Early to Two Beds, Early to Rise, Makes a Witch Happy, Healthy, and Wise!

It has forever been a dream of mine to each night sleep in a bunk bed of my "making". (For at an age early to me, I crossed my heart and hoped to kiss a warty dragon

with skin not unlike this,
only stench~green and not a gourd,

endlessly to Momsy, beggingly pledging that I would indeed make clean sheets of both beds daily, if I could pretty, pretty please exchange my Jenny Lind spindle for a set, if altogether bunkies I could call my very own, would be mine!)

Alas, it was not meant to be. I was (Still am.) an only child and Momsy was (Still is.) Practical. With a capital "P".

My own devices, those of which I was left to, and I (above) would become close, make do creative companions for forever and a day night.

That is until today, when a down~the~street tag sale granted me a lifelong wish come true! Merriest congratulations to me, O Momsy, as I soon will catch a bus to Linens R Us, or some other such specialty shop! Then, have a guess, please do, as to where I will be with an enormous bowl of popping corn and a stack of "Must Reads" just as tall (and mayhaps a butterknife to go with a dessert plate with a Bartlett middling it!)? Here's a hint from words I have quietly recited, over and again, beginning way ago:

"If you have bunk beds,
you might as well sleep on top!"

Image Credt: Mountained-bed politely borrowed from French Vogue.

A Ghoul-den Oldie

Whether the night be raw or no, gather yourself up cozy~nested in one of the overstuffeds fronting the warming hearth, and right up close to it, now, because I have the urge in me to spout a Tale Worthy of a Tell, as my Great Aunt Driven always tags them, so, likely, you're going to need a little bit, if not more, of anything that will deflect The Shivers!

White as the Driven Snow

FIRSTLY: Curious? That is, about my great~auntie's nickname, "Driven"? Long ago and maybe even before that, my aunt acquired a new label when her hair suddenly, but for incredibly good reason, whitened at an age typically when it would be least expected!(?) That indeed is another Tale Worthy of a Tell, do tell!

But I shan't. Can't. And I apologize if I have just put you on the edge of your cushion on a count of the "Great~Aunt Driven's Hair as White as the Driven Snow" story untold, as it will have to keep, for I have another yarn I'm anxious to unravel! *caving out of necessity to inform, steals a bit from the Tick~Tock in order give a history that is brief* This much about her I will spew, though: Dear Auntie Driven is answerable when it comes to the whosit, whysit, and howsit of me greatly being interested in the first place in what I'm about to share with you. Read on, then, before you read on!

Whereas some people delight in their ongoing accumulation of salt and peppers (As in shakers, that is. My other great aunt, Tu, rather finds this a "jolly good sport!"); "books of major significance" *low~tones voice* ~~but then again, mostly NOT, a~hem. (That would be you, Gemmama!); or "decades and decades of spent saliva," as my philatelist Great Uncle Ned refers to his agglomeration of stamps and assorted posted envelopes from around the globe, I, on the other hand, collect ghost stories (and other assorted frightful narratives) ~~a knack, if you will, that I "inherited" from dear Driven, who is likewise a fancier of the same and has treasured me with a many taken from her personal anthology. (Please know that I am till~my~dying~day everso appreciative, Auntie Driven!)

Still comfy? Being sitty before fireplace crackles hasn't become too hot for you? (Please, smooth your upper furrows, because not to worry: stray cinders rarely escape Our Fires, that I promise you.) *sets fun~fussy chin~wags aside* Ready~steady~go, then, for a "bump in the night" taken from my Ghoul~den Oldies file (my collection of ghost and scary stories that always bear repeating) and one certain to give you that goblins~blowing~cold~breath~on~you feel?! This Tale Worthy of a Tell begins:

Way ago back, there was a man
who went out hunting in the woods.

Just as suddenly as night fell, he found himself lost in the forest. It was when more aimless walking and even more aimless walking proved to be circles that did not take him home, that he happened upon a small clearing

where an old, ramshackle cabin stood with its door ajar. Poking his tired and weary head inside and about, he could see a bed with nobody in it, and a fire burning in the fireplace with nobody tending it. As big big yawns did spill from that same head, he shrugged and flung himself on the bed for the night, having decided to explain himself, come morning, if the owner came back.

But before sleep fully took him, he looked around and was surprised to see the walls were largely hung with paintings. By all appearances, they were family portraits, all framed and painted in remarkable detail. They seemed very life~like and, without exception, each subject was uglier than the next. The hideous faces in the paintings made him strangely uneasy. The artist's technique made it seem as if the eyes were staring directly at him! It was quite unnerving. So much so that the exhausted man had to pull the blanket over his head in order to drift off to sleep.

In the morning, the hunter woke up to find the cabin bathed in sunlight. When he looked up, he discovered there were no family portraits on the walls of the cabin,

ONLY WINDOWS.

. . . . . . .

*cups ear and leans in for a listen*

Just as I thought!
No worries.
I never tell this tale without
baking ahead a remedy:

Rubies and Racēmi Nut~Maple Pie
A wonderfully~different delicious cranberry and raisin baked~plate with a woodland filling mixture, whose receipt I shall share with you just as soon as I locate the presently "hidden" card it's written on. (Oh, do I love the absentminded Magic that is me! Lol!) Do look for it listed in my Comment section, hopefully later this day.

Might I interest you in a lovely slice of pie to help settle those rattled bones of yours?