The thing about us writers is that we like to read good writing as much as we like to write it. When I was in Fairhope I met this gal named Shari Smith from North Carolina who is a gifted storyteller. I keep telling her she needs to write a book. Mostly because I want to read such a book. I'm not the only fan of her stories. Shari's got a crowd of folks urging her to write. She thinks we are all just publicity hounds, looking to get our names in the credits. She's past childbearing years, or I'd insist on having her first-born named after me. 

She sent me the following story today and I asked her if I could publish it to the blog. She cussed me, then said I could. So folks, remember, when Shari is a bestselling author, that she got her start here, on the Sit & Spit, with her story, The Tale of Two Nativities, or as Shari calls it -- the Battle of the Nativities:

By Shari Smith

Since I didn't actually cook a meal for Thanksgiving there are no leftovers of any sort in the frig. Tim does the grocery shopping and brings home things like gallon jugs of green tea, bags of dried-tomato chips, and sunflower seeds. I chose the latter for supper tonight. Good news is that the seeds only have 200 calories per cup, which explains why people who eat like birds are so skinny, I guess.

Konnie called 15 times today to say she LOVES her new SLEIGH bed which she bought with her very own $$$ because she has two jobs and is a hard worker. She called another 10 times to get advice on which bedspread to buy, sending three text pictures to choose from. I suggested the latter, a solid sage one. She bought it. Then called another five times after she made the bed to say how much she LOVED her new bed. Konnie sleeps diagonally, so having a queen bed will allow her to do so without hanging her head and feet off the ends.

Stephan called from Williamsburg to report on his activities. He walked from his hotel to a nearby church for services, had time to visit with the pastor, spent the day roaming around Williamsburg and ate dinner at Cracker Barrel in front of a huge portrait of Grant, which he thought was odd. Shouldn't it have been a portrait of Lee, since this was the Cracker Barrel, afterall? I think the Grant photograph may have given me too much indigestion to eat, even bird seed. Stephan has an audition Monday afternoon for a job at Williamsburg. Meanwhile, I have Portia, his dog.

Portia would win the Miss Congeniality contest for dogs if there was such a thing. She is about the nicest dog in the world. Poe behaves better when Portia's around, the way being aware of angels makes humans shape up. Poe wants to do better because he knows goodness when he sees it. it's just, well at the heart of it, Poe isn't as good a dog as Portia is. I think it's because Portia spent four months of her life on death row, not sure if she would get the pardon she needed or not. I think she's so thankful to be alive, she doesn't want to be a bother to anyone. Whereas, Poe, well, he's just spoiled rotten. Tim's doing, naturally.

Shelby begins her job at the Hermiston Herald on Monday. She'll be reporting. Not her dream job but a job that will teach her valuable skills, and hopefully, propel her into something far more substantial. I know most probably think I would be thrilled to have a daughter follow in my journalist footsteps, but they'd be wrong. I told Shelby just the other day: "Pick a place you want to live. Any place. I'll pay rent for the first two months. Don't stay here."

My sister was startled by my offer. Her daughter lives at home and she's 23. Linda likes having Taylor there. She would be thrilled if Taylor lived with them till she married. I love my daughter as much as Linda loves hers, but I believe in pushing birds out of the nest. I know Shelby can fly, already. I want to see her soar. I'm just not sure that can happen here, under this roof.

Ash & Zack paid us a visit last night, went to church with us this morning. We talked books and boots. Zack is selling White's boots, now. Ash is still doing her boy scout gig. She's a natural. Loves her job as much as Konnie loves her bed. Makes sense, I guess. Ash was in law school. Boy Scouts have to follow all sorts of rules and regulations, so that appeal to form and order is a good fit for her. I, on the other hand, quit Brownies after the first week simply because I couldn't stand the idea of wearing the same thing as everyone else. I like leaving my shirts untucked, and my life has always been something of a mess. People who dress alike intimidate me, unless they are part of a back-up group and then  I like that. I could have been a Supreme easily. Had I only been able to sing as well as a meadowlark, instead of squawking like a crow!