Welcome to the LBC Christmas Special. Our Topic today was chosen by Magpie 11
Wacky Ideas: Just Plain Wackiness
The Crumbles lived at 87 The Keys, a large cavernous and dark warren Despite all the windows the vista was gloomy. Life was often brightened by the sound of the chat that twirled and twittered, pouring like sunshine through the Skypelight.
Doc Crumble was Header of the family and an International Explorer. He had a large office in the basement. On a table in rows as if within hidden gridlines, were tools & paints, a calendar, calculator, ruler and maps all symbols of his work.
Behind the door hung his crumpled and well worn macintosh. In the left hand pocket was a dog-eared and paint stained ‘mac-book’. The old notebook was given that name as it lived permanently in the coat pocket. This old notebook had coded notes all in the hand of old man Crumble. Like the raincoat it travelled everywhere with him. I am sure that without it he would be totally lost.
The mound of notepads, folders, pages, templates and diagrams that sat on his desktop, were evidence to years of research. A collection of paragraphs that needed to be previewed, customised, sorted, modified or saved and merged into a large document map were also piled high. Mousie Crumble son and heir, was the office assistant and responsible for these tasks. Alas, despite all the hours that Doc Crumble spent training him, Mousie was more interested in play than real work. Mousie spent his day jumping out and blowing bubbles from behind bundles of files wearing a big grin and frightening all the old characters in the shared workspace. Their task was to search for & sort inconsistencies giving feedback to Old Doc on the last Friday of each calendar month.
Mother Crumble felt as old as Mrs. Methuselah and was bored living in the background. Her work was never done. When it rained, the moisture tricked down through the roof, a sticky sweet brown liquid that stained everything it touched. She could not swear to it… but it seemed to follow a spluttering coughing sound followed by uncontrolled laughter. She was also a martyr to pounding headaches. The pounding – no thumping is the word, at times was heavy and rapid like bullets that someone was tumbling out before their thoughts were lost forever in the mists of time. Occasionally the sound was slow and gentle, like a young child picking out the notes on a piano and scared to damage Grand Aunt Martha’s milky white keys.
A chat with her sister Mozilla always lifted Mother Crumble’s spirits and today was no different. They each sat with a glass of wine talking about all things family or seasonal, envelopes and letters dropping through the mailbox, the options for food on the big day and how they would decorate the house. With a new found enthusiasm together they decided to forge ahead and begin decorating the house for Christmas.
Wait now a minute, since it is Christmas and the season of sharing, why am I doing all the work here? I invite you to play your part in decorating the Crumbles home.
How would YOU go about it…..