One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.
~Hart Crane
I couldn’t believe in that more than I do, and that’s my excuse for buying a good book and spending my weekend reading.
I’ll try to have an actual story for you on Monday.
They say it’s a mystery,
The biggest of all
As it sprouts up through history
To stand proud and tall.
It carries the weight
of the entire world.
On its branches so great
Rests each child, boy and girl
Its roots grow down deep,
But now this is the thought
That is stealing my sleep:
They go deep into what?
I love knowing creative moms! Thanks, Kim, for giving me the idea for this one.
Buzzette was a very, very busy bee. She spent her days drinking juice from flowers and carrying the extra back to the hive to use for making honey. In the middle of summer the bees worked hard to make enough honey to last through the winter, and there were so many flowers to visit that Buzzette never stopped from morning to night. No bee worked harder than Buzzette.
Buzzette’s only problem was that she didn’t look where she was going. She would get so busy, thinking all the while about where she was going next, and she just wouldn’t notice what was right around her. She would bump off of trees and get lost in the grass. But somehow, in the end, she would always find her way back to the hive.
Until the fateful Sunday when she headed for the violet patch on the other side of the freeway.
She was flying along, thinking of how lovely violet juice is, when suddenly THWAP! She flew headlong into a sheet of glass. Without even noticing it she had gone right through an open car window and now she was trapped in the car. Panicking, she turned around and tried to fly back the way she came. She was half way to freedom when she heard a “Skeeeeeeeeee!” and a hand came up and knocked her down. For a few minutes everything was confusion and yelling and giant stamping feet. Then Buzzette managed to crawl away under the seat. One wing was a little bruised and she was scared out of her mind, but otherwise she was fine. The humans above her in the car seemed to have concluded that she was gone because they settled down again, and for a while everything was quiet.
After a while the car stopped, and there was much scrambling and talking and laughing and banging of doors. Then everything was quiet. Buzzette waited for a moment and then crawled out from her hiding place. The people were gone. For once in her life, Buzzette looked very carefully around her. She spotted the open window. Two minutes later, she was out in the open air and buzzing with relief. She looked around for the violet patch. It wasn’t there!
Buzzette was so confused that she didn’t know what to do. She flew this way and that, looking for the violets, then looking for the hive, then looking for anything at all that she recognized. There was nothing. No apple orchard, no happy little pansy bed, no nothing. Where had the whole world gone?
Now, you and I know that while Buzzette was in the car, the car had driven her miles and miles away from her hive and stopped in a part of the country she had never seen before. But bees do not understand things like cars and miles. All Buzzette knew was that the whole world was different. And also that she was very, very thirsty.
Fortunately for her, there were several dandelions in the grass nearby. Dandelion juice was not her favorite, but she was much too thirsty to be picky just then. She buzzed over and began to drink.
“Hey!” came a voice from behind her. Two big, fat bumblebees came into her view. The biggest one was flying dangerously close. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “These are our dandelions. You’re not from our hive. You’re not welcome!”
Buzzette stepped back in alarm. Of course, she wasn’t paying attention to where she was, so she stepped right off the edge of the dandelion and tumbled to the ground before she could get her wings to work. The new bees laughed as she quickly flew away.
For a while, Buzzette just flew around thinking about her problem and not paying attention to anything. Then she heard a familiar buzz and noticed a rose bush not far away. Bees were zipping in and out of the roses. It looked like a wonderful party, and Buzzette couldn’t resist going closer to see if anyone she knew was there. No sooner had she landed on a rose bud, however, when the noise around her stopped. She looked in every direction. All the bees were frozen in place, just staring at her. No one said anything. No one drank anything. No one moved. Buzzette instantly knew two things. First, none of these bees were from her hive, and second, she was not welcome on their rose bush. Somehow the silence was even worse than the laughter of the rude bumblebees. Buzzette buzzed off. She wanted nothing more than to get as far from that rose bush as possible.
But that was the problem. Buzzette knew where she didn’t want to be, but she didn’t have any idea where she did want be. The world was so strange that home seemed like something from a dream. Where was it? How could she get there?
The only thing in all that wide open space that she recognized at all was the terrible car that had changed everything. Tired, thirsty, and lonely, Buzzette flew back through the open window and crawled under the scratchy seat. Maybe if she went to sleep for a while, the car would change everything again. After a while, she heard the noises that she knew meant the car was full of people again. She tried not to move. It was a very, very long time before the people left again. Buzzette needed to stretch her wings, so she flew up to the window, wondering if the world was back to normal yet.
