Author: debdunlevy

Oh where, oh where is my lost hound?

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Has anybody seen my hound?
He’s small and black and white and brown.
He’s generally sitting ’round
Begging pats without a sound
Oh where, oh where is my lost hound?

It’s been an awful day for me.
I lost my glasses, scraped my knee,
I ran my car into a tree.
And now I’m sore and I can’t see.
Oh where, oh where can my hound be?

I’ve looked in closets, under rugs.
I’ve asked my family, gotten shrugs.
I feel quite awful; I need hugs.
My cuddly hound helps more than drugs.
Oh hound, oh hound, I need your snugs.

It’s true he always wants to play.
And sometimes likes to run away.
It’s hard for sweet hounds to obey
But this was not the time to stray
Oh why today, hound, why today?

I miss him so, it hurts my head
I guess I’ll go lie on my bed
Wait, what is that beneath the spread?
My hound, he’s here! He hasn’t fled!
Forget, forget hound what I said.

Time out Tuesday

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That’s right, I invented my own alliterative meme just because I felt like talking about storytelling instead of actually telling stories.  Only every once in a while.  Like, maybe, once a week.  On, say, Tuesdays.  Tomorrow we’ll be back to the tales, I promise.

For today, I present to you:  HOW TO TURN ORDINARY STORIES INTO JAW DROPPING THRILL RIDES.  (Or more accurately: how to hold your kid’s attention for three to five minutes.  But I think my title is much more catchy.)

This is where I make the grandiose claim that no matter who you are, no matter where you are, no matter how boring the story, you can make it into something your kids will want to listen to.  It’s all in how you tell it.

Of course, like all grandiose claims, this one isn’t strictly true.  For example, I don’t recommend trying to tell your kids the story of how you buttered your toast while you are walking the magical streets of Disney World.  I’m guessing that story will be better told on a rainy day when your television has exploded.  But still…

1.  Make it about people they know, preferably themselves.  If you’re telling a story from your own childhood, you’re already halfway there.  But if you are telling a story about a princess trapped in a castle or a cowboy riding the range, name the main characters after your kids.  We even used to tell the story of “Ellielocks and the three bears” around our house.  It was a favorite.  I could get all philosophical and talk about how we’re all narcissistic at heart, or I could get all pedagogical and talk about how the use of their name triggers their imagination to place themselves in the story.  But that sounds like too much work, so instead I’ll pull a mom and say, “Trust me.  They’ll eat it up.”  The younger the kid, the more they will love this one.

2.  Use a goofy voice.  I don’t care how atrocious your British accent is.  Your kids don’t care either.  Try it out on a story.  I promise it will make it seem scarier…or funnier…or at least weirder.  Okay, so your spouse will probably laugh at you.  You might want to save that one for when you’re alone with the kids.  But you can give characters in stories any old voice you want.  Telling a story about your old math teacher?  Give her a witch’s voice.  Telling a story about a talking dog?  Make him French.  And do you think you are terrible at using different voices?  Join the club.  If you can’t do an accent to save your life, you can still try making a character talk really slow or really fast, really high-pitched or really low.  It works just as well, and anyone can do it.  Well, anyone who isn’t afraid to sound silly.  And if you are afraid to sound silly, you’d probably better stop reading this right now.

3.  Ask questions.  Let the kids get involved in the story.  Sometimes they are just questions to see if they understand.  “Once upon a time there was a heliotrope.  Do you know what a heliotrope is?  Me either.  Let’s Google it.”  Sometimes they are questions to get them guessing.  “And then the monster came in and found the girl, and what do you think he did to her?  No, he didn’t eat her.  He TICKLED her!”   Some questions are just for interaction.  “The only food he had to eat was dry, moldy bread.  Do you like dry, moldy bread?  If that was all you had to eat, what would you do?”  Questions are particularly good for stories the kids have already heard a thousand times.  “Wait, where was Little Red Riding Hood going?  Her grandmother’s house?  Why would she want to go there?  Was she hoping to get eaten by a wolf?”

4.  Move.  Shout.  Be Alive.  You know what I mean.  You don’t want to do it when you’re tired (which, let’s face it, is all the time), but it works every time.  If someone is going to jump out and yell, “Boo!”  You’ve got to jump.   You’ve got to yell.  If a bee is dive bombing you, swat it away, for goodness sake.  If you broke the chair because you’ve been eating too much porridge, have the grace to look surprised and a little ashamed.  If you can fall on the floor, all the better.   It’s actually pretty fun.  Storytelling, like so many great parenting things, can be a chance to be a kid again.

5. Break out the sound effects. This one pretty much goes along with #4, but it takes slightly less energy. Nothing makes their eyes go wide like someone’s footsteps on the stairs “creak…creak…creak” and the door slowly opening “squeeeeaaaak.” And let me tell you, my sound effects are laughable…and not in a good way. But my 3- and 5-year-old have never complained.

6. Never underestimate the usefulness of the dramatic pause. When their attention starts to waver, spice things up with a little silence. For example, in your toast buttering story. Right about the part when you put in on the plate and get the butter out of the fridge, things start to get a little dull. That’s when a pause can be the most effective. “I got the butter out of the fridge…(long pause)…and I opened the lid…(long pause accompanied by a look of suppressed excitement)…and what do you think I saw? (long pause…by now they are expecting alien symbols to be carved into the butter or a perhaps a severed finger) I…saw…that someone…SOMEONE…had used all but a tiny bit of the butter!” I know…the payoff is totally not there. But I’m telling you, the dramatic pause has given you three distinct advantages: 1)They were listening for those 45 seconds, 2)That tiny bit of boring butter is still about 100 times more interesting than it was before, and 3) You bought yourself some time to think up an alternate and maybe more interesting ending. Because maybe that dramatic pause didn’t just inspire your kids. Maybe it inspired you. Maybe on the spur of the moment, with the full knowledge of how boring your story is, you decided that what you really saw that morning was a big bite out of the butter and that your house is likely infested with butter eating monsters. Don’t underestimate yourself. It could happen. I can’t possibly be the only one…

So what do you think? Anyone else have some good storytelling tips to help us out? Shining examples of storytelling success? Tales of storytelling woe?

