Author: debdunlevy

Time Out Tuesday – Inspirations

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I was going to talk more about what makes my favorites…you know, my favorites, but as it happens, I’m flying to the U.S. in two days with my whole family for a five week visit, so right now my mind is jumping from one thing to the next like a jackrabbit on crack. Pensive and analytical aren’t going to happen tonight. Instead, I’m just going to let my mind do its thing.

Which brings us to inspirations. Where do the story ideas come from? Anywhere and everywhere the jackrabbit lands. I have about a billion little notebooks that I use to make lists and jot notes.  Whenever and wherever an idea comes, there’s always a little book nearby to jot it down.  I mean, it will be right between the To Do in the Morning List, the Don’t Forget to Pack This List, and the Life Goals List, but at least it’s there when I need it.

Here’s a list of inspirations. (I love lists.)

In no particular order…

–Photographs. Especially ones that evoke a strong feeling. To me, strong feelings go along with stories, so I start to wonder what the story is. A while back The Pioneer Woman did a photo contest about landscapes. Two of my stories were inspired by pictures I saw there. This one was just begging for a story.  And the perspective on this one made me think of someone very small looking up at the unexpectedly tall tulips.

–My son. He says the weirdest and funniest things. Like about monsters fighting houses. Or a prince trying to save a princess when he doesn’t know which one she is. These things just come out in a stream of other make believe and chatter, and sometimes my brain latches on to one and goes crazy. Of course, other times my tired brain just flops around and drowns in the flood. (See how it was a rabbit and now it’s some kind of pathetic fish? I see no reason to stick to just one metaphor.)

–Advertisements. My daughter loves to cut pictures out of old magazines. Then she gives them as presents to everyone in the family. One day she presented me with one that featured a fine old bottle of whiskey in a stream of water. Don’t ask me. But I did get to thinking about how intriguing it is to find a bottle in a body of water and what could be inside.

–Words. The Nerd Mafia are my new heroes. Certain words just make me think of certain kinds of people. And once you have an interesting person, there’s always a story of some kind nearby.

–Those little linky things. Nothing gives you writing ideas like someone saying, “Write about this.”   Thanks, Mama Kat.  Plus now I keep finding more and more linky things.  I don’t think I can ever be a consistent weekly participant in any of them, mostly because the words “consistent” and “weekly” scare me to death, but I do think they’re fun, and I’ll take inspiration from wherever I can get it.  Plus it actually gets me out into the world of other bloggers, reading and exploring (mostly with time I don’t really have).  I feel like a small mouse poking my nose into a wide open candy store.  I’m out of place, but I certainly don’t plan to just go away.  Hey, I think there might be a story here…

Okay, we’ve now run the gamut from rabbit to fish to mouse.  That’s the signal that it’s time for me to get back to pouring over my To Do lists for the next two days.  I always feel that if I rewrite and reread and reorganize the list, it’s almost like I’m actually doing the things on it.  Isn’t it great when you can feel productive while sitting on your couch watching Sherlock Holmes on Pay Per View?

Robert Downey, Jr…  That’s going to take a whole other post.

At the Ringing of the Bell

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Once upon a time there was a lowly maid who helped to clean the palace kitchens. Whenever someone wanted her help, they mostly just said, “Come here, girl!” But actually her name was Sarah. Sarah’s life was not an easy one. She had to get up before the sun each morning and help prepare breakfast for the royal family. Her own breakfast was a crust of bread and some tea before clearing the dishes and scrubbing the kitchen. Her cleaning duties lasted until well after dark, when she finally ate her dinner of stew and dropped into her bed. Only on Sundays was she given half a day to rest and do what she liked. And what she liked was to spend time with her best friend, Thomas.

Thomas was a stable boy, which meant that he spent his days cleaning up after the horses, giving them food, and doing anything anyone told him to do. Stable boys never got to tell anyone else what to do, not even the horses. But Thomas always looked forward to Sunday when he had the afternoon free to spend with his best friend, Sarah.

