"Hello, hello, hello!"
"It is me. You're greatest backyard kid!"
Today my friend Syd and I danced around my room on our big toes. I sang out loud, "I'm going to my Abuela's house; myyyyyy buela's house; I luuuuuvvvv my buela."
Syd stopped dancing. "Why do you like her so much, anyway?" she asked. I giggled, "Because she gets most everything for me."
"Oh, yeah?" Syd mused, "Bet she didn't get you a pig." "Nope, she did not," I replied with a nonchalant sigh followed by a yawn.
"Hump," Syd grunted. "Did she get you a bear from the zoo?" I rolled my eyes and in a convincing tone said, "Well, Syd, a long time ago my Abuela stuffed this giant brown bear in her back seat."
"Oh, really?" Syd questioned with a smirk on her face, but I responded with direct and frank honesty.
"Then her car tipped over. Abuela reached over and opened the back door to let the bear out, but it got stuck. It wriggled and wriggled just like my Abuela when she tries to put on her skinny britches.”
“Sure 'nuf, finally that bear worked it's leg free. My Abuela shouted, ‘You take care Mr. Bear and maybe we'll see you again some day.’ He slammed our door, waved goodbye, and skipped down the road!"
Syd crossed her arms, stuck out her hip, and curled her top lip. I nevertheless continued.
"Once she took me to a water park, too, and while we were rowing in the lake, an orange and black goldfish swam up."
I wondered why an orange fish is called gold? Maybe it works at the bank 'cause a lot of gold is kept there. Least that's what my gramps told me when he went to get some so he could plant wheat. I thought about it, then asked, "Syd, do you know why wheat likes gold?"
Syd said, "Naaawwww. Never heard of that. Besides, banks don't give away gold -- no way! Don't even have any. Only have a bunch of paper to print your name on, then it gives you some money. That's how it works. Nutin to it."
I envisioned rooms filled with legos, ice cream, and roller skates. "You mean the bank will pay me money to write my name?"
Syd puffed her cheeks, grabbed her head, then let out a whistle sound. She acts that way ‘cause she thinks she is smarter than me.
"Yep. That's it in a nutshell,” Syd groaned. “Some names are worth more than others, though" she added.
Curious, I asked, "How does the bank know which name is worth more?"
Syd kicked at a rock under the porch. "See, it's like this. If yaw name is Becky, Ronnie, Donald or John, you only get ‘bout fifty cents. But if yaw name is Chloe, Keelan, Ella, or Zane you'd get a whole dolla."
Confused, I scratched my ear then went back to telling my fish tale.
"So, then out of nowhere came a shrill voice, 'Got room for another?'"
"My buela looked down in the water, shrugged, and nodded. 'Sure do. You jump right up. Always room for one more.'"
"Fish, who was a bit smelly, flipped out of the water and flopped on to the seat next to me."
"Hummmm," Syd made a sound which indicated that she was unimpressed with everything I had told her, "I bet she never in a million years would take you to a circus."
"My Abuela does everything for me," I defended. "A circus? She sure did!”
“Once she even bought me my own clown. He drove a funny little car. His lips were big as a hippopotamus. He was wearing Bigfoot's shoes! His hair was orange and needed to be combed. Boss, that was his name, wore red stripped bloomers and blew up balloons. Then he twisted them to make cats, dogs, and birds."
"He had a sidekick, too, named ShortStuff who ran around in circles."
"Boss made up a riddle."
Boss: 'Knock, knock.'
ShortStuff: 'Who's there?'
Boss: 'Banana'
ShortStuff: 'Banana, who?'
Boss: 'Banana'
ShortStuff: 'Banana, who?'
Boss: 'Orange you glad I didn't say banana, again?'
"Abuela laughed so much her eyes watered and she had to blow her nose."
Syd's elbow was propped against the fence. She leaned into her hand while she listened. Her face wrinkled as she pushed her glasses back in place.
Finally, she broke the silence. "I don't think everything you told me is true but do you wanna go climb the cherry tree?"
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Showing posts with label Abuela. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abuela. Show all posts
Jul 4, 2010
Oct 27, 2009
HAPPY SIXTH BIRTHDAY!