Through the Mist

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Once upon a time there was a lonely island, shrouded in mist, and a very young girl lived there all alone. She did not know how she came to be there.  She did not know why she was alone.  She did not even know that she should wonder about these things.  She only knew that palm fronds made the most comfortable bed, that the tide pools were the easiest place to catch fish, and that the fruit from the treetops was delicious but would make you sick if you ate too much at once.  She called the water “shisha” because that was the noise it made; she called the cave where she went when it rained “emmma” because that was how she felt when she sat there; and she called herself Claire, but if there was a reason for that name she did not know what it was.

Claire was not sad or afraid all alone on the island, but every evening as the sun was sinking into the mist, she would walk along the shore and feel the waves lapping at her toes and the mist softly touching her face and the heaviness in her heart that she did not understand.  It was at just this time of day that she found the first dream.   Floating up out of the mist, it bumped to a stop on the sand at her feet.  It was about the size of her two hands put together, half filled with water, hard like a rock, but she could see right through it.  Something about the curvy shape and the perfect circle at the top fascinated her.  When the last rays of the sun caught it and made it sparkle, she could not look away.  She had never seen anything like it before, but she knew it was a dream because it felt just like the things she saw when she was asleep.

After that first time, Claire found many more dreams.  Some were large, like the heavy box that she could not lift, and some were very small, like the tiny pink circle she found buried in the sand.   (That one was no bigger than her baby finger and had two tiny holes in the center.)  Some were colorful, like the flat picture of the setting sun, and some were dull, like the floppy gray tube.  Some were useful, like the long strands knotted together to form a perfect web for catching fish, and some had no use that she could see, like the soft brown hollow hand.  (What use was a hand without an arm to move it?)  But all of the dreams were fascinating and wonderful.  Claire gathered them all in the cave she called emmma and each had its own special place.  Even if she took one out to use it for carrying water or catching fish, she would always lovingly return it each evening.  Claire spent many happy hours sitting in her cave and looking with wonder at all her dreams.  Her favorite was one of the smallest.  It was a circle about the size of her hand.  One side was a dull green color, but the other side…the other side was magic.  It showed a tiny reflection of her face, just like her face in the creek but perfectly clear and still.  Claire never got tired of holding that dream in her hand and studying the girl who looked out of it.

From the day that Claire found that very first sparkling dream, the pattern of her days was changed.  She still walked the misty shores each evening and watched the sun slowly dissolve into darkness, but now instead of a heaviness in her chest, she felt a faint thrill, never knowing when a new dream might come floating up to meet her.  And each night she spread her palm fronds in the shelter of the cave and fell asleep surrounded by a world of treasures.

And then one day the ship came.

Claire did not see it, anchored among the waves and shrouded in clouds, but for the first time ever, she heard the voices of men on the shore.  Drawn by a curiosity that knew no reason for fear, she left her breakfast and went to investigate the sound.  On the beach, she saw a small boat and two men securing it on the sand.  By this time, Claire was so used to magical gifts appearing through the mist that she did not even feel the shock you would imagine.

The men, on the other hand, were quite surprised.  Their ship had been damaged in a storm and they had wandered some time in the mist and clouds before hearing the waves breaking on this island.  These two had come to shore only to find fresh water for the crew and some trees for repairs to the ship.  The last thing they expected to find was a girl, all alone and apparently unable to speak.

They were good men, the Captain and his first mate, but they did not know what to do.  At first they offered her some of the bread from their food bag, but she just smiled and did not eat.  The Captain tried to ask her who she was and how she got there, but she just smiled and said nothing.  Then the first mate took out a coil of rope, and the girl’s face lit up.  Pointing first to the rope and then toward the cliffs behind her, she danced around, laughing.  The Captain and his first mate couldn’t help but smile to see her.  But she clearly wanted something more than just to dance.  When nothing else worked, she grabbed the Captain’s hand and tugged him toward the cliffs.  Finally understanding, the men followed her.

When the Captain and the first mate saw Claire’s cave of treasures, they did not know what to say.  Bits of cast off trash sat everywhere.  An empty bottle held small pieces of broken glass.  A child’s button rested in the palm of a worn leather glove.  A ragged fishing net was draped over some rocks.  Each piece was nothing more than rubbish, but somehow the whole was something beautiful.  And most beautiful of all was the face of the girl who had created it, glowing with pride to show her collection of dreams to her new friends.

Using her hands to show her meaning, Claire asked the men if they had come from the same magical land as her dreams.  They showed her their boat and said that they had come from the other side of the water.  Claire’s face showed the Captain plainly that she imagined the world outside her walls of mist as a place of beautiful enchantment.  That night, he sat up all through the darkest hours and thought about what he should do.  He had intended, of course, to take her back to the civilized world.  But that was before he had seen her dream cave.  He thought of her in a place where the beauty of dreams was lost in a dull reality, where wonderful things were thrown away as worthless.

