As the festivities of the day progressed from mushrooms (the good ones) to full-course meals to cookies and finally to the door prizes, the opportunity arose by all to capture the moment....to capture the ravens. The door prizes were abound and many shiny things appeared to up for grabs. Even though there were many shiny things on the array of prizes, I have to admit, not one raven....not one.....managed to catch their eye. They behaved. They sat 'in place' AND 'on the table' as proper table centerpieces....period. In other wards, they behaved, unlike what actually might have transpired if this was the roaring 20's.
(On a side-note....I am thinking the roaring 20's would have been a rather jolly good time for all, eh? Men and women sitting around a piano singing away.... glitter and sequins masking a bit, ..... well, .....we won't go there. )
But....as the door prizes were called out, the number I held was 29. Exactly 13 higher of a number than my draft number. Deb had number 19. Number called...number called, number called, number called, number called...then, 29. Oo la la....my turn. What do I take? Deb and I had perused the prizes ahead of time and had a few things in mind. I thought of a bird diary, as I like to keep track of my adventures 'in print' as opposed to on the computer (See previous blogs on), while Deb was looking at a red bag stuffed with goodies and having a snowy old peeking from it.
So when number 29 was called, I immediately pulled the diary off the prize table.... a few numbers down, the Owl was pulled off the prize table by someone, leaving Deb w/o her intended prize when called. But Robin, .....notified all that we can take the Ravens for they too...are prizes.
That got us thinking......ravens....why not the ravens. Yes by golly, the ravens it is. So I stood up in between calls and placed the bird diary back on the table, and selected the female raven in front of me. You see....the glittery hat she dons would be perfect for my two year old granddaughter as she loves Frozen 2 and that hat would fit nicely onto Elsa's head. And then Deb would select the male raven and dress it in purple and send it to her son in San Francisco who is a Baltimore Raven fan. Wow, what luck we had. And to boot, my female raven, after loosing her glitter, would be sent over to the cabin we have in Sweetwater and nailed to a fence post. From that point on, as lovely Sue stated, who was sitting next to Deb, would be called our "Raven's Nest'.....
So the end results of our door prizes were a glittery hat for one granddaughter, a raven turned Baltimore Raven for a son....a raven turned into a fencepost signifying you are were at the Raven's Nest.
Man...what success..... and this wasn't even the roaring 20's.