Thomas and Sarah had been friends for as long as they could remember. Each Sunday afternoon they would meet in the woods outside the castle as soon as the noon bell had rung and not go home until the bell rang again at sunset. When they were younger, they would climb trees or fish in the river or play tag among the tree roots. Now that they were older, they mostly just walked and talked or sat on stumps and read to each other. Not many of the castle servants knew how to read, but one of the knights had befriended Thomas and taught him to read, and later he spent many Sunday afternoons teaching Sarah to read also. Their favorite stories were of adventure and travel. They always dreamed about seeing the ocean one day and sailing to far off lands. But then the sunset bell would ring, and Sarah would go back to the kitchens, and Thomas would go back to the stables and they would work as usual all week long. But Sarah would often think over things they had read or talked about while she was polishing the silver or sweeping the long winding staircases, and when she did she would smile, no matter how tired she felt.

Then the kingdom went to war against the neighboring kingdom. The king sent all his knights to fight, but he needed foot soldiers, too. That meant that every farmer, blacksmith, and stable boy of the right age was going to war. Sarah knew that Thomas was going to become a soldier, but she didn’t want to think about it. She just worked and worked so hard and so long that she got all her work done in half the time, so she volunteered for extra jobs. There were lots of extra jobs in those days because so many of the male servants were off preparing to be soldiers, too. So Sarah was at the top of the bell tower, polishing the bell with all her strength, when Thomas found her to say goodbye.

“I only have ten minutes,” he said. “It took so long to find you. I wanted you to have this.” He handed Sarah a small book, covered in brown. It was their favorite adventure story and the only book that Thomas had of his own.

Sarah wanted to cry, so she didn’t say anything but just kept polishing the bell as hard as she could.

Thomas came over and touched the giant bell. “They say that the echoes from this bell can be heard even across the far seas, so I’m sure I’ll be able to hear it in whatever place I am going. Sunrise, midday, and sunset, whenever I hear this bell, I will think of you and of Sunday afternoon.”

Sarah whispered, “And I’ll think of you.”

And then Thomas was gone. And Sarah went back to work.

The war lasted a long time. Thomas fought in many battles and went through many dangers, but somehow he always made it through alive. And every morning, when the sun came up, he could hear the faint echo of the castle bell and he thought of Sarah and of happier times. And every day when it was just noon, Sarah heard that same bell as she carried the loaded trays of food into the dining hall for the king’s dinner, and she thought of Thomas and prayed for his safe return. And every night as he pitched his tent in yet another cold field, Thomas heard the bell again and remembered what he was fighting for.

There came a night when Sarah couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted from a long day of hard work, but her heart was so heavy she couldn’t even face her bed. She had never felt this way before. She paced up and down and up and down by her bed, trying to tell herself that everything was fine and she would need her rest for tomorrow, but she didn’t believe that everything was fine. She knew in her heart that something was terribly wrong. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Grabbing her cloak she ran up the many steps and into the bell tower. She didn’t have any plan. She just knew that Thomas was in some terrible danger and she wanted to be as near to him as possible. When she got to the bell tower she prayed yet again that Thomas would be safe and well, but she didn’t feel any better. She wished she could be with him and tell him that she was thinking of him. She wished he could know that she was standing here looking out over the trees and hills that were between them. Without even thinking, she stopped wishing and did what she knew needed to be done.

At just that moment, far away in a darkened field, Thomas lay badly wounded. The army had been ambushed as they set up their camp for the night, and many men had been killed. The knight who led Thomas’ company of soldiers had been killed, too, and Thomas had fought bravely to defend his body against the enemy. At last, help came, and the enemy was driven away. But not before Thomas was struck with a sword through his side. He was carried to the tent where men were tending those who had been hurt in the battle. Thomas’ wound was bandaged and he was given something strong to drink for the pain. But still he was bleeding, and the doctors did not have much hope for him. Then, from far away, a bell began to ring and ring and ring and ring. Every man in the tent stopped and listened with wonder. No one even noticed the tear that made its way down Thomas’ face.

Back at the castle the king was furious. He had been woken up in the middle of the night by the loud bell ringing and ringing. He had rushed to his window expecting to see enemies coming to cause such alarm, but there was nothing. Who would dare ring the bell for no reason? By the time his guards got to the top of the bell tower, no one was there, but the king would not let go of his rage so quickly. All the next day he had his guards question everyone in the castle. Finally a young gardener said that she had seen one of the maids climbing the tower after everyone was asleep. When the guards came to Sarah to ask what she knew, she couldn’t lie. She admitted what she had done. The king was even more angry that such a thing could have been done by a lowly serving girl, and he ordered that she be locked up in a tower cell.

