Sparks Ignites

Six weeks ago, I awoke to find myself stuck to my living room floor covered in pine sap and tinsel.  Two squirrels were giving me the stink eye and clutching their nuts. I felt shock and awe when I realized I’d ripped my neighbors pine tree out of their yard and brought it home to decorate.  I’d never sleep walked before, so a major concern was my neighbors would follow the trail of dirt from the hole in their garden to the front door of my house. Several nights later, I was startled awake by the smoke alarm blaring. My head was stuck in a mixing bowl of cookie dough and there was an oven mitt on my foot. Evidently, I was baking cookies in my sleep and a timer was not part of my stupor.  With singed eyebrows, I doused the fire and threw out the charcoal briquettes I’d lovingly baked. Over a mug of hot chocolate and sixteen sugar cookies, I put on my Nancy Drew thinking cap and tried to figure out what was happening. My Christmas mojo was in extreme overdrive.  “I’m

I, Lady Colleen Cadbury, being of reasonably sound mind and more than ample body, do declare this is my last will and testament. At the time of my demise, I bequeath my possessions to the Spittleworth Home for Village Idiots –– where my son, Jack, will most likely end up. That is, if he isn’t crushed or eaten by Big Betty, widow of the late Beanstalk Giant.