And so it was that when Claire woke up the next morning and left her cave, she found the beach empty and the boat gone.  No traces were left of her friends from the day before except for a coil of rope lying on the beach.  Claire picked up the rope and smiled as she felt it slide through her fingers.  She did not feel disappointed that her friends were gone.  She accepted that some things come and go with the tides.  If the magic on the other side of the mist had sent her friends once, it might do so again.  And if not, there would be other dreams.  Claire carried the rope back to her cave and added it to her collection.

And it may have been, though this story does not tell, that some time later in the fall of the year a small boat parted the clouds and a young captain landed alone on the island alone with nothing but a chest full of dreams to start a new life.

Greta Got the Giggles

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They told her to sit still
It was a very solemn place
No fidgeting would be allowed
Just sit and stare off into space

She managed to control her wiggles
But Greta got the giggles

She really did her best
She kept on looking straight ahead
But Mrs. Pearson had a hat
Topped with a bow, big, floppy, and red

That bow was all wobbles and jiggles
And Greta got the giggles

The bow was just the start
As soon as Greta had stifled her grin
A long thin worm appeared
On the brim of that hat. Greta snorted again.

That worm made its loops and its squiggles
And Greta got the giggles

Her mom and dad were shocked
They shushed her with furrowed brows
She wanted to be good
But the chuckles were in charge now

Her attempt to be quiet caused twitches and wriggles
For Greta had the giggles

(Because, let’s face it, it’s happened to us all. Check out some true giggling stories and other fun over at Mama Kat’s.)
Mama's Losin' It

Hammy the Hamster

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This is actually a story my husband invented. I was going to make him write it up, but he was a little busy getting his new book out this week. Still, it’s one of my kids’ favorites, so naturally it has to be immortalized here. There isn’t much to it, but just insert your kids’ names and use your dopiest possible voice when you say, “Oops! I forgot!” and preschoolers are going to love it.

Once upon a time there were two kids named Ellie and Scott who really wanted a pet.  Every day they would ask their dad to buy them a dog or a cat or even a fish, but he never did.  Then one day, while the kids were playing in the forest when they found a stray animal.  It wasn’t a dog or a cat; it was a giant hamster.  Now, a  hamster should be a small furry creature, like a mouse with a very short tail.  But this was a giant hamster, so while he was till furry and still had a stubby tail, he was roughly twice as big as Ellie and Scott’s dad.  The kids were delighted.  They named their new pet Hammy and took him home to dinner.

You can guess what happened.  Their mom took one look at that enormous hamster and said, “No way!”  She sent them straight back into the forest to put Hammy back where they found him.  Ellie and Scott were disappointed, but they decided that they would visit Hammy every day in the forest and train him to behave and teach him tricks so that he could show their mom what a good pet he would be.

From the very first day, they could see that they were going to have trouble.  Hamsters will eat almost anything, and Hammy was a giant hamster.  That meant that as often as not, what he wanted to eat was Ellie and Scott.  They carefully explained to him that hamsters should not eat kids and that they couldn’t play with him any more if he kept trying to eat them. Then they taught Hammy how to play tag.

Playing tag with Hammy was super fun.  You could duck right under his legs and out of reach before you got tagged.  But, when it was Ellie’s turn to be “it,” Hammy snatched her right up and started to chew on her arm.  Scott stamped his foot and yelled as loudly as he could, “No, Hammy!  No eating Ellie!”

And Hammy said, “Oops!  I forgot!” and dropped Ellie back to the ground.

They gave up on tag and started playing hide and seek.  Hammy was too big to be good at hiding, but he was a great seeker…at least until he found Scott.  Then he snatched Scott right up and started munching on his leg.  Ellie jumped out of her hiding spot and screamed, “No, Hammy!  No eating Scott!”

And Hammy said, “Oops!  I forgot!” and dropped Scott back to the ground.

Instead of getting better, Hammy’s forgetfulness got worse and worse every day.  One day, while they were all playing Prince and Princess, Ellie turned around and couldn’t see Scott.  Then she saw a foot sticking out of Hammy’s mouth.

“Hammy!  Is that Scott’s foot?” she yelled.

Hammy just shrugged.  From inside Hammy’s mouth, Scott shouted, “Hammy!  No eating me!” and he boxed Hammy’s teeth very hard.

Hammy spit Scott out and said, “Oops!  I forgot!”

That was when Ellie and Scott knew they could never take Hammy home as a pet.  They still wanted to play with him in the forest, though, because he was so much fun.   They thought and thought about what they could do until Ellie had a great idea.  They ran home and got to work with some paint.

And after that day, anytime they wanted to go play with Hammy, Ellie and Scott always wore the same white shirts with bright red letters that said, “No eating me!”

Better Off, Part 2

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If you missed the first part, it’s here.

For two days Sammy lay burning with fever.  Once or twice he woke up and thought, “I need a doctor.”  But he was too sick to get out of bed, even to make a hot cup of tea.

On the night of the second day, Francesca was walking by Wallow Cove, when she met Reggie coming out of his burrow towards her.  He was frowning with worry.

“Francesca, have you seen Sammy lately?” he asked.

“No,” said she, “but that’s not unusual.”

“I know,” replied Reggie, “but there is no smoke coming up from his chimney.  And there hasn’t been since the day of the ice skating.  I’m afraid something’s wrong.”

Together they hurried down to Sammy’s door and rang the bell.  There was no reply.  They rang again, and Reggie knocked loudly.  But still no one answered.

“Should we try to go in?” asked Francesca.

Reggie paused.  Sammy had not wanted company lately, but then…he had never let his fire go out before.

“Let’s try,” he said finally.

They tried the handle and found the door open.  Cautiously creeping inside, they heard a strange sound.  Following it into the bedroom, they found Sammy tossing and turning as he slept.

“He’s sick!” cried Reggie, springing to the bedside.  “Run get Doctor Greatpaws before it’s too late.”