Not long after that, Thomas was sent home. He was miraculously recovering from his injury, but it would be a long time before he had the strength to be of any use as a stable boy, much less a soldier. When he arrived at the castle, he was brought before the king. The king had heard of his bravery and had decided to put him in training to be a knight. This was a special honor that very few men received. Thomas was so happy and grateful that even the old king smiled.

The first thing Thomas wanted to do was go tell Sarah that he was going to become a knight. But he couldn’t find her. He searched over the whole castle, but she was nowhere. Finally he found one of the other maids and asked where Sarah might be. She told him what had happened. Thomas was struck to the heart that Sarah had been punished for something that had saved his life. He went straight to the king and begged to be allowed to tell his story.

The king was a hard man who carried many burdens and did not show mercy easily, but he liked young Thomas, so he listened. And he soon found that even a hard man could not be unmoved by such devotion. He agreed to release Sarah from her cell.

What Thomas said when he finally saw Sarah or what Sarah felt when she heard what had happened are not things meant to be shared. Suffice it to say that in time Thomas became a knight and in time Sarah became his wife. They traveled many places and had many adventures, but they were never parted again.

Melvin Maples

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Melvin Maples was manager of the Main Street Bank. This was a very good thing for Melvin Maples, but not such a very good thing for the Main Street Bank. You see Melvin Maples was very bad at math.

Now a bank manager’s job, as you probably know, is all about math. He has to keep track of all that money. He has to know how much money people have put into the bank and how much money they have taken out of it. He has to know how much money is in the safe before he locks it up at night. And it’s quite important that he doesn’t make math mistakes. I’ll give you an example of why.

Not long after Melvin Maples became manager, Mrs. Robinson put $400 into the bank, Melvin wrote down 400 on his list and put the money into the safe. That same day Mr. Staples put $800 into the bank, Melvin wrote down 800 on his list and put the money into the safe. He added the two numbers together on the list and wrote down 1,300. Unfortunately for Melvin 400 and 800 is actually only 1,200. He never even noticed his mistake. Until the next day. Because the first thing he did the next day was take all that money out of the safe and count it. And of course, there was only $1,200 in that safe. And his list said there should be $1,300 in the safe.

“We’ve been robbed!” shouted Melvin. “Someone has taken $200 dollars from the safe!”

Melvin called the police and they came with a crowd of newspaper reporters and everyone studied the bank closely, but they could not see how anyone could have gotten into that safe. Finally, though, the chief of police looked over Melvin’s list and saw that he had added the numbers wrong. No one had taken anything from the safe of the Main Street Bank.

Now you would think that Melvin Maples would have been very embarrassed to have caused such a fuss just because he was very bad at math. But he was not. Melvin just shrugged a bit and said, “Well, we all have our little foibles, don’t we?”

The answer, of course, is that we DO all have our little foibles, because a foible is a minor flaw or shortcoming, and we certainly all have those. I don’t think the Main Street Bank would have thought that Melvin Maples lack of math skills was a foible, however. I think the Main Street Bank would have thought that not being able to add simple numbers was a MAJOR flaw in a bank manager. I’ll give you another example of why.

At the beginning of the day, Melvin Maples had $1000 in his safe. Not long after the supposed robbery, Mr. Green came and took out $300, and Melvin took the money from the safe, gave it to Mr. Green, and wrote down 300 on his list. Later that day, Miss Sharp came in and took out $500, and Melvin took the money from the safe, gave it to Miss Sharp, and wrote down 500 on his list. Finally, near the end of the day, Mrs. Shelley came and put $900 into the bank, and Melvin wrote down 900 on his list and put the money into the safe. At the end of the day, Melvin did all the math and determined that there should still be $1000 in the safe. When he counted the money, he realized there was actually $1,100 in the safe. He counted several times to be sure. He added the numbers (and added them wrong) again. Finally he determined that the extra $100 must have fallen out of his pocket, and he took it home with him.

Without even knowing it, Melvin Maples had stolen $100 from the Main Street Bank! No mere foible, that!

As you can imagine, things got worse pretty fast. Not long after the unintentional robbery, Mr. Pratt came and put $400 into the bank. The next day Mr. Pratt took $150 out of the bank. The day after that, Mr. Pratt put $600 into the bank. On the fourth day, Mr. Pratt came in and asked for $850. Melvin Maples added up all the numbers on his list.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You only have $750 here in the bank.”

