FEELING FLAKY

The Library Ladies recently sought out the dubious assistance of The Flaming Bore in creating a bulletin board. They said they needed snowflakes. Lots of snowflakes. All colors welcome. All sizes. They'd even provide the paper. It would be a fun activity for me to do with the neighbor kids, they suggested. And I agreed.  

The minute Sweet Neighbor Girl and Trouble came over yesterday, I told them about the project. Hooray!  They were gung-ho. Let's get started.  And then came the hard part. Actually making the snowflakes. The head Library Lady had given me a vague demonstration of how to create them, but I apparently was a slow learner of the challenged variety because, try as I might, EVERY snowflake I cut out either had four sides or eight sides or looked like a scary Halloween mask. 

"What am I doing wrong?!  They're supposed to have six sides!" I moaned to anyone who would listen. 

Unfortunately, the kids were no better than I at snowflake making. Every one of theirs had four sides, too, or just looked like a circle with holes in it. 

"We're doing something wrong with our folding," I told them.  "Well, duh!"

Before long, the living room had morphed into a paper disposal center.  "Oh, let's just give up, Nancy!" SNG said after we'd filled two trash bags with paper scraps. Her little brother quit and strolled into the computer room to build houses on some Lego website...something that doesn't require a genius IQ, like making snowflakes.  

I kept at it for about an hour, folding this way and that way, with no luck, and then finally waved the white flag.  "I guess I'm just a snowflake dumb-dumb," I confessed, forlorn and disappointed with myself.

After the kids left for the day, I turned to my ever-faithful answer machine--the computer would know how to make a snowflake!  I found a video demonstration, a light bulb went off in my head, and bingo! I returned to the paper and scissors and created the best damned snowflakes of all time. Then I couldn't stop. I was like a snowflake factory the rest of the evening (see above samples). My fingers practically locked onto the scissors before I finally called it quits. "The storm has ended at last!" I proudly announced to the cats, satisfied that I had mastered the craft.

When I go back to the library tomorrow afternoon to deliver my snowfall, I may need a shovel.