hydrangea blossoming

hydrangea blossoming
Hydrangea on the Edge of Blooming

Tuesday, October 18, 2011


I went over to the library today because they were having a mask-making session, presumably in honor of the upcoming Halloween season.  I noticed the newspaper announcement of this event and checked with the library to see whether I was welcome or whether this was just a kids' event.  Graciously, they said they expected only kids, but I was welcome to come if I were in the mask-making market.  I felt like being behind a mask at the moment, so I made my way over, grateful that they hadn't asked me to volunteer my services in helping the kids make masks.

I got there just before the kids arrived: all 13 of them from the local K-3 school.  Then another little girl arrived a bit later; home schooler?  They all got themselves arranged at tables where the priority was eating something.  Everyone had some apple juice and an oatmeal or a pumpkin/chocolate chip cookies.  Then the leader began the explanation of what was going to happen next.  Tables had been set up with supplies and each table had slightly different supplies, depending upon what the kids wanted to make.

"Any questions?"
"Can we make more than one?" from a little boy.
"Can we have another cupcake," from a little girl.
"I want to make a bat," from another boy.  (There were about 10 girls and 4 boys; Point Roberts making up for the reverse ratios in India and China.)

The extra cupcake issue was generously addressed (everybody got one more cupcake OR one more cookie) and then we (the 14 kids and me) were set free to do our will with the goods.

In no time at all, masks were on faces, finger puppets were produced, and addition rounds of masks were being undertaken.  I had the advantage of being an adult (only adults were allowed to use glue guns, which were required for feather use; a rule objected to by one little boy who noted to his seat partner that he used glue guns all the time).  Not only was I an adults with privileges but I also carry a good pair of scissors in my puirse for cloth cutting, which possibility the kids were entirely bereft of.

I completed my project (an owl finger puppet) and made my way to my car.  In the hallway, four little girl escapees from the mask making were painting one another's fingernails with a sparkly lavender polish.  Alas, they were missing a good thing, I thought, but maybe they already lead lives filled with creative endeavours and didn't need any more.

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