Mr. Pratt was rightly furious. He demanded his money. Melvin Maples said he could only have $750. Mr. Pratt yelled. Melvin Maples called the guards and had Mr. Pratt thrown out of the bank. But Mr. Pratt was good at math. He knew how much money he had in the Main Street Bank. So he called the owners of the bank. The came immediately down to see what was the matter, and it certainly did not take long to discover Melvin Maples and his math mistakes.

What do you suppose? That was the end of Melvin Maples as the manger of the Main Street Bank. Mr. Pratt became the new manager. And Melvin Maples was sent back to school just as fast as he could get his coat and his hat.

I just wrote a story about math AND participated in Word Up, Yo! I’m going to go reward myself with mindless television.

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Pirate Baby

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Oh, I’m the king of the wide blue sea
There’s no one who stands up to me
My cries put fear in the bravest heart
You’ll run when you see me, if you’re smart

I’m not so big, but I’m very fierce
I’ve driven many a man to tears
I’m hunted near and I’m hunted far
But I’m Pirate Baby, and I just say, “Aaarrrr!”

Pirate Baby

Linking up with Mama Kat’s again today. Check it out. It’s sure to be worth it.
Mama's Losin' It

Time Out Tuesday – Stuff I Love

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I’ve been thinking this week about stories I love. You know that moment when you are reading or watching along and then it’s like you just walked off a drop off on the water? Boom! Suddenly your head is under and you are in another world. That moment is one of my favorite things in life. I don’t particularly want to scientifically analyze that because it’s magic, and magic can’t be analyzed. But since I like to reread and rewatch and relive my favorite stories, I’m thinking back and trying to remember that point of no return. Here’s what I’ve come up with:

1. It’s the moment when you feel an authentic connection between two characters.

For me that’s the gateway in The Lion, The Witch, and Wardrobe. The first chapter is completely dull. Then Lucy finds the wardrobe and the magical world on the other side, but even that isn’t quite it. It’s when she meets Mr. Tumnus and he’s just as scared of her as she is of him that you know this is going to be something special.

The connection doesn’t have to be that positive, either. I was hooked on Pride and Prejudice from the very first chapter where we see Mr. and Mrs. Bennet interacting. Their relationship is so dysfunctional and real and witty and entertaining that I knew I wanted to keep reading as fast as I could. And that was true even the first time I read it, while I was hiding out and eating my lunch in the library in high school. But that’s another story. The point is that Jane Austen is a genius. Oh, and something about connection. Where was I?

This happened to us the other day when we finally watched the movie version of The Time Traveler’s Wife. I’d read the book and loved it, but for my husband it was the first time. About 10 minutes in, Henry and Claire meet, and it’s just so warm between them, even though they are strangers (sort of…you know), that my husband immediately said, “I’m going to like this movie.” And he was right. It was lovely.

There are so many more. You know that moment in Stranger Than Fiction when you realize he’s going to have an actual relationship with this voice he’s hearing? Brilliant. Or The Royal Tenenbaums when Margot steps off the Green Line bus and the whole movie clicks into place. I don’t even have to say anything about that because you already know exactly what I mean. There’s just something about the human connection that casts a spell on us all.

2. It’s the moment when pain and beauty intersect. Because life is pain, and anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something. (Everything I know I learned from The Princess Bride.) But life is also beautiful…if you can learn to live with the pain. As soon as I can see that the story is going to be honest about all that, I’m in.

There’s this wonderful series of books called the Sevenwaters Trilogy by Juliet Marillier. Each book has a fairly slow start but the payoff is totally worth it. In the first book, Daughter of the Forest, I was finding it hard to totally connect until the young heroine is brought face to face with harsh reality in the form of a young man her father’s men had tortured. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not into super dark stuff. I actually sort of avoid it. But as Sorcha works make things come out right and true while going through one immensely painful thing after another, it’s riveting. It makes me want to be a better person. And that’s what the best stories should do.

Am I getting a little too earnest? Because I hate getting all intense, but stories do funny things to me. Anyway. This mix of pain and beauty (which is another word for truth) is what I love about the best super hero stories, too. This is what Batman Begins and The Dark Knight have that none of the other Batman movies had. And this is what the original Watchmen comic had that the movie couldn’t quite achieve.