Her heart fell. She didn’t see anything that looked familiar. She did see something that looked quite wonderful, though. Stretched out before her were row upon row upon row of daffodils, cheerful and yellow and delicious. Daffodils were Buzzette’s favorite flower. She felt afraid of what she would find, but daffodils were too much to resist. Glancing carefully in every direction, Buzzette flew toward the field of daffodils. She buzzed down inside one delicate cup…and nearly landed right on top of another bee! Buzzette leapt back, careful this time not to fall.
“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I didn’t know this was your flower.”
“It’s all right,” said the strange bee with a smile. “There are so many flowers here that no one worries about whose is whose. Help yourself.”
Buzzette could hardly believe her ears. But the other bee stepped aside to make room, so Buzzette leaned forward and took a long, long drink. “Thank you!” she said.
“Of course!” said the other bee. “I’m Buzzella. What’s your name?”
“Buzzette.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m afraid I’ve lost my hive,” Buzzette said, suddenly wanting to cry again.
“That’s very sad,” said Buzzella. “I hope you find it again.” She started to buzz off, then stopped. She looked back at Buzzette’s sad little face. “In the mean time, you can come and stay in our hive. There’s plenty of room for more.”
Buzzette thought she had never been so happy in her life. And maybe she hadn’t. You have to be really really unhappy at least once before you can be as happy as it is possible to be.
And Buzzette stayed happy. And she stayed in the daffodil field. She never did find her way back to her old hive. But she did eventually find that she was home.
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.
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.
Rosemary Raccoon lived in the forest beside a rocky river. She was a bit of a recluse, which means that she remained in her home all day and rarely received visitors. Only at night would she venture out to run and romp and reach for fish in the river. Her few friends worried about her.
Rita the Rat came by one night to remind Rosemary about the River Race. “You are fast runner, Rosemary. You really should race this year.”
“Really?” was Rosemary’s only response.
“Really!” replied Rita.
But Rosemary had an unreasonable fear of appearing ridiculous. She recalled one time she’d tripped while running and rolled into the river. “I’d rather stay home and rest,” she said, and rapidly shut her door.
Another day, Ronda Rabbit raced to Rosemary’s house with remarkable news. “Rambunctious Ramona is here in the forest! We’re all rushing to the redwood tree to play Rescue the Raven!”
“Really?” said Rosemary.
“Really!” replied Ronda.
But Rosemary had an irrational fear of taking risks. Rescue the Raven was a game that required you to recklessly climb the highest redwood tree and reach for the red ribbon tied at the top. “I’d rather stay home and relax,” she said, and rapidly shut her door.
That day, while playing Rescue the Raven, Rita and Ronda repeated their worries about Rosemary. Rambunctious Ramona overheard. “A recluse, huh? Afraid of everything, huh? Refuses to risk, huh? I know a reliable cure for that!”
Early in the morning, Rambunctious Ramona arrived at Rosemary’s house with a rake in one hand and rooster under one arm. She rapidly lit a raging fire right on Rosemary’s roof. Then she released the rooster by Rosemary’s window. The rooster crowed riotously. Rosemary ran to her door.
“Rosemary, hurry! Your roof is on fire! Grab the rake!” yelled Ramona.
Rosemary was terrified, but this was no time to refuse. Her house would soon be ruined. She raked and raked until she was red in the face. The fire raged on. Rita the Rat raced in with some water. Then Ronda Rabbit rushed over to help rake. The fire was reduced, but it was too late. Rosemary’s house was a wreck. No one knew how to react.
But Rambunctious Ramona was rolling on the ground, roaring with laughter.
“Ramona!” raged Rita. “You did this on purpose?”
“Sure did,” replied Ramona. “With no house, Rosemary can’t be a recluse any more!”
“That was reckless, Ramona!” cried Ronda. “Rosemary could have been hurt!”
Ramona just wrinkled her nose and ran away.
“Don’t worry, Rosemary. We’ll help you repair it,” said Rita and Ronda.
And so they did. Rita, Ronda, and Rosemary removed all the rubble. They replaced the walls, rebuilt the rooms, and raised a new roof. When it was ready, Rosemary requested that all her friends come to rejoice with her. They all held hands and danced Ring Around the Rosy around Rosemary’s house.
And Rambunctious Ramona watched from afar and had no regrets.
(This was inspired by Alphabe Thursday. Check it out!)
Once upon a time there was a mommy who loved to tell stories to her children, Molly, Matt, and Maggie. Every morning when they woke up, the children would say, “Please may we have a story?” Then their mommy would tell them a story while they ate their breakfast. She would tell them stories while they were doing their work, tell them stories while they were walking to school, and tell them a brand new story each night as she tucked them into bed. The last thing they would hear before falling asleep was, “And they lived happily ever after.”
