black pumpkin and a tree, with my name

Icon by dhamphir

Dragons Next Door has a Landing Page (LJ)

This follows directly after The Black Tower (LJ), which is after Over the Wall (LJ).

Well, indeed. “That was my mother’s generation, mostly,” I stalled. Here I was, a home-maker in the new millennium, a graduate of The Pumpkin. I wasn’t really the one to ask about that.
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Love and Lovers, Expanded

This story came out of my September Call for Prompts, and was prompted and sponsored by the_vulture. After some discussion, I expanded the original story:

It was easy enough when we were friends. I could lean against him at dinner, and he’d drape his arm over my shoulders, and it was wonderful, this little giddy thrill of being touched. I didn’t have to take it further. I didn’t even really think about taking it further, not then.

I liked him, from the first day we met. I’m not going to deny that. The way his lips looked when he was thinking. The way he talked. The way his brain twisted around problems. His big hands and the way they looked like they’d fit my shoulder perfectly. I was drawn to him, pulled in the way I get. “Moth to a flame,” some people say. My friends call it “sexually attracted to fire.” If he'd been another guy at the gaming group…
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Fill my momentary lack of inspiration

I'm having a moment with 212 words left to fill wordcount for the day and nothing is thrilling.

First person to suggest something - a pairing, a scene, a flavour - will get that 212 words on that topic.

Spring and Autumn: Orange Juice

To skysailor's prompt "Orange Juice;" this comes after Having Fun.

Stranded Verse has a Landing Page (Lj

“Orange Juice.” Autumn thumped the mugs down on the tiny table in her tiny RV, the noise causing her little sister to cringe. “Patented hangover cure: ghetto mimosas and a big pile of hash browns.”

“You are a cruel, cruel woman,” Spring complained. She was still half in the garb she’d gone out in the day before, hay in her hair and mud on her hem. It had been a long afterparty and a beautiful night - and the man had been beautiful, too, with those leather pants and the wicked way he swung the whip, never mind that he was easily old enough to be her father.

“I am a sensible, sensible woman,” Autumn replied. She had, as far as Spring could tell, quaffed her share and danced just as long as anyone, although Spring had found her alone in her bunk this morning. “Drink your orange juice and know your sister loves you.”

Spring downed the glass in one swallow, barely tasting the fizz and the vodka, the whisper of a Strand-pull tickling the back of her throat. “That’s one hell of a hangover cure,” she complained. “What’s in the potatoes? Dynamite?”

“Tabasco and penicillin,” her sister answered mildly. “I like the mule-skinner as much as the next girl…”

“I’m always careful. Well, except for about the bite marks.”