It’s there is nearly all of my favorite stories: The Count of Monte Cristo, Ender’s Game, even Little House on the Prairie.

This is already way too long for my non-fiction attention span, but I think I’ll have more on this topic next Tuesday. I’m kind of into it. I love thinking about the really good stuff.

How about you? What really gets you in a story? Which ones grabbed on and didn’t let go? What are the moments that will be with you forever?

The Flower Palace

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Once upon a time there was a princess named Rose who lived in a glorious palace of flowers. A thick tangle of rose vines, all abloom, made up its walls. It’s roof was of interwoven lilies. The castle door was one enormous daisy with a teeny tiny tulip as a door handle. Princess Rose slept in a bed of petunias with a lovely geranium canopy. She drank her tea at a daffodil table with the cleverest little foxglove cups on zinnia saucers.

For generations, Princess Rose’s family had been tending the flower palace, planting and watering, pruning and shaping. Princess Rose was no exception. She was happy to spend her days caring for the living treasure that was her home. But in one way, her life was nothing like her mother’s or her grandmother’s. In her day, the palace was under a curse.

In the year that Princess Rose was born, a nefarious wizard came to live next door to the flower palace. He had a black heart and despised all things that grew and were beautiful, so naturally he hated the flower palace with all of his being. He searched all of his evil books and tried with all of his wicked power to destroy the palace, but he couldn’t do it. The palace had a power of its own, not the power of enchantments and spells, but the power that all things share that live and grow and feed on the earth, made even stronger by the love and wisdom of generations of caretakers. The wizard’s evil spells were no match for that kind of power. But not for nothing was he called nefarious. In his wickedness, he came up with a plan to erase the flower palace from his sight. In the dead of night, he cast his spell, a spell that hid the beauty of the flower palace. Whenever anyone looked at the palace, all they would see was a dismal castle of ordinary gray stone.

Princess Rose was only three years old when this spell was cast, and her father and mother did not live long after that dreadful day. So it was that life as she knew it was both beautiful and incredibly sad. She lived with loveliness from morning until night, but she could never share it with anyone. Once she was old enough to have visitors for dinner, she began to invite people she knew from the nearby town. She knew the power of the spell, but every time she still hoped. She would look around at the rose covered walls and think how much her friends would enjoy their fragrance. But then the friends would come, and all they would see were rough stone walls with no scent at all. Or Princess Rose would open her daisy door and picture the look on her friend’s face when she saw the exquisite tulip handle. But then the friend would come and see nothing but a thick wooden door with a dull brass handle, and Princess Rose would be disappointed again. None of Princess Rose’s friends could understand why she kept living all alone in such a cold and gloomy place. She had long since given up trying to explain it to them. If she talked of flowers, they only thought she was crazy, and no matter how many times she tried to show them the beauties of her home, they could never see what she saw. It was a lonely life and full of hard work. The flower palace was enormous, and there was enough work for a whole family of people, but Princess Rose was all alone.

On Princess Rose’s 18th birthday, she made a decision. Now that she was no longer a child, she wanted to do something to lift the curse that the wizard had placed on her home. She began to read her own kinds of books and talk to the gypsy people who passed through the town in order to learn what they knew of spells and counter spells. After much hard work, she discovered what she had been looking for. It was a special potion which was meant to open the eyes of anyone who drank it so that they could see the truth. It took many weeks to create the potion exactly as it was meant to be. Princess Rose gave up sleeping and eating until it was finished. At last, when it was ready, she invited her dearest friend to tea, and served her the potion in a charming foxglove teacup. Her friend drank it down and there was a pause. She looked around for a moment blinking rapidly, and Princess Rose held her breath. The her friend shrugged and went on chatting as usual. For just a moment she had thought she could distinctly smell the fragrance of a thousand roses, but then the sensation had gone away. The wizard’s curse was just too strong. Princess Rose was crushed. She knew that she had no hope of ever making anyone see how beautiful her palace was, and she felt so lonely she wanted to cry.

Then one day a young man in the clothes of a plain farmer came riding up to the castle. He got off his horse and walked slowly to the door, where he stopped. Princess Rose, who was watering the roof, saw him and thought how strange it was that he didn’t knock. Instead he very carefully reached out his hand and touched the door with one finger. Princess Rose put down her watering can. The young man was carefully brushing each petal of the daisy door. Princess Rose sat down hard among the lilies. He could see that the door was a flower. He could see it!