Francesca ran off, and Reggie started to work.  He covered up Sammy and built up the fire.  He brought a cool cloth for his forehead and boiled water for tea.  He was just bringing in an extra blanket, when Doctor Greatpaws the bear hurried into the room.  Francesca and Reggie waited anxiously in the kitchen for nearly an hour, and finally the kind Doctor came out with good news.

”You found him in time,” he announced with a grave smile.  “He will recover, but will need lots of care.”

“I’ll stay with him,” promised Reggie.  “Just tell me what to do.”

So for two long weeks, Reggie stayed with Sammy, nursing him and feeding him, and reading him stories.  Francesca and Wally and Joshua all stopped by to bring special treats and play games by the fire.

On the fourth day of Reggie’s stay, Sammy was able to sit up in bed.  While drinking his tea, he remembered the winterberries.  Where had he left the basket?

“Reggie,” he asked, “did you find a basket of winterberries?”

“No,” replied Reggie.

“I was out picking them the day I got sick.  Maybe I left the basket outside.”

“I’ll go look,” said Reggie, springing up instantly.  In a moment he was back with the basket of still-frozen berries.   “Would you like me to make you some winterberry tea?”

Sammy looked doubtful.  “Are you sure you know how to crush them right?  Maybe you should just bring them in here and I’ll…No.”  He stopped himself.  “Thank you.  I think we will be better off if you do it.”

And Reggie did.

Maybe he could have steeped the berries a little longer, but Francesca and Joshua dropped in bursting with neighborhood news; and looking around at his chattering friends over the rim of his mug, Sammy thought it was the best cup of tea he had tasted in all his life.

Better Off, Part 1

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The second (and last…for now) of the Bean Creek Chronicles, which was written for my nephew on his first Christmas. I’m doing this one in two parts because it’s a bit on the long side. Enjoy!

One especially slow, sleepy day in high summer, the sun shone so brightly that even the buzzing of the bees sounded sluggish, and all the neighbors along Bean Creek could be found sitting in the shade, sipping lemonade, or drowsily dozing in the sun.

All, that is, except one.

Sammy Bushytail was busy picking berries. Ignoring the sun beating on his back, he quickly filled his basket with the plump, juicy fruit. Then he scurried home to spread the berries on a blanket in the sun. As his little paws flew, his mind drifted far away, dreaming of crisp berry cobbler and crunchy toast with sticky jam. He was so wrapped up in his delicious daydreams that he was on his third trip home with a full fruit basket before Reggie got his attention.

Reggie Snuffles was relaxing in the shade of Wallow Cove, occasionally rolling over with a satisfying squish in the sticky mud. He wasn’t surprised at all to see his best friend Sammy concentrating so hard on work.

“Whatcha doin,’ Sammy?” he asked, scratching his snout comfortably on a nearby stump.

“Berry drying day,” said Sammy shortly, shifting the bulging basket and steadily plodding on.

“Want some help?” offered Reggie, glancing at the steep hill and his friend’s already tired face.

That stopped Sammy suddenly. It was a tempting offer, but…Reggie was not known to be a very careful worker, even if he was Sammy’s best friend. What if he bungled with the basket and spoiled all Sammy’s work? He eyed the hill, looming large in the sunlight.

“I suppose,” he accepted slowly, stealing a shuddering glance at Reggie’s muddy sides.

Reggie sidled forward and accepted the basket Sammy was reluctantly unstrapping.

“Just be careful, okay?”

Reggie started toward the hill slowly, then began trotting faster and faster…determined to be really helpful, even in the hot sun.

Sammy watched him carefully. Just as he reached the top with a bump and a jolt, a bunch of berries bounced out of the basket. Reggie didn’t notice, but Sammy sprinted up the hill to recover his loss. He caught up with Reggie at home just as he was dumping the sweet fruit onto the blanket.

“No, no, no, no!” shouted Sammy in horror.

Startled, Reggie dropped the basket.

“You’ll smash them like that! Look, give me the basket. You’ll ruin the berries. See how many you lost on the way! Thanks for your help, but you don’t know how to do this. I’m better off on my own.”

Reggie stared at Sammy in shock. “Sorry…I just wanted to help. You don’t…” He started to say something else, but swallowed it, turned and trudged sadly back to Wallow Cove.

Summer slowly fell away into autumn, and Sammy could be seen every day, always busy gathering roots and berries or grinding acorn flour from the remains of last year’s crop and always alone.

Then, one crisp, clear day, the neighbors along Bean Creek all got up before the sun. It was Acorn Harvesting Day! The last day before the frost was always the best day for acorns, and after the frost it would be too late. With so much to do in one day, everyone got involved. Mr. and Mrs. Flitter and their five children were flying toward the woods, with even baby Fiona flapping sleepily behind. Those who had no children to help them banded together to bring in the harvest.

Reggie was just locking his door when he heard his friends, Francesca and Wally and Joshua coming up the lane.

Joshua, as always, was leaping ahead, and landed with a thud right next to Reggie.
“Ready to go, Reggie?” he asked with typical enthusiasm.

“Yes,” said Reggie, smiling. It was impossible not to smile at Joshua, no matter how early in the morning it was.

“Shouldn’t we stop by to see if Sammy will join us?” asked Francesca, having arrived more sedately with Wally.

Reggie looked doubtful. He hadn’t seen much of Sammy lately, except at a distance. But after a minute, his loyalty won out.
“Yeah…let’s go see if he’s there.”

The friendly little group trudged off to Sammy’s tree. They knocked and knocked, but he didn’t answer. Just when the turned to the gate to leave, they saw Sammy headed home with a load of acorns.