Why is a frog a frog and not a dog?
How come birds can fly but flies cannot chirp?
Are those foamy things clouds or fog?
Who made that loud bbbbuuuurrrrrppppp?
What is the tallest mountain in the world?
Who dug the deepest hole and why?
How fast can you pedal your bike, girly-girl?
Man, when you spit does it make rain from the sky?
Not long ago there was new excitement in the air
And we looked down and smiled at a wiggly thing
Who shot right back with a stone-cold glare
Declaring himself King!
There was yet another tiny one,
Though perhaps plumper and sweeter,
Who cooed while her eyes searched for fun
As warmth increased on her cuddle meter.
Two babies at the same time was such a treat!
At first we thought we only saw doubles --
But then the new born Prince bellowed to greet
As the sweetheart Princess simply blew bubbles.
Quickly the two became best friends
Sharing everything-- they will be
Together beyond the end.
Always we.
How many questions can you think to ask?
Do you suppose bugs drink water?
Why do you have to do that task?
How can a knat dodge the swatter?
Why are boys, boys and not girls?
Who exactly is to say?
No matter today, our lovely pearls
It is your sixth birthday!
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
How come birds can fly but flies cannot chirp?
Are those foamy things clouds or fog?
Who made that loud bbbbuuuurrrrrppppp?
What is the tallest mountain in the world?
Who dug the deepest hole and why?
How fast can you pedal your bike, girly-girl?
Man, when you spit does it make rain from the sky?
Not long ago there was new excitement in the air
And we looked down and smiled at a wiggly thing
Who shot right back with a stone-cold glare
Declaring himself King!
There was yet another tiny one,
Though perhaps plumper and sweeter,
Who cooed while her eyes searched for fun
As warmth increased on her cuddle meter.
Two babies at the same time was such a treat!
At first we thought we only saw doubles --
But then the new born Prince bellowed to greet
As the sweetheart Princess simply blew bubbles.
Quickly the two became best friends
Sharing everything-- they will be
Together beyond the end.
Always we.
How many questions can you think to ask?
Do you suppose bugs drink water?
Why do you have to do that task?
How can a knat dodge the swatter?
Why are boys, boys and not girls?
Who exactly is to say?
No matter today, our lovely pearls
It is your sixth birthday!
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Sep 25, 2009
I Am Soooooo Special
I am special. I know I am. Everyone tells me so.
Yesterday my teacher patted the top of my head. "You are such a woooonderful student," she said. "You always do your work and don't talk too much. I hope you are in my room year after year."
Michael Shawn Williams is in my class. He goes to time-out most every day. My teacher yells, "Michael Shawn! You are just a chattering chatterbox," then reaches for his hand and leads him away. It is awfully frustrating for me because Michael Shawn yakety-yak-yaks all the long-lived day.
My next door neighbor, Mr. Kervin, was outside talking with his next door neighbor, Mrs. Hyde. They were standing between their two yards when Mrs. Hyde suddenly made a victory sign with her fingers and touted, "the publicans will definitely combat the hee-haws!" Mr. Kervin was still lightly chuckling when I rode by on my bike. "Hello, Mr. Kervin! Look at me," I shouted as I stretched my hand to the sky. He pointed toward me and said to Mrs. Hyde, "Now, that is a delightful child." I was so proud it felt like a balloon full of bubble gum exploded inside my chest.
Nick told his mom that I was his best friend. I have so many, many, many friends! It is probably because I am special but anyway, having friends is nice. We sometimes hug, hold hands, and sit together on the bus. I am especially glad that Nick plays games with me because I always win.
I have a babysitter, Nell, because I am too young to leave alone -- so the adults say. Yet, I could color just as well without an aide. Sometimes I tease her. "Catch me, catch me. You can't catch me!" I jet from the house to the yard, then hear groans and feet pounding behind me. Nell shouts, "I'm gonna catch you -- you -- you! Yes, I am and when I do, you are gonna be one sooorrrry messssssss." After a hard race, I drop to the ground. Eventually, Nell finds me. She hovers over me, tickles my tummy, and we giggle. At night she holds me close and sings in my ear, though not too good, "YOU are my sunshine, my only sunnnnssssshine." I think she thought my face turned red just because I forgot to wear my sunblock that afternoon.