Princess Rose went slowly down the morning glory staircase. She could hardly believe what she had seen. With a deep breath, she opened the front door.

The young man stepped back. “You…you live here in this place?” he asked very softly.

“Yes,” said Princess Rose. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Like it? It’s the most…wonderful…beautiful… I don’t have any words.”

“You can see the flowers?” breathed Princess Rose.

“I can’t see anything else,” said the young man. “How did such a place come to be?”

So Princess Rose invited the young man inside and told him the story of the flower palace and of the curse that was on it. The young man told her his story, too. His name was James, and he was the youngest son of a wealthy farmer who had seven sons. His brothers were taking over the farm, and so James’ father sent him off to make his own way in the world. He had traveled far and tried many jobs, but none that seemed to suit him. No matter where he went, he always eventually found a reason to move on. Not until he had seen the flower palace did he ever think he there could be one place worth staying forever.

So he stayed, first as a gardener and friend and then much, much later as Princess Rose’s husband. They never discovered a way to lift the curse and they never knew why James was able to see the flowers, but they did eventually have children, and the flower palace was filled with the laughter of a happy family. Soon friends gathered there who could not see the glorious beauty of the palace but who could feel the love that filled it.

And they all lived happily ever after.

A Story About a Parrot…Who Can Talk

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Once upon a time there was a parrot who could talk like a person. He didn’t just imitate human sounds like some parrots can, but he actually talked and said whatever he wanted to say. This, of course, made him very famous. People would come from miles around to see the talking parrot, and everyone who came paid him a little money to hear him say something funny. It didn’t take long for the talking parrot to get quite rich. He also got quite proud.

He used his money to build himself a big house in the mountains, and next to the house, he had the workmen build a giant statue of himself. The thirty foot statue of a parrot soon became just as famous as the talking parrot himself, so he made more money than ever and was prouder than ever of himself.

Then one day some scientists came to the parrots door. The didn’t want to pay money to hear the parrot talk. They wanted to do the talking. They told the parrot that one of the nearby mountains was a volcano and that it was about to erupt. If it did, it would destroy his house, statue and all. He just laughed because he didn’t believe them. The scientists showed him all their instruments and studies. He didn’t understand what any of it meant, so he still didn’t believe them. Finally, they told him that if he flew to the top of his statue, he’d be able to see the top of the volcano and see the smoke rising. They told him to hurry, since it could explode at any moment.

When the scientists left, the parrot went outside and tried to fly to the top of the statue. He couldn’t. He hadn’t flown in so long that he had forgotten how to do it. Instead, he had to slowly and painfully climb to the top of the statue. It was very hard work, and the parrot wasn’t used to working hard. He huffed and puffed and wished very much that he hadn’t made the statue so tall. Finally, he made it to the top. The first thing he saw when he got there was the smoking volcano. He began to feel very afraid.

The second thing he saw when he got to the top was a nest with a family of parrots living in it. They were as surprised to see him as he was to see them. The parrot soon forgot his surprise, though, when he saw a little bit of lava escape the top of the volcano. He turned to the family and said, “Hurry! The volcano is exploding! We all need to get out of here! Fly to safety!”

The parrot family replied, “Squawk?”

The parrot had forgotten that other parrots didn’t speak people language. He tried again, “Bok-bok!”

The parrot family replied, “Squawk?”

The parrot had forgotten how to speak parrot language! He tried and he tried, but everything came out wrong. The volcano glowed brighter and brighter and the parrot was getting desperate. Finally, he grabbed the littlest baby parrot out of the nest and jumped off the edge of the statue. He fell about halfway down before he finally got his wings to work right and fly. Naturally, the parrot parents followed angrily after him, wanting their baby back. The parrot flew toward the volcano, hoping that the parrot parents would notice how hot it was. It worked. Just when the talking parrot got very tired and turned back for the statue, the daddy parrot saw the lava.

“Squawk!” he said.

When they all got back to the statue, the mommy and daddy parrot gathered up their babies. There was a loud BOOM! and a big cloud of ash and smoke rose into the air. The talking parrot and his new friends flew to safety just in time.

After that, the talking parrot returned to the jungle to live with the other parrots. He learned again how to speak parrot language and he practiced his flying every day. He didn’t ever want to be that helpless again. And to this day, if you are walking in the jungle, you may hear a strange voice saying, “Hello, there!” But you’ll never see anything but some bright tail feathers as they fly away.