That falling asleep was where all the trouble began. It started with Molly, who was eight. Molly decided she was too old to go to bed at the same time as her baby brother and sister. So she asked for extra stories, and when that didn’t work, she asked for a drink of water, and when that didn’t work, she asked for some toys to play with in bed, and when that didn’t work, she cried. With all this asking and crying, it was much later than normal when Mommy was finally able to get Molly to sleep.
Then is was Maggie’s turn. Maggie had fallen asleep with no trouble at all, like the sweet little baby that she was. But just when everyone else had begun to dream their happiest dreams, Baby Maggie woke up. And she cried. And she cried and cried and cried. It was a very long time before Mommy could get her to go back to dreamland. By that time, Mommy was very, very tired, and she sighed happily as she crawled back into bed.
Just then, Matt woke up. He didn’t mean to stay awake. He just missed his Mommy. So he got up and went to her bed and curled up against her. He was a very sweet and snuggly boy…all except for his elbow. His elbow was very sharp and pokey, and it was determined to have as much space as it needed to stick out. Mostly the place where it decided to stick was in the Mommy’s back. After a while of being poked by elbow, Mommy got up and carried sleeping Matt back to his own bed. Then, just as she settled back into her pillows with a smile….it was morning, and Molly and Matt and Maggie were waking up and asking for a story with their breakfast.
The first morning after a night like that, Mommy’s head was a little mushy, but she shook herself and drank some coffee and made up a new story.
The second morning, Mommy’s head was quite mushy, so she shook herself and drank some coffee, but she still couldn’t think of a new story, so she told everyone Molly’s favorite fairy tale.
The third morning, Mommy’s head was nothing but mush. She drank her coffee, but it just seeped right out of her mushy head. She tried to remember Matt’s favorite story, but her mushy head could not do it. Matt had to tell the story himself.
The fourth morning, not only was Mommy’s head mushy, now her arms and hands had turned to mush, too. Molly had to make breakfast for everyone, and she tried to think of a story, but Maggie cried because her breakfast was too hot, and Matt complained that Molly’s story wasn’t exciting enough.
The fifth morning came, and now Mommy had turned entirely to mush. She tried to get out of bed, but her mushy legs couldn’t stand up. Molly, Matt, and Maggie didn’t know what to do. They tried to make her sit up, but she was too mushy. The tried to roll her out of the bed, but she just glooped right over the edge and landed in a pile of mush on the floor. Molly called the doctor, who rushed right over.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “this is the worst case of Mommy Mush I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing you called me when you did. Tell me, now, has she been getting any sleep at night?”
Molly, Matt, and Maggie just looked at the floor.
“That’s what I thought,” said the doctor. “Well, fortunately, Mommy Mush is curable, but it’s going to take some very fast music and then A LOT of sleep. ”
So Molly went on put on their very loudest dance music, and they all watched anxiously as Mush Mommy slowly turned back into their real Mommy. Only when she was able to smile a very, very weak smile did the doctor lift her off the floor and back into her bed. Then he turned off the light, and they all tiptoed out of the room and let her sleep.
It was a very long day for those children without any Mommy to tell them stories, but Matt and Molly tried to take turns telling all the stories they could remember. And that night when it was time to go to bed, Molly went straight to sleep without any complaining. In the night, Maggie woke up and wanted to cry, but then she thought of Mush Mommy and grabbed her blankie and went back to sleep. A little later Matt woke up and wanted to curl up by Mommy again, but instead he cuddled down in his blankets and dreamed of having his Mommy back to normal again.
In the morning, Mommy was all better. She got up and made breakfast with no signs of mushy hands. At breakfast, she told them the best story ever. And of course, they lived happily ever after, sleeping all night long every night.
Walking on the clouds was a wonderful feeling. Her feet felt as if they were sinking into plush carpet. The air was brisk and cool around her, while the sun warmed her from above. The sky was a brilliant blue and the various shapes of the clouds around her made interesting landscapes. Celeste could see the tree ahead of her, growing steadily closer, and for a while it seemed that her struggles were almost at an end.
Then the eagle came.