Mr. Henry T. Johnson is Abuela's black schnauzer. I am his favorite of all kids. He licks my face and wags his tail. When I throw his red ball, he jumps and catches it in the air. At first I thought that was such a silly name to give a little bitty dog. But now I think it is a silly name to give a great big guy.
Once when I was little, I ate a bowl of Jump-High soup. I only wanted to hop around but every time I swallowed, I shot straight up out of my chair. I ducked my head but it smashed into the ceiling anyway. When I plopped back down I scolded, "Better not feed me any more Jump-High soup 'cause it made me have a hole in my head." My Abuela's eyes got wide and she made a whistling sound through her lips. Then she doubled over, pounded the table with the palm of her hand, and shook her head back and forth. I had never, ever heard her laugh that loud. When she caught her breath she sputtered, "Oh, my sweet child. Neither the soup nor the ceiling caused that big 'ole hole in your head!" I wonder what she meant?
She loves me more than anyone else because whereever we go, she tells everyone, "This little person is the greatest thing that ever happened!" She explains that she is not bragging because what she says is true and if something is true, it is exactly as she says with no need for exaggeration.
Being special is-- well, it is special. It is the most special thing in the whole wide world. It is more special than-- well, not special. It makes my body feel like I am made of ooey, gooey melted M&M's. Yum. Yum.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Yesterday my teacher patted the top of my head. "You are such a woooonderful student," she said. "You always do your work and don't talk too much. I hope you are in my room year after year."
Michael Shawn Williams is in my class. He goes to time-out most every day. My teacher yells, "Michael Shawn! You are just a chattering chatterbox," then reaches for his hand and leads him away. It is awfully frustrating for me because Michael Shawn yakety-yak-yaks all the long-lived day.
My next door neighbor, Mr. Kervin, was outside talking with his next door neighbor, Mrs. Hyde. They were standing between their two yards when Mrs. Hyde suddenly made a victory sign with her fingers and touted, "the publicans will definitely combat the hee-haws!" Mr. Kervin was still lightly chuckling when I rode by on my bike. "Hello, Mr. Kervin! Look at me," I shouted as I stretched my hand to the sky. He pointed toward me and said to Mrs. Hyde, "Now, that is a delightful child." I was so proud it felt like a balloon full of bubble gum exploded inside my chest.
Nick told his mom that I was his best friend. I have so many, many, many friends! It is probably because I am special but anyway, having friends is nice. We sometimes hug, hold hands, and sit together on the bus. I am especially glad that Nick plays games with me because I always win.
I have a babysitter, Nell, because I am too young to leave alone -- so the adults say. Yet, I could color just as well without an aide. Sometimes I tease her. "Catch me, catch me. You can't catch me!" I jet from the house to the yard, then hear groans and feet pounding behind me. Nell shouts, "I'm gonna catch you -- you -- you! Yes, I am and when I do, you are gonna be one sooorrrry messssssss." After a hard race, I drop to the ground. Eventually, Nell finds me. She hovers over me, tickles my tummy, and we giggle. At night she holds me close and sings in my ear, though not too good, "YOU are my sunshine, my only sunnnnssssshine." I think she thought my face turned red just because I forgot to wear my sunblock that afternoon.
Mr. Henry T. Johnson is Abuela's black schnauzer. I am his favorite of all kids. He licks my face and wags his tail. When I throw his red ball, he jumps and catches it in the air. At first I thought that was such a silly name to give a little bitty dog. But now I think it is a silly name to give a great big guy.
Once when I was little, I ate a bowl of Jump-High soup. I only wanted to hop around but every time I swallowed, I shot straight up out of my chair. I ducked my head but it smashed into the ceiling anyway. When I plopped back down I scolded, "Better not feed me any more Jump-High soup 'cause it made me have a hole in my head." My Abuela's eyes got wide and she made a whistling sound through her lips. Then she doubled over, pounded the table with the palm of her hand, and shook her head back and forth. I had never, ever heard her laugh that loud. When she caught her breath she sputtered, "Oh, my sweet child. Neither the soup nor the ceiling caused that big 'ole hole in your head!" I wonder what she meant?