Time Out Tuesday – My Kids help invent a story

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When I get really tired of trying to make things up, I have two options. I can either tell them no and live with all the whining or I can make them do the work. Put like that, it’s not really much of a choice. Here’s how our last attempt went:

Me: Okay, what do you want the story to be about? Um…pick an animal, Ellie.

Ellie: (looking around the room and seeing a red balloon parrot) A parrot!

Me: Okay, Scott, where should the parrot live?

Scott: Next to a giant statue.

Okay, then.

Me: Ellie, what do you think would be the weirdest thing a parrot could do?

Ellie: Talk!

Apparently they don’t want to put much effort into this either.

Me: Right…okay…um…who should he talk to?

Scott: Other parrots!

Seriously? Aren’t kids supposed to be endlessly creative?

Me: Okay. What else should he do?

Them: Nothing else.

Yeah, maybe enduring the whining would have been less work.

Tune in tomorrow for the resulting story.

Sir Woozy

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Once upon a time there was a knight named Sir Woozy. He lived in a very remote part of the kingdom where there were many beautiful trees and lakes and mountains but not a single dragon, monster, or evil wizard to be found. Sir Woozy was thankful for his strong castle and his lovely surroundings, but he was bored. Knights like to put on their armor and go out to fight. The only time Sir Woozy ever saw his armor was when he was polishing it, and it didn’t need polishing very often because it was never used enough to get dirty. Sir Woozy was so bored that he started poking around his castle, examining all the dungeons, peeking into every attic, and opening any locked chests that he came across. That was how he found the horn.

The horn was inside an old wooden chest. It was big and heavy, so that Sir Woozy almost couldn’t lift it. But he slowly put it up to his lips and made one short blast. Instead of a bright trumpet sound, the horn made a loud roar, exactly like the roar of a dragon. Sir Woozy blew the horn several times. It sounded so real! He almost wanted to rush out and put on his armor to fight the dragon. But of course, there wasn’t any dragon.

Then Sir Woozy had the best idea! He didn’t have any real dragons to fight, but he could still pretend. It would be better than sitting around his old castle all day doing nothing. So Sir Woozy headed up into the mountains and found a very deep, very dark cave. He knew it was just the sort of cave a dragon would want to live in. He went home and put on his armor and buckled on his sword and shield. Then he loaded the great horn onto his faithful horse. He rode up into the mountains, gathering firewood as he went. When he arrived at the cave, he went deep inside and built up a great big fire with lots of smoke. The cave got so dark and smokey and had such mysterious fiery light in the corners that Sir Woozy was just a little bit afraid. Then he blew the big horn. ROOOAAAARRRR! The dragon roar echoed off the walls of the cave. Sir Woozy drew his sword. He may have only been fighting smoke and shadows, but he was having a great time! When he was good and tired, he let the fire die out and went home to rest.

After that first day, Sir Woozy often went to his cave to fight his pretend dragon. He liked pretending. It was almost as fun as fighting for real. Things went on like this for several weeks, until at one morning, just as Sir Woozy was mounting his horse to head to the cave again, some of the leaders from the nearby village came to his castle gate. They told Sir Woozy that a terrible dragon had taken up residence in the mountains nearby. No one had seen it yet, but the villagers had all heard its roars and see smoke rising up from the mountain. Everyone in the village was terrified and no one wanted to go out after dark any more.

At first, Sir Woozy was very excited. After all his practicing, he was going to get to fight a real dragon. He lifted his sword and told the men to show him where the dragon lived. They led him to the foot of the mountain and then pointed up in the direction of the dragon’s lair. Sir Woozy’s heart sank. They were pointed toward his cave. There was no dragon after all. It was just his horn and his smoke that had terrified the villagers. He began to be very embarrassed. He didn’t want to admit to the men that the dragon was just him playing a pretend game. Knights weren’t really supposed to play imaginary games like that. So instead, he just nodded at them and rode up the mountain.

On the way to the cave, Sir Woozy did some hard thinking. He knew that he had to stop fighting his pretend dragon since it was causing so much fear for the villagers. But he also thought that he would rather not admit that there had never been a dragon. He decided that he could pretend to kill the dragon. Then no one would ever have to know what he had been doing.

