Potting Heather

The soror and I have discovered the thrills of amateur movie-making. It's thrilling, all right. Her camera (blessings upon its digital head) has a video function: only thirty seconds' worth, and no sound, but a decent enough video. It's not unlike the early season of Hitman, only quieter.

We are currently visiting relatives, including grown-up cousins we haven't seen for, oh, seventeen years. We were at an aunt's house all afternoon, with only ourselves to amuse one another.

It happened, all in the best tradition of silent films. ::insert impressive music::

The first video sequence was--lame. Lame even according to my standards. I hope it is banished to the wilds of cyberspace, from which no coherent data returns.

The second sequence was great. First we asked our cousin, Heather, if she would be the heroine. "What do I have to do?" "You have to let me mug you and rifle through your purse--but it can be my purse--and your brother Jeff can rescue you." Heather agreed.

Jeff, hearing his name at the other end of the room, said, "What are we doing?"

"HE VOLUNTEERED! HE SAID 'WE'!" put in his brother-in-law. And Jeff most amiably did.

There was a lovely potting shed in the back yard, with a convenient corner for Heather to get mugged around. The trouble was, what should the sister whack her over the head with? So we all trooped outside. Ah! A pot!

We took our stations. I stood near the fence, camera at the ready. The sister lurked with her pot. Jeff stood off to stage right, ready to rush to the rescue. Heather stood behind the corner.

"GO!" I shouted. She came. She was potted. The sister sniped her purse (which was her own purse borrowed by Heather for the purpose). Jeff rushed up. Jeff snatched the purse, picked up his sister, and left the wrathful would-be-mugger purseless and expostulating.

We did one take, and it was beautiful. I named it, "Potting Heather."