“You were up early, Sammy!” said Wally.

“No time to waste,” replied Sammy briefly.

“Wanna work with us today?” asked Reggie. “It’s always faster with more people.”

Sammy looked uncomfortable. He had missed his friends very much…but on the other hand, there was no way to work together without showing them his secret hiding place, and he hated to let anyone in there. Besides, he told himself, more people will just mean more time goofing off. I don’t have time for that.

“Thank you,” he finally forced out, “but I already have a good start. I’m better off on my own today.”

The friends were a little surprised, but they all nodded and, bidding Sammy good-bye, hurried off to get to work.

Later that evening, when they had stuffed everyone’s pantries with perfect acorns, the band of friends sat outside, laughing, chatting, and watching the giant sun melt away into tomorrow.

But Sammy, whose secret hole was much larger, was scurrying back and forth to the forest late into the night. His little lantern could be seen bobbing along long after the moon had risen.

Autumn was quickly covered by winter, and no sooner had all the harvest been brought in than the snow fell thick on the houses along Bean Creek. One especially chilly day, the neighbors went outside and found the creek completely icy solid. The children all squealed with delight, and everyone bundled into scarves and hats and coats and gloves, and then scurried to the creek to slip and slide on the ice

Meanwhile, Sammy was snug in his little tree house. He cradled a cup of warm cocoa and planned his day. Hadn’t he just noticed a tiny patch of winterberries poking through the snow under the old cedars? He would mix up some fresh nut bread and while it was rising, he would just nip up there and gather some. They would make a lovely tea once they had been properly crushed. With the prospect of warm nut bread and winterberry tea for his afternoon snack, he sprang up to start, but had only gotten as far as tying on his baker’s apron when the front door-bell rang.

Reggie, wrapped in a ridiculous brown coat and wearing fuzzy orange ear muffs, was grinning with glee.
“Come skate with us, Sammy! The ice is perfect!”

Sammy smiled at his funny-looking friend. He looked so happy. It was awfully tempting, the shining sun, the shimmering ice, the shouting people. But then he remembered the winterberries. Playing now would mean someone else might pick them first.

“Thanks, but I’m busy today,” Sammy replied. “I’ve got a lot of baking to do.”

“Oh, come on, come play now,” begged Reggie. “We haven’t seen very much of you lately. And after we’ve skated we’ll all come help you with your work.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” said Sammy, with a wise nod, thinking that there weren’t very many berries if they were divided up. “Too many cooks only spoil all the baking. I’m better off on my own.”

So Reggie returned to the friends at the creek side, and Sammy turned back to his nut bread.

As soon as he had carefully covered the dish of dough with a towel, Sammy slipped on his overcoat and scurried outside with his basket. He quickly found the patch of winterberries and set to work digging them out of the snow. It was very cold, and soon his paws felt numb. But he worked quickly and had soon collected all the berries. Just as he turned to leave, however, he noticed another patch a little further into the cedar woods.
He glanced at his basket. There was still room. So he moved on. Halfway through digging up the second patch, he was shivering uncontrollably, but he was so busy with his work that he didn’t even notice. The second patch was much bigger, and when he finally finished, the sun had moved well past midday. Time to be getting home.

Sammy started to pick up his basket, but it wouldn’t budge. “That’s funny,” he said to himself. “I didn’t think it was that full!” Then he realized that he couldn’t feel his paws at all! His whiskers were crusted with snow and his ears ached from the biting wind. Clumsily clutching his basket he staggered toward home, his frozen feet stumbling over the icy path. After what seemed like a fortnight, he opened his front door with a sigh and collapsed onto a chair by the stove.

But he had been gone so long the fire had gone out, so after a moment’s rest, Sammy dragged himself up to rebuild the fire. As the fire crackled to life, Sammy could feel the life seeping back into his paws.

“Better put the bread on,” he said to himself, with a sneeze.
But by the time he had the bread neatly rolled into buttered pans, he had sneezed seven times and could feel his head beginning to ache.

“I’ll just lay down for a minute while the bread bakes,” he thought, as sneeze number eight shook his body.

So he climbed into bed and fell quickly to sleep, tossing and turning he began to burn with fever. He didn’t wake up until late in the evening. A smell of burning was filling the house. Still hot with his fever he crawled to the kitchen. “My bread is ruined,” he groaned as he lifted it out and turned off the oven. But he had no strength to clean up the mess. Slowly he creeped back to bed and collapsed in a heap.

Monster versus House

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Once upon a time there was a giant monster named Ralph. He was orange all over and had short little legs, a big fat body, crazy long arms, and a giant eye in the middle of his forehead. In short, he was ugly, as all good monsters should be. He was also ravenous, as all good monsters should be. Ravenous means that he could never get enough to eat. He would wake up in the morning and eat a forest for breakfast. Then in the middle of the morning, he would snack on some semi trucks. For lunch he might eat a skyscraper and wash it down with a swimming pool. Even with an afternoon snack of swing sets, by dinner time, he be hungry enough to eat a whole zoo.

As you can imagine, he created fear and panic wherever he went, because people never knew when he might come along and eat their home or their school or their workplace. It’s hard to sleep at night when you never know when your roof might disappear and a giant eye look in at you. And it’s very boring at the park when all the swing sets have been eaten.

One little boy in particular was very upset about it all. The day his favorite park was eaten, he came home and cried for three hours. His house echoed his cries sadly. The next day his school was devoured. He wasn’t quite as sad about that, but he did complain a lot that night. His house liked it much better when it could hear him happily playing and not whining. The day after that, when all the firetrucks were consumed, he sat without saying a word, hugging his little toy fire truck. This was too much for the little house, which loved the boy and proudly bore his crayon marks in its walls along with his scuff marks on its floors. That night the house made a difficult decision. While everyone inside was sleeping, the little house very carefully shook itself and…woke up.