So one more time, Sir Woozy lit the fires. One more time, he sounded the horn. One more time, he drew his sword and attacked the dragon. But this time, he clashed his sword loudly against his shield. He yelled. And finally he blew one last blast on the horn and threw a stone loudly against the cave wall. The imaginary dragon was dead.

Sir Woozy rode down the mountain with his head held high. In the village, everyone came out of their houses and cheered. They offered him food and wine. That night there was a huge party to celebrate Sir Woozy’s triumph over the dragon. Sir Woozy couldn’t help feeling proud even though he knew he was a fake.

Everything would have been fine if the king hadn’t decided to visit. As it was, not only the king, but the queen and a whole crowd of lords and ladies and knights arrived at Sir Woozy’s castle just a few days after his supposed battle with the dragon. Of course, the leaders of the village told the king all about how Sir Woozy had fought and killed the dangerous dragon. And of course, the king was very impressed and wanted to find a way to honor Sir Woozy. Sir Woozy felt so ashamed. He knew he should tell the king the truth, but he also knew that the other knights would laugh at him. So he said nothing while the king planned an elaborate ceremony to present Sir Woozy with a medal of bravery. But every time he thought about it, his heart felt a little heavier and his stomach twisted a little tighter.

Finally the day of ceremony came. Sir Woozy stood in front of the king and queen with all the lords and ladies and knights looking on. The king made Sir Woozy kneel. Sir Woozy felt a little sick. The royal page brought out the medal of bravery, resting on a pillow. Sir Woozy had to shut his eyes to keep from fainting. The queen took the medal on its ribbon and prepared to place it around Sir Woozy’s neck. Sir Woozy looked up into her kind blue eyes. He couldn’t do it.

“No,” said Sir Woozy. “I don’t deserve this.”

Everyone gasped, then stared as Sir Woozy told the true story of the imaginary dragon. When he was done, no one said a word. Some of the knights looked angry. Others looked like they would laugh. The king looked confused. But the queen still looked kind. She leaned over and whispered something in the kings ear. He nodded. Then the king took the medal of bravery and placed it around Sir Woozy’s neck.

“Sir Woozy,” said the queen. “It took more bravery for you to tell us the truth than it would have taken to fight ten dragons. You do deserve this medal.”

Everyone clapped and cheered.

“And now,” said the king. “Let’s ride. We need to find this knight some real dragons to fight.”

Plodding wins the race?

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I’m going to keep this brief because quick and to the point is my style. But for all hares everywhere, I really think it is time I spoke out.

That whole big story about the tortoise and the hare? It’s been grossly misinterpreted. I’m not disputing the facts of the story. Oh, no. The tortoise told the facts just like they happened. He doesn’t have enough imagination to lie about it. It happened just like he said. I got out to a quick start, stopped in the shade to take a nap, and slept right through his passing me by and winning the race.

I won’t deny that it was a little embarrassing to lose to a turtle, but I’m pretty much over that. What gets to me is the moral everyone keeps passing along. Plodding wins the race? Seriously? That’s what you want children to remember? What kind of society are you people trying to create? A society of boring little plodders? I don’t say that to belittle tortoises. Seriously, I don’t. If plodding is what you do well, good for you. You probably really will win most races with your steady persistence. But you’ll forgive me if I’m not teaching young hares to imitate you.

I’ll be telling them the true moral of the story. I’ll tell them that nothing, not even winning, feels better than running so fast that your ears fly back. I’ll tell them that being a hare means watching the world fly by and the ground disappear under your powerful hind legs. I’ll tell them that the joy of that kind of speed is exhausting, and they shouldn’t be afraid to rest when they need to. I’ll tell them that if they run fast enough, they’ll have time to take a nap and still finish the race. They may come in second, but they’ll be so rested that they’ll be ready for the next race as soon as they cross the finish line.

Most importantly, I’ll tell them that when you are the best at something, you don’t need to prove it to anyone else. Because that’s what I learned that day, not that I shouldn’t have stopped for a nap, but that I shouldn’t have issued that ridiculous challenge in the first place. I was showing off, plain and simple, hoping to win their respect and admiration. But would those things have made my legs stronger to escape the prowling tiger? Would they have made the thrill of running at heart-bursting speed any more thrilling?

Excellence is its own reward. Tell that to your children when you tell them my story. That will be a lesson well worth learning.