Hoot….

And Who here.

We’re back!  From now until December, we’ll be reigning supreme as the Fall Wreath Owls.

There’s only one problem.

We’re hungry.

With the cool weather (for the Pond, summer for the rest of ya’ll), we’re craving all sorts of delectable things.

Pumpkin Bars.

Pecan Pie (Booger the Lobster not included.  Lobsters don’t appreciate fall foods the way we owls do.)

Pumpkin Pie…..

Cinnamon rolls….

Oh dear.

We’re drooling.

It’s obvious we need something to distract us from our culinary cravings, and a big dose of The Return of Miss Pickles should do just fine.

The first tale in the Miss Pickles saga (which would help make a lot of sense and is fabulous whimsical fun, perfect for both adults and children and short enough to keep them entertained while you cook dinner, go to the gym or take a bubble bath) is available here. Perfect for Christmas stocking stuffers!

Queen Bitty even likes it.

It’s a big deal, ya’ll.

So let’s tuck into some more Miss Pickles…

Hand me a pumpkin bar, would you?

To read the previous editions of Miss Pickles, go here.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

It was like a bad dream.  The ground was racing toward them, the sky and Zip’s horrified face growing farther and farther away every second.  The cold air whistled by them, slicing through Mason’s thin raincoat.  All the teacakes and tins rolled around on the floor of the balloon with the large metal tubes of helium for the balloon.  As the giant pink silks twisted and flapped, tilting the basket from one extreme to the other, the children and the balloon’s contents slid from one end to the other, like a giant rocking ship.

“This is completely unacceptable,” the cat yowled, his claws dug into the armchair cushion as the chair slid across the basket.  “Do something, won’t you?”

“What are we supposed to do?” Beatrice yelled back.  “We’re falling through the air at a million miles per minute.  We’re all going to die anyway.”

Ralph burst into tears and scrambled for the cookie tins.  Don glared at Beatrice.  “This is all your fault,” he snarled.  “If you hadn’t aggravated Zip, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“He’s an oversized bug,” Beatrice shrieked.  “Why should I listen to an oversized bug?”‘

Staring worriedly at the rapidly approaching ground, Mason threw his hands out.  “Shut up, all of you!” he cried.  “We’ve got to do something.”

“What do you suggest, ducky?” Miss Pickles asked, cheerfully tumbling about the basket in the midst of cookie tins and boxes of sweets.

Mason bit his tongue as he thought, glancing around the basket.  The silks above them were shredded by Zip’s lightening, so the helium tanks would be of no use.  Only Ralph was taking pleasure from the tins of cookies, and he doubted the cat glaring from the armchair could do much.  The only thing left was the….

Umbrellas.

Mason grinned and whirled around, grabbing his umbrella.  “Everyone get their umbrellas and open them!”  he shouted.  “Hurry!  Hurry!”

The balloon had sliced through the final layer of clouds and was plummeting toward the choppy waves of a dark ocean below.  His heart in his throat, Mason kept one eye on the ocean and one eye on his classmates as they scrambled for their umbrellas.  “Hurry, hurry!” he cried.  “Hurry up!”

“I’m coming, ducky,” Miss Pickles’ muffled voice replied as she dug in her tiny pink purse.  “It’s in here somewhere, I’m sure of it…”

He could smell the salty air and hear seagulls cry.  His hands shook as he tightened them around the base of his umbrella.

Finally, all of his classmates had their umbrellas in hand.  “Ready?” Mason cried.  “On the count of three, open them and hold them as high as you can.  Ready?”

“Ready!” they all shouted.

“Almost!” Miss Pickles bellowed, her voice muffled as she dug about in her purse.  Taking a deep breath, she dove into the tiny bag so only her kicking pink rainboots were visible.

Ralph shoved another cookie in his mouth.  “Ready!” he cried through a mouthful of crumbs.

“One, two, three!” Mason shouted, hoisting his open umbrella into the air.  “Go!”

With a loud snap, several umbrellas popped open and were thrust in the air by small hands.  Surprisingly, the balloon slowed.

“We’re slowing down!” Don shouted, cheering with his free arm.  “We may not slam into the earth after all!”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Beatrice sniped.

“If we don’t die, we can have a celebratory lunch,” Ralph mused dreamily.

Mason glanced over the edge and bit his lip.  They were still going too fast.  “Raise them higher!” he shouted.

Every child stood on his tiptoes, thrusting their umbrellas further in the air.  The balloon slowed a tiny bit.  But not enough.

“Higher!” Mason cried, glancing at the dark waves below.  It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw dark shapes circling.

The children stretched with all their might, their fingers and toes aching from the strain.  Even the cat used his book as an umbrella, standing in the armchair.

“It’s not enough,” Mason muttered, glancing around.  “We may have to start throwing stuff out.”

“Not the cookies,” Ralph whispered, his face white with horror.  “Please, don’t say the cookies.”

Mason looked at his friend and grimaced.  “Ralph, I don’t know what to tell you, but…”

“Here we go, duckies!” Miss Pickles cried, jumping up from the depths of her tiny purse and waving a large parasol.  “This should help, don’t you think?”  With a cackle, she thrust it into the air and pushed a tiny pink button on the side.

With a sound like an elephant’s ears flapping, the parasol flew open, stretching from one end of the balloon to the other.  Immediately, the balloon’s desent went from a controlled freefall to gently floating.

Mason whooped and pumped his fist into the air.  “Way to go, Miss Pickles!”

“Yes,” Ralph sighed with relief, clutching a tin to his chest. “Now we don’t have to get rid of the cookies!”

Peering over the side under the safety of Miss Pickles’ giant umbrella, Mason spotted a tiny golden speck.  “Hey Miss Pickles, is that what I think it is?” he cried.

Miss Pickles leaned over the side and grinned.  “Why, it’s the answer to our prayers, duckies,” she replied, grinning as she tilted her giant parasol.  “A slight tilt to the left, and we should land there in no time.”

“Land where?” Don asked suspiciously.

“Is there food?” Ralph asked hopefully.

“What is the island?” Mason asked.

Miss Pickles grinned, her bright eyes sparkling under the shade of the parasol.  “Ladybug Island, of course.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have more whimsical fun, Wednesday a new Isadora and Thursday, a delicious recipe!  Friday a new Dallas Jean and Saturday, a new creative woman!  Stay tuned!

Need some gifts for Christmas?  Check out my other books!

The Twelve Tales of Christmas–12 short stories ranging from romance to comedy to children’s tales, the whole family can enjoy this whimsical holiday delight.  Available here or at amazon.com. It was revised just this weekend, with a brand new story and a whole new look inside!!  So check it out!

Land of the Flowered Bed- When a enchanted toy from a magic toy shop is abandoned Christmas morning by a spoiled child, he finds himself in the Land of the Flowered Bed, a haven of lost toys searching adventure or loving children located in a little girl’s bedroom. Three short illustrated stories are perfect for reading aloud to little ones or for children 5-12 to read by themselves. The first in a trilogy of magic and wonder.Available here.