You may wonder why your house has never woken up. It is because houses were built to be passive, watching the lives of their families as if dreaming. These dreams carry on in memory long after a house is empty and even when it is knocked down. Only very rarely does a house come awake to actively change things. And when it does, it can only be awake for a short time, and after that it dreams no more. So you can see why this was a difficult decision for the little house.

It had decided just in time. The next day, Ralph showed up in the little boy’s neighborhood. He started munching trees and then quickly moved on to buildings. He gobbled up the corner convenience store and then munched through every house on the street. At last he came to the little boy’s house. With a monsterly rumble he opened his giant mouth to take a bite.

Then the window shades blinked up, the front door opened wide like a mouth, and the house echoed back Ralph’s roar, only much, much louder. Ralph was so stunned that he stopped mid-bite to stare at the house. The house just sat there blinking its windows at him. Once again Ralph opened his mouth wide, thinking to take off the whole roof at once. With a little shudder and a jerk, a pane of glass from the window flew out of the house and straight down Ralph’s throat. He choked a little. While he was still choking, another pane of glass was thrown right up his nose. Ralph sneezed a big sneeze that bent all the trees back. While he was still trying to recover from his sneeze, a doorknob hit him square in his giant eye. That one really hurt. With his eye closed, he couldn’t see anything. But he could feel it as shingles from the roof began pelting him from every direction. Bellowing with rage and pain, Ralph turned and ran blindly down the street and out of town.

No one in that city ever saw Ralph the monster again.

As for the little house, it was a pitiful looking wreck with no windows, no doorknob, and only half a roof. But in the yard was a little boy, jumping up and down and laughing fit to burst. The house creaked and sighed, a happy sigh that sounded just a bit like “good-bye….”

(This one happily coincided with prompt #5 over at Mama Kat’s. Check out all the other entries!)
Mama's Losin' It

The Valley of Magical Lights

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Note: I wrote this story for my niece for her first Christmas. That was…gulp…over eight years ago. Something brought it to mind recently, and I thought I’d share it with you all. This was the first story in the Bean Creek Chronicles. It was illustrated by my mother, so if it’s a bit lacking in description, it’s because you’re missing the pictures. I’d love to pass them along, but I don’t have them. Eight years ago was before my scanner. 😦 The idea was to write one for each child in the family. It worked great for my niece and nephew. Then I had my own kids! Needless to say, those other stories never got written. Maybe now I’ll have the inspiration to finish off the Chronicles. In any case, I hope you enjoy these first two installments.

As was their habit on a fine spring morning, Wally Warthopper and Francesca Nibbles sat in front of their holes on the banks of Bean Creek having tea and cookies. Francesca loved to be out and about, and Wally enjoyed nothing better than soaking in the sunshine.

Just as they started on their second cup of tea, the entire Bouncylegs family came hopping down the path towards the forest. Mr. and Mrs. Bouncylegs had thirteen children, so they made quite a parade!

“Where are you going?” asked Wally.

“To see the Shining Valley,” answered Mr. Bouncylegs.

“This is the day of the magical lights,” added Sally Bouncylegs happily.

“It’s all the way on the other side of the forest,” said Georgie, the tiniest grasshopper. He looked a little scared.

“We have to hurry, or we’ll miss the lights,” scolded Mrs. Bouncylegs, shooing Georgie along with the others.

Wally and Francesca looked at each other. Magical lights!

“That sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Francesca.

Wally just croaked his agreement.

“We should go see them,” she added, jumping up to get her coat and hat.

But Wally didn’t want to leave his comfortable spot on the bank. He thought about how far it must be to the other side of the forest and how much nicer it was to sit still and soak in the sun. “It sounds so far,” he said doubtfully, “and it looks like it might rain.”

But Francesca was tired of being inside after the long winter. And the lights sounded so exciting! She decided to go anyway.

Francesca was traipsing along happily, when a big, fat raindrop hit the top of her head. She hadn’t even noticed the big clouds that had rolled in. Soon it was pouring and she was soaked through. She tried to hide under a leaf, but the water still trickled down her neck. She was wet and cold and miserable. Just then, a giant splash almost knocked Francesca off her feet. She wiped the water from her eyes and saw a mischievous young jackrabbit right in the middle of an enormous puddle. He was dripping water, but didn’t seem to mind it.

“Whatcha doing under there? All the puddles are out here,” asked the jackrabbit with a grin. Francesca didn’t know what to say.

“My name’s Joshua,” said the enthusiastic stranger, thumping again with his back foot and making another huge splash.

“I-I-I’m Francesca,” she stuttered with cold.

“My mama always said the best way to keep warm in a spring rain was to keep hopping right through it,” said Joshua. “Watch this.” And he leaped from his puddle into another nearby puddle, causing a small tidal wave.

Francesca smiled in spite of herself.

“Well…come on,” yelled Joshua, leaping this way and that.

Francesca crept cautiously from under her leaf and stepped lightly in the edge of the nearest puddle.

“No, not like that!” corrected Joshua. “Right in the middle.”

Francesca took a big, deep, long breath…and jumped. SPLASH! She giggled. Joshua was right! This was fun! Pretty soon, she and Joshua were splishing and sploshing their way down the path. Francesca wasn’t cold at all any more. In fact, she almost felt a little disappointed she suddenly felt the sun again. The rain was gone and they were approaching the edge of the forest.

As soon as Francesca could catch her breath, she explained to Joshua about the Shining Valley. He was thrilled at the thought of a whole valley of magical lights, so he quickly agreed to come with her.

