Category Archives: Stories

Those I’ve seen/heard

Ask!

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If you need something, asking is usually a good place to start.

James addresses this a couple times. He reminds his readers that “you do not have because you do not ask.” (There’s more, too, of course, and I talked about the motive/attitude angle not long ago.)

He also reminds us that if we need wisdom (and who doesn’t?), asking is the way to get it.

~ ~ ~

Hee hmm.

All those great and grand thoughts to say my WFMW is to ask about the little things too.

Like milk. I did a whole post once on freezing milk (fascinating reading, of course). It’s the most conscious/active thing I do to save on our grocery bill.

Anyway, this story even happened because we were out of milk and I needed to go shopping (here’s a free take-away: freezing milk will mean fewer trips to the grocery store– which should also help save money).

Rather than spending the time driving around to find out if there was cheap milk on the shelf (my previous discoveries have all been haphazard or through the grapevine), I decided to call around instead.

The first dairy manager seemed almost offended when I asked her if there was any regularity to milk being marked-down. I realized later that question I could sound like, ‘Tell me how often you screw-up ordering.” Oops.

I had my pitch better by the second call. I explained I like to buy and freeze marked-down milk because it reduced my grocery bill, and this manager said he had some older milk he could pull and mark-down for me.

So I went, and while $2/gallon isn’t the best deal I ever got (it’s hard to beat 50-cents a gallon), it’s still good, and I felt blessed by the manager’s flexibility. Another cool thing was that he said to call again when we’ve used up this round.

~

It’s been my experience that there are a lot of nice people in the world. I’ve also noticed that many of these nice people want to help others, and asking for something they can provide lets them do that.

Win-win.

The Riddle– a Tuesday Tale

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An unfortunate chain of events while hunting left a king lost and dependent on a lowly charcoal-maker.

Somewhat overawed by their unexpected guest, the charcoal-maker and his wife served the king as best they could, which was far from what the king was accustomed to.

Amazed that his hosts could seem content in such circumstances, the king ventured to ask the charcoal-maker how much he earned for a day of work. The answer astounded him.

“How do you survive with so little?” the king asked.

Smiling, the charcoal maker said, “I don’t just make enough to survive. On that income I also pay off a debt, invest for the future and still find enough left over to throw out the window.”

The king couldn’t believe this and asked the meaning of the poor man’s riddle.

“Your majesty, my mother brought me up, and now I care for her in her old age. In this way I am paying off a debt. I raise my son with the hope that he will do the same for me. In this way I am investing for the future. I also have a daughter, and put aside an amount for her dowry, which, as you know, is the same as throwing money out the window.”

This answer pleased the king greatly, and he gave the charcoal maker a gold coin for his hospitality.

“Can you keep a secret, charcoal-maker?”

“Until you allow me to speak of it again.”

“Very good. You may speak of it again– when you have seen my face 100 times.”

The charcoal maker agreed, and guided the king back to the road.

As soon as he returned home, the king set the charcoal-maker’s riddle before his entire court, promising the position of royal counselor to the person able to come up with the correct answer.

While others guessed futilely, a crafty courtier rode until he came to the charcoal-maker the king had spoken of.

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Half an Eventful Saturday

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Had another lovely Third Saturday with the ladies of our church.

This month’s theme was a Garden Party and Basil. We were all dressed up– hats too– and one of the older women led a small devotional based around the gardening and growing metaphors in the bible.

Alternating with her was our master-gardener/hostess, talking about the physicality and uses of the basil she’d collected (at least six different types).

These were passed around and I marveled at how they were each so unique (Yes, I know “So unique” is redundant, but like “Learning by osmosis,” incorrect has become better understood than the correct. *sigh*)

We each planted some basil to take home, than came back inside for salad (garnished with our choice of the basils) and two different basil pizzas. (Desert was melon chunks, and, in keeping with the theme, someone had put a branch of basil on the mound of fruit in the serving dish. That collected several laughs.)

The morning was good time of conversation and encouragement (Somebody actually called me “perfect” today. Poor dear. I think she was a little over-eager to soothe some assumed hurt. But it was nice to hear anyway ;-) )

I was away until nearly 1p.m., and came home wondering how much Jay would have been able to do with the kids.

Coming in to a peaceful living room and catching his eye before the children noticed I was home, I must have been too eager to shut the front door, because I didn’t realize my finger was still there.

Jay saw what happened and was by me in a moment, looking at the mangled skin. I have never been a screamer, so he asked me (while lifting my hand above my head), “Childbirth being ten, where is this on the scale?”

He was mostly serious, and I wanted to laugh, but I was too busy slowing my breathing and trying to look at the damage (skin torn, mostly, and bruising). “I’m feeling light-headed,” I said, feeling a bit surprised.

“Yeah,” said Jay, swallowing and trying to keep my hand out of both our sights. “Me too.”

Ouch!

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Jay: How do you smash your own finger in the door?

Me: I was looking at the man I love and not thinking about what I was doing.

~

It’s a bit startling to be suddenly aware of the vast array of tasks the right index-finger may facilitate (or impede).

Stories and Their Poems

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I love finding a poem that pairs just perfectly with a story I’m attached to.

It doesn’t happen a lot, but twice it has happened magically. Here are those two. (I still need to memorize the second one).

~

To preface Half a Blanket (It took some practice to say this one with a clear voice. My Grandfather was very dear to me).

The Little Boy and the Old Man— by Shel Silverstein

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the little old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the touch of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.

From the book Poetry Speaks to Children, a poem by an anonymous Inuit poet and translated by Edward Field. It is the perfect companion to Raven and the Whale’s Burning Heart. It would also make a good transition piece between traditional Alaskan tales.

