It was an assignment that I had given to my Journaling Class. I completed my assignment believing my students would also and hoping that they would have as much fun with it as I have today. If you are a writer or a want to be writer, try writing your own fairy tale and see how much fun it is to release your creative self from the “can’t do” critic in your head.
ONCE
A very long time ago
When time stood still
There was a young woman who lived in a shoe who had so many children she didn’t know what to do.
So, in the quiet of each early morning just as the doves began to wake and call her name, fly from their tree perches they would coo in her ear and tell her wonderous stories. She wrote them down quickly to tell her children later in the day at nap time and bedtime.
Stories about Tim who lived on a hill
And Jan who fell down and broke her crown
And Brian who galloped to Bayberry Cross to meet a fine lady on a white horse
And Eric who was King Arthur’s knight and early every morning rode his motorcycle like the wind on dusty trails
And Ginny’s halo slightly tilted on her head, stars in her eyes and books by her bed
And William the learner who even when pressured would never tell of the magic he could conger
And James who spun webs of intrigue around every pencil and brush of all the things his mind could see.
The little children grew to become handsome adults and found their paths away from the shoe that kept them warm and confident in what they would finally do.
One by One the woman who always loved them true, kissed them goodbye and wished them well and knew that all was quiet, good and well because now her stories were being told by many who had children of their own and they didn’t live in a shoe.
THE FAIRY TALE SEQUEL
One by one as the children grew they chose to leave home. Some left when they were very young and one stayed to care for and guide his mother. By then the shoe no longer fit. So from a big place with many rooms they sold and moved and then they built an “Enchanted Cottage” deep in the woods with an English thatched gabled roof, bright green shutters on the windows with flower boxes filled with bright crimson geraniums and purple wave petunias. Wrap around porches enhanced the cottage where at dawn and dusk Mother sat in her white wicker rocking chair writing her thoughts.
Sounds of the ocean waves brought a plethora of emotions from turbulence to peace. Mother’s stories depicted the rise and fall of emotions as the waves crashed and slashed the beach and dumping a treasure trove of gifts. Calm days where the ocean’s waves lazily wandered in and slowly slithered away washing the beach sands clean of debris and leaving only the treasures.
As the years rolled by from season to season Mother’s laugh wrinkles burrowed their way into her lovely face. Her long blond braided hair turned to silver and highlighted as if angels had touched it with their wands. Silver hair cut short and soft feathered curls framed her face. Gone was the blond braid. Blue eyes dimmed by age but twinkled always with a combination of mischief, patience and love. A deep peacefulness filled the Enchanted Cottage as did the fragrance of fresh baked cinnamon buns and gourmet coffee brewing for expected and unexpected guests.
There was time now for everything. No hurry or scurry to get things done because one by one loved ones came to visit, to share their joys and woes and work if it was needed.
The woman who once lived in a shoe was old now but her life was full of song and dance, parties and fun mixed equally with quiet, peaceful alone times where she busied herself in her gardens bringing glorious color to the lush green of the forest where she lived.
Daily she walked, in all the seasons from winter and snow where she sculpted life sized angels and snowmen. Walking into spring enjoying warm rains that nourished the flowers she planted and especially the lilac bushes that were her favorite of all. Walking into summer cultivating and watching everything grow and then into autumn to harvest what she had planted in the spring and nurtured in the summer.
Mother would walk across the bridge that spanned the creek and onto the stretch of sandy beach to the ocean, savoring every delight along the way and writing about them.
One day in the autumn of her time, she sat in her white wicker chair on the porch that wrapped around the cottage, journal and purple pen in her hand and time stopped.
For a moment as time stood still for everyone who knew her around the world. Even though it was autumn they felt her gentle touch as if it were a warm spring breeze and the air was filled with the fragrance of lilacs. They knew it was she, the woman who once upon a time lived in a shoe and had so many children she didn’t know what to do. They knew—all of them knew she had left them but her gifts to them had everlastingly stayed. It was her love and her stories she wrote and told.
The woman who lived in a shoe who had so many children she didn’t know what to do so she wrote about them and left them but her loving memories stayed forever and because of it they all LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.
Nettie Morse 5/24/2003
posted by Nettie at
7:09 PM