Meanwhile, Wally went inside when it started to rain. He built a fire in the fireplace and sat close, toasting marshmallows. He peered out at the nasty rain and was very, very glad that he had stayed at home where everything was warm and dry.

Francesca and Joshua waltzed down the forest path for a ways, enjoying the gentle breeze and the forest noises. They were just beginning to feel dry again and wonder where they could find some lunch, when Joshua stopped short. “Listen,” he hissed, darting a glance at the sky. This time Francesca heard the noise, too. It was a loud, high screeching. A hawk!

Joshua and Francesca dashed together as fast as they could to the base of a nearby tree. Joshua was shaking. Francesca looked every which way for a hole to hide in. Just as the hawk swooped low, she saw an opening! Pushing Joshua ahead of her, she scrambled into the little hole under a root. They could still hear the hawk circling outside. Francesca was so scared that she began to wish she hadn’t come into the forest at all.

The hawk swept by again and again, but at long last the dreadful shrieking started to fade as he moved on, scouring the forest for something else to eat. Francesca looked around her for the first time. The floor of the hole was covered with great big walnuts! It was the perfect lunch. Francesca gnawed open the shells and shared the nuts with Joshua. After they had both eaten, they felt brave enough to leave the little hole and continue on their adventure.

Meanwhile, Wally was settling into his favorite chair with an enormous plate of sandwiches and a big glass of milk. He sighed with contentment as he ate six ham and cheese and four tuna fish sandwiches. “Nothing beats a good lunch,” he said to himself. Then he picked up Fritz the Flycatcher and started to read. Having already read the book several times, he quickly dozed off.

Francesca and Joshua marched along for what seemed like ages. Dusk was just settling in, and they still couldn’t see the end of the forest. Francesca knew that the Shining Valley was right where the forest ended. But they kept walking and walking and walking…and walking. Joshua’s hops were getting a little shorter each time, and Francesca looked sadly down at her aching feet. When she looked up, she groaned. In front of them was a huge hill, looming up out of the dark like a giant.

She stopped. Joshua stopped, too. They were so tired. “How are we ever going to make it all the way up?” groaned Joshua . For a long moment, neither one moved.

“We can’t forget the magical lights,” sighed Francesca at last. “They’ll be worth it. I know they will.”

There was nothing more to say. With a big effort, they both started to climb. Joshua went first and Francesca followed, trying to ignore the bits of gravel that bit into her sore feet. They toiled up, slowly making progress until they were stopped short by a big boulder that had fallen on the path. Francesca wanted to cry. They had come so far! But Joshua wasn’t giving up. He was digging rapidly at one edge of the boulder. Francesca flopped down to wait. In a few minutes, Joshua cried excitedly, “I’m through!”. He had carved out a little tunnel. It was a tight squeeze, but when Francesca emerged, huffing and puffing, from the other side, she saw that the trees had disappeared. Just ahead was the top of the hill. They had made it through the forest. With a loud “Yippee!” she and Joshua surged to the top and began to slip and slide down the other side of the hill.

Meanwhile, Wally woke up from his nap with a stomach ache. Too many sandwiches! He swallowed a big spoonful of medicine with a grimace. The shadows outside his door were starting to get long, so he lit a lamp. He looked outside and thought how glad he was that he was not out in all that blackness. He shut the door on the gloom, pulled the armchair near to the fire and put on a big pot of soup for dinner.

With a giant giggle, Francesca and Joshua landed in a heap at the bottom of the hill. They untangled their arms and legs and ears and tails and sat up to look around. It was so dark, they couldn’t see anything! Francesca stretched out her arm and bumped into Joshua’s head.

“Ouch!” he yelped.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Francesca. “We must be near the Shining Valley, but I can’t even see a speck of light.”

She started to feel a little scared again. Joshua huddled close. It was just too dark to move, and they couldn’t think of what to do next.

Meanwhile, Wally finished off his soup with a big slurp. He felt warm and sleepy. He climbed into his big, soft bed and pulled the covers up around his ears. He felt a little lonely after being by himself all day. “I wish Francesca was here to tell me a story before bed,” he thought to himself, and with a sigh, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Francesca and Joshua felt very cold. Francesca was just about to suggest that they try to clamber back up the hill and go home, when Joshua whispered, “Did you see that?” Off in the distance, they saw a little flickering light.

In a minute, it was joined by another light, and then another. Before Francesca could say anything, the whole air was full of little lights, dipping and swirling around each other. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The combined glow from the lights lit up the whole valley. Francesca and Joshua had been in the Shining Valley all along! And under a clump of pines in the middle of the cavorting lights was the Bouncylegs family, standing with a group of other creatures laughing and pointing.

Francesca and Joshua went to join the group, and everyone gazed and gazed at the beautiful flickering lights. They glided and gamboled as if they were dancing. After a moment, Francesca gasped. They were dancing! And all the creatures looking on joined hands and began to dance along with them, whirling and twirling among the sparkling lights. It was one of the happiest moments of Francesca’s life. “I wish Wally could be here to enjoy this, too,” she thought to herself. But just then, Joshua went leaping by with little Georgie Bouncylegs on his back. Francesca laughed at his antics and, joining hands with Sally, skipped off to join the fun.

The Princess in the Bottle

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Once upon a time there was a young man who had no home and no family. His life was a life lived on the road, traveling from place to place, finding work whenever he needed it and adventure even when he didn’t. His only companion was an old gray horse, who through some long ago mistake had been named Black. The young man’s name was Peter, which means Rock and was a much more fitting name.