Magic Words

In the very earliest time,
when both people and animals lived on earth,
a person could become an animal if he wanted to
and an animal could become a human being.
Sometimes they were people
and sometimes they were animals
and there was no difference.
All spoke the same language.
That was the time when words were like magic.
The human mind had mysterious powers.
A word spoken by chance
might have strange consequences.
It would suddenly come alive
and what people wanted to happen could happen–
all you had to do was say it.
Nobody could explain this:
that’s the way it was.

Giving God Advice– a Tuesday Tale

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A malcontent was sitting under a tree looking at a neighbor’s pumpkin patch.

“You sure got that one wrong, God,” the complainer said.  “Here’s this great, beautiful tree bearing tiny nuts, while a mere vine yields pumpkins.”

At that moment a nut broke loose and bounced off the malcontent’s head.

“Never mind, God.  You knew what you were doing.  I could have been dead if you followed my advice.”

Gotta love what they take away…

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(Cross-posted at the family site)

We read the story of Adam and Eve last week from the girls’ bible.

I read the part about Eve’s creation and reminded the girls what ribs are (Natasha’s favorite book for a while was the Eyewitness Skeleton book, so that pleased her).

Incidentally, I loved that, since I don’t see any reason to encourage the idea (perpetuated by the Halloween marketers) that skeletons are something to be afraid of. I think they are marvelously designed, and it’s good to appreciate that.

Anyway, the girls were talking on their phones to each other, playacting being other people, when this exchange took place and I had to drop everything and write it down.

M: How are you doing today?
N: Not so good. God just took a rib out of me to make a woman.
M: Oh my.
N: Yes. And When I woke up, it was awful! I went to feel my bone and it wasn’t there– it was all mushy.

The Ebony Horse– a Tuesday Tale

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(From The Arabian Nights and attributed to several nights’ going.)

A beautiful horse, carved out of ebony, that could fly! It was so magnificent the sultan had to own it. He commanded the magician to name his price. The magician demanded the sultan’s own daughter in marriage.

The sultan did not instantly agree with the magician, but neither did he have him thrown out for presumption and disrespect.

When word of this reached the princess she was terrified. Knowing she could not plead her own case, she went instead to her brother, the first-born son, and begged him to speak for her.

Furious that that his father would consider trading away his sister for a new plaything, the prince went to him.

At his father’s urging, the prince mounted the life-sized ebony horse. He followed the magician’s directions, and gasped as the statue began to rise, but it did not make him less angry.

“No thing made by the hands of men is worth giving my sister to this man!”

The magician reached up and pushed hard on the lever under the prince’s hand. The ebony horse rose out of the courtyard and out of sight.

The magician was immediately put in chains and thrown in the dungeon.

~

Only losing his head for a moment, the prince felt the opposite shoulder and found a second knob. After some trial and error (a terrifying exercise at such a hight) he mastered the controls and despite his concern for his sister, forgot her entirely in the thrill of this new sensation of flight.

When it grew dark, the prince brought the horse closer to the earth, but found himself in an unfamiliar land. Gravitating naturally toward the palace he saw, the prince landed on the roof and began exploring by moonlight. Looking in a large window he noticed a beautiful princess asleep on her couch, and went in to see her more closely.

She awoke suddenly, but did not cry out.

“How do you come to be here?” she asked. “I am at the center of three rings of defenses and guards at each wall. Even now there is a guard outside my chamber door.”

The prince cared for none of this. He had already decided he was in love. Telling her hurriedly of the fantastic horse that had brought him, he invited her to come away with him to his own kingdom, where he would one day rule.

As he seemed gentle, and was young and handsome, she agreed, glad enough to leave the stifling control of her current life.

When they arrived early the next morning just outside the prince’s kingdom, it was agreed that the princess would wait with the horse while the prince made arrangements for her to be brought into the city as was fitting for his bride-to-be.

When the Sultan heard his son’s story he ordered the magician be released, and while the royals collected the necessary people for the procession, the angry magician sought his revenge.

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Behind on the Stories

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I’m not convinced anyone has noticed, but I’ve skipped my Tuesday Tales for several weeks now.

I have been reading novels (for my book 100, mainly) rather than my folktale compilations, so they’ve been less on my mind.

But I’ve noticed it’s like being on a kick where one eats only Korean or Thai food for weeks at a time. There are those who know nothing else and live just fine on that, but I’m not one of them– I get antsy for something… different? More familiar?

Anyway, I’ve noticed my mind doesn’t work quite the same way as it did, and I don’t yet have a good analogy for it. (Maybe a symptom is I make analogies less easily…)

Basically, to be immersed in folktales (especially traditional, that aren’t all from one author) leaves me feeling my mind has a connection with the (doubtless) thousands of other minds that have digested them over the centuries.

When I’ve been reading folktales I see connections between unusual things, and actually feel more creative.

My two biggest works (the novel I talk about here and one I put on hold to work on this one) are a dizzying mix of East and West. As I’ve gotten farther (in time) from my readings of either culture’s tales, the effort of binding together three worlds (my own included) becomes more and more challenging.

I’ve pulled out my favorite collection of Arabian Nights tales and will be diving back in there after I feel rooted enough to work with my daughter as she takes her first baby steps as a new believer.

This whole balancing act of being responsible (doing what needs to be done) while being drawn in other directions is supposed to be very good for writers, I hear.

Whether or no, I pray that I don’t lose track of my first goal or become weary in well-doing.

We’re so Cute…

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Jay and I were sharing a hug and kiss just inside our room as our girls ran past.

Natasha  (4 years old) stopped in her tracks with a soft, “Awww,” and a wispered, “Come’ere” to her little sister.

We held each other a little longer without looking at them, me silently fighting the giggles, so I’m not sure who made the blissful little sigh before they moved on.

I’ve aways  felt children like to see their parents happy together.   This was a fun reminder.