ita, that's gorgeous, but it's missing a word or two:

"no one is wants to tell her mother's dead"

tell her her mother's dead? tell her that her mother's dead?

The Catholic church a few blocks from our house rings its bells on the hour. They’re soft. I only hear them if I’m outside and the wind is just so. They mark time, but not as I do. The bells aren’t in a hurry. They sanctify the meeting of the eternal and the now, while I measure my life in items crossed off a to-do list. Sometimes when I hear them I pause and think how I must enjoy the now, give thanks for the gifts of late summer and a baby girl’s smile. But it’s only for the moment, and then I am myself again.

Thanks for the catch, deb. I switched verbs, and left pronouns flapping in the wind.

Susan, that's a lovely piece. Very contemplative.

I switched verbs, and left pronouns flapping in the wind.

I do that constantly, in short pieces. Not certain why.

First-ever drabble, so be gentle. It feels a little like I'm missing a piece, but I'm not sure if that's just me, or how to fix that, if not.

My brother plays handbells at church. He joins in Dad's drama camps even though he's only in eighth grade. He has friends over to the house on Saturdays. He made new friends when he changed schools. He's made friends everywhere he went since he was born.

He's a teenager now, and doesn't want to be in the church choir this year. He'll probably stop being in the band next year, when he goes to high school. He's started opting out of some things, sometimes.

But my little brother, the one who joins in with the group, plays handbells.

Okay, this isn't *about* bells, but it incorporates them....

MEMO
Re: S. Claus makeover

Our client, Mr. Claus, has come to us with a problem. His primary goal -- slipping in, leaving presents, and slipping back out unnoticed -- is fraught with possibilities for discovery. In this day and age of high-tech surveillance equipment and nannycams, the odds of the Jolly Elf being caught in the act are greater than ever. To minimize that risk, we recommend the following:

* eliminate jingle bells, as they create too much noise
* limit self to one "ho ho ho!" per house (see above, re: noise)
* trade reindeer for stealth bomber, as reindeer on a rooftop are unusual and will attract undue attention; also run the risk of leaving behind tell-tale Holiday Dung
* lose weight; people remember a man of his size more easily (also, less likely to get stuck in chimney if thinner)
* change costume from bright red velvet trimmed with white fur to something in a matte black or charcoal grey, possibly in a jersey or gabardine; think ninja, not Liberace

To sum up: less jolly, more stealth = a risk-free holiday season for our client.

Bwah!

DebetEsse: I like it. A Circle of Siblings sort of thing. Watching kids grow up and out of their older selves is always so interesting.

Teppy: Bwah!

Debet! I like it, and I'm thrilled you're starting to post here.

Teppy just made me startle my cat with loud laughter.

Inspired by Santa->Holiday->back to bells...

The holiday season is a melodic phrase.

"Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away..."

It plays on the stereo in my house every year, as we decorate the Christmas tree.

I sang it in church choir twice in my youth, first as an unchanged seventh-grade "tenor," and then as a full-voiced senior-year tenor.

I sang it in college at the Christmas concert, the lone tenor voice in our almost-octet.

A simple song, a beautiful song, a song designed for voices. A song designed for the holidays.

My holiday song.