A traveling life makes for many stories, but the greatest tale of young Peter’s life started with a small creek and a fishing line. Peter had always been an excellent fisherman, so whenever he had nothing else to eat, he would look for a long stick, tie on his string and hook, and catch himself a fine supper. On this particular evening, the fish were biting well, and Peter had just caught enough for a feast when his eye fell on something glittering among the rocks on the bottom of the creek. Without a second thought, he reached down and pulled up a sparkling glass bottle with a red cork in it. The sight of this bottle was so amazing that Peter immediately dropped his line of fish. It wasn’t the lovely shape of the glass or even the brilliant color of the cork that caused such astonishment; it was what was inside the bottle. This bottle didn’t hold wine or vinegar or water. It didn’t even hold a perfect model of a ship. It held a princess.

Peter could not believe his eyes. Inside the bottle was a princess so tiny and so beautiful that he thought he must be dreaming. As you can imagine, he lost no time pulling the cork out of the bottle. As soon as he did, he heard a tiny, beautiful, but very angry voice saying, “Why did you drop the fish?! I’m starving!”

That was the last thing that Peter expected to hear. But the thought of a tiny, beautiful, starving princess was more than he could bear, so he quickly caught a few more fish and roasted them over his fire. When they were cooked all through, he broke off a small piece and dropped it into the top of the bottle. The princess ate it, quick as a wink, and asked for more. Peter passed her bits of fish through the opening of the bottle until finally she was full. She was much less angry now. She even thanked him for the food in a very polite voice.

As for Peter, he was not at all interested in eating. He just wanted to hear how a princess came to be in a bottle. He could see very well that she wouldn’t fit through the opening. The princess told him that her name was Selina and that her father was the king of a neighboring kingdom. It seemed that her father had done something to anger his chief magician who had punished his king by shrinking his only daughter and trapping her in a bottle. Once she was trapped, the magician had carried her secretly out of the castle and thrown her into a nearby river. The river carried her far away, out of her father’s kingdom and down to this point where it dwindled to a tiny creek, and she had finally come to rest among the rocks. The king did not know what had happened to his daughter, only that she had disappeared.

“So I knew that no one would be looking for me,” finished Selina, “and I was quite sure that I was going to die of starvation in this horrid bottle. Until you came along, that is, and I saw your fish. Nothing ever looked or tasted so good.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help you get out of that bottle?” asked Peter.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Selina sadly. “My father’s chief magician is very powerful. I doubt that anyone could undo one of his spells, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to do it himself.”

But Peter had not spent his life traveling for nothing. Once, several years before, Peter had met an old woman who was said to have magical powers. Peter thought he would visit her and see if she knew any way to reverse the spell.

It was a journey of several weeks to reach the old woman. Peter carried Selina in her bottle in front of him as he rode Black, and positioned her near the fire at night to keep her warm. Every morning, he baked a little cake of flour and passed pieces through the opening of the bottle for Selina’s breakfast, and every night he fed her fish or nuts or berries that he had found through out the day. They passed the evening talking and telling stories and sometimes Selina would sing one of the many songs she had learned from her mother. Those were happy weeks, though Selina was very tired of being in her bottle, and at last they arrived at the old woman’s cottage.

When Peter showed the old woman the bottle and told her Selina’s tale, the old woman sighed a very big sigh. She picked up the bottle and studied it closely. “Yes, yes,” she said. “I’m afraid there really is no other way.”

“No other way?” asked Peter. “Then there is one way at least!”

“Yes, there is a way. There is always a way. I’m sorry to say it young man, but it seems you are going to have to drink it.”

Peter was confused. “Drink it? Drink what?”

“Drink what’s in the bottle.”

Peter was even more confused. “But Selina is in the bottle. Only Selina.”

“No, not only Selina. Selina and something else.”

Peter studied the bottle closely. He couldn’t see anything in there but Selina.

“Pour it out,” said the old woman, handing Peter a cup.

Selina braced her arms and legs on the glass and nodded at Peter. Peter shrugged and tipped the bottle over the cup. A stream of dark red liquid poured into the cup, filling it to the brim.

Peter was astonished. There hadn’t been any red liquid in the bottle before. At least, none that he could see. But there it was in the cup before him. It didn’t look very tasty, but if it would free Selina, he was willing to try it. He picked it up.

“No! Wait!” shouted Selina. “You don’t know what it is. What will it do to him?” she asked the old woman.

“I don’t know,” said the old woman. “But it won’t be good. There’s no doubt that it’s some sort of poison.”

Selina was horrified. “You can’t drink it! It could kill you!”

Peter just looked at her, and his eyes were as calm and steady as a rock. He had just realized something. He had just realized that even if this poison killed him, Selina would be worth it. Still keeping his eyes only on his princess in the bottle, he picked up the cup and drank down all the poison.

The effect was instantaneous. Peter’s eyes closed, he gritted his teeth to keep from yelling from the pain. Then the pain slowly, slowly grew less and less, and the world faded from his sight. Peter was dead.

In that same moment, the glass of Selina’s bottle disappeared, and she was standing there fully grown. With a sob, she threw herself down on Peter’s chest. She cried and cried until she couldn’t cry any more, and as she cried she felt something strange. The old woman was holding the cup up to Selina’s cheek, capturing all her tears. When Selina finally calmed, the cup was full. Quick as a wink, the old woman tipped the cup and poured Selina’s tears into Peter’s mouth.

He coughed. He sputtered. Then he sat up. Selina was so happy to see him alive, and Peter was so happy to see her free of her bottle and back to her normal size that neither of them could say anything. They just sat and looked at each other happily for a long, long time.

And then they thanked the old woman, got onto Black, rode to Selina’s home, and lived happily ever after.