Swooping down from the sky as if from nowhere, it was fully ten times bigger than any eagle Celeste had ever seen. Its wicked-looking curved beak was as big as her head, and its razor-sharp talons were easily big enough to pick her right up off her feet and carry her off as if she were a fish. And Celeste had plenty of opportunity to see that beak and those talons up close because the eagle repeatedly dived straight for her head. Celeste ducked and dodged and more than once fell headlong into the clouds, coming up with a mouth full of water. She had never been so terrified in her life, and without thinking she began to sing the lullaby again as she ran. She sprinted toward the tree with her head as low as she could keep it, expecting at any moment to feel the sting of those cruel talons and beak. The pain never came. The eagle continued to assault her, soaring up only to swoop down toward her again, beating her head with its wings, but somehow Celeste always managed to just evade disaster. At last, just when she thought her heart would burst and her legs give out, she stumbled one last time and felt her head hit something solid. It was a root. She had made it to the Tree of the Four Winds. With one last heart-stopping shriek, the eagle swooped up and perched on the highest branch, where it sat glaring at her with its beady eyes.
Celeste was trembling all over. She couldn’t make her arms and legs move at all. Her voice had completely given out. She didn’t even have the strength to be amazed that the eagle had not killed her. She just lay there gasping for breath and trying to pull herself together. After what seemed like hours, Celeste finally felt strong enough to move again. Very cautiously, she lifted her head and looked up. The eagle hadn’t moved. High up in the tree, Celeste could see some red fruit. It should be possible to climb up to them. Celeste lowered her head again. What was she going to do? If she tried to climb the tree to pick the fruit, would the eagle attack her again? But what choice did she have? She couldn’t just lie there forever. Besides, her mother needed that fruit. With that thought, Celeste stood up.
The eagle let out a loud cry, but it didn’t move. Taking heart from that, though still trembling, Celeste carefully began to climb the tree. Fortunately, the branches were low and close together, so that climbing was really not too difficult. If it weren’t for the bright eyes of the eagle staring at her through the leaves, Celeste would have found it almost enjoyable. As it was, she had a hard time forcing herself to go on. Every new step up brought her closer to those waiting talons.
Finally, Celeste could see the fruit on a branch just above her. Bracing her weight against the tree trunk she reached up. The eagle shook out it’s wings. Celeste wrapped her hand around the fruit. The eagle let out a harsh scream. Celeste pulled, and the fruit came away from the branch.
For a long while it was completely silent.
Then a voice said, “Well done, daughter.”
Celeste was so surprised she almost fell out of the tree. She looked all around to see who was speaking to her. It wasn’t until he spoke again that she realized it was the eagle.
“I knew you would be the one,” he said.
“You…but you…but why were you attacking me?”
“I am the guardian of the tree. It is my job to keep away the unworthy. I had to see if you were worthy.”
“You mean you never meant to hurt me?”
“Not if you had the courage to continue.”
Celeste thought about that for a long time. Then she said, “Now that I have the fruit, can I just go? You won’t chase me anymore?”
“I won’t chase you anymore. You have proved yourself worthy.”
“I’d better get going then,” Celeste said. “I may be too late as it is. It is a long journey home, and my mother is very weak.”
“There is a faster way, you know,” said the eagle.
“Where is it?” asked Celeste eagerly. “Could you show me?”
“I am the way,” said the eagle. He flexed his giant talons.
Celeste just stared. Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? The very thought of it terrified her.
“If you trust me, I can have you home before the sun sets.”
Thinking of her mother, Celeste pushed down all her fears and nodded her head. With no further warning, the eagle swooped down, seized her in his talons and flew away. Whether an eagle’s view was beautiful, Celeste could not have said. She kept her eyes shut tight the whole time, clutching the fruit in her hands.
At long last, the eagle sailed down, down out of the sky and lightly set Celeste on the grass outside her own little cottage.
“Thank you, oh thank you!” cried Celeste breathlessly, and she was already running inside.
It was very dim in the house. There was no fire on the hearth.
“Mother?” called Celeste. There was no answer. She began to fear the worst, that she had already come too late.
Quickly she ran to the bedroom door and opened it. Her mother was lying on the bed, pale and still, but Celeste could see that her chest was slowly rising and falling. She was still alive. Celeste cut a small piece from the fruit and held it up to her mothers lips and watched as she slowly ate it. Almost immediately a little color came back into her mother’s cheeks. Then she opened her eyes and smiled.
“Celeste,” she said in a very faint voice, “you are here. I was so worried.”
“I went to get this for you to eat, Mother. It will make you well again. Please, eat more.”
And she did. And by the morning all her pain was gone, and she got up out of bed and began to do her usual chores, and the doctor came and shook his head again, but this time it was in wonder that such a miracle had occurred.
Celeste and her mother continued to live very happily in their cottage from that day on, and if you walked past their windows in the evenings, you would hear a beautiful voice singing a lovely lullaby, and you would feel, just for a moment, as if you could do absolutely anything.
Deborah Dunlevy 