She loves me more than anyone else because whereever we go, she tells everyone, "This little person is the greatest thing that ever happened!" She explains that she is not bragging because what she says is true and if something is true, it is exactly as she says with no need for exaggeration.
Being special is-- well, it is special. It is the most special thing in the whole wide world. It is more special than-- well, not special. It makes my body feel like I am made of ooey, gooey melted M&M's. Yum. Yum.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
May 30, 2009
DUCK AND GOOSE TWINS
Girly Girl Ella Goose was a magnificent creature with a long beautiful neck and white feathers. She fluttered her blue eyes when her friends cheered and clapped as she swam across the warm pond. She had been there all morning but now it was noon and time for lunch. She very much liked to eat. It was one of her favorite things to do! Next, of course, to dancing like a ballerina on the water.
"Honk! Honk! Girly Girl Ella Goose?" called a familiar voice. "Honk! Honk! Where are you, Girly Girl Ella Goose? Come here and see what I prepared for you." That was Abuela, grandmama.
"Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!" replied Girly Girl Ella Goose. That was her way of saying, "Okay, Abuela, here I come!"
"Yummy!" honked Girly Girl Ella Goose. " Thank you for making my favorite foods. I like grass." Abuela dabbed a wet cloth on the tip of Girly Girl Ella Goose’s beak and smiled. " I’m glad you eat healthy. It will make your wings grow stronger and maybe some day you will fly. When you finish your corn, we will go for a walk."
Girly Girl Ella Goose loved to go on outings because she met other critters and they would play hide and seek or sometimes chase each other on the front pond.
"Tag, you’re it!" shouted Skinny Jimmy Frog. "Ribbit. Ribbbbbbbit." Girly Girl Ella Goose giggled and dove out of sight, under the water. Skinny Jimmy Frog thought she was going for a swim so he stretched out on his water lily pad to take his afternoon nap. But Girly Girl Ella Goose was watching and when he nodded off she swam toward him.
Jimmy was dreaming about catching fat, juicy flies for his supper when all of a sudden he woke to see an orange beak flipping his lily pad. Skinny Jimmy Frog went high up in the air, then right straight back down. Splasssssh! Splasssssh! Girly Girl Ella Goose laughed so hard she rolled upside down. When she did, Jimmy Frog grabbed the end of her pink polka-dot ribbon and jumped out of the water. "Ribbit, ribbbbbbit," he croaked as he shook his finger toward her, "You, you, you tricked me, Girly Girl Ella Goose!" he chided.
Girly Girl Ella Goose left Skinny Jimmy Frog sunning and waddled on to dry land. She didn’t understand why people called this place a park because no one parked. They just rested, played, and had fun. She was thinking it should be called a fun instead of a park when she heard quacking from the back pond. "Is that you, Girly Girl Ella Goose?" "Yes, it is me. It is Girly Girl Ella Goose," she honked, "Who are you?" Someone quacked back, "I am Duck Duck Zaneman, your twin brother."
"Honk? How can you be my twin if I am a goose and you are a duck?" asked Girly Girl Ella Goose. She added, "Besides, I honk and you quack." Duck Duck Zaneman replied, "Because we were hatched together."
Girly Girl Ella Goose was puzzled. For a few minutes she studied Duck Duck Zaneman, who by then had waddled next to her. She stared into his eyes, ran her wing across his beak, and outlined his feet with her right foot. He smiled and let her check him out. Finally, she finished and said, "Your beak is smooth and rounded. Mine has a bump and is sharp. You are gray and I am white but you are nice and have webbed toes like mine." Duck Duck Zaneman pecked her cheek and laid his head on her neck. Then he ran around in circles singing and shaking his feathers because he was so happy, "Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack."
Girly Girl Ella Goose was smart so she decided to give Duck Duck Zaneman a test to see if he really was her twin. She figured that if he could answer her questions then she would know the truth for sure.
"Who is your grandmama?" honked Girly Girl Ella Goose. Duck Duck Zaneman chuckle-quacked, "My grandmama is your grandmama. She is Abuela!" Girly Girl Ella Goose continued. "Who is our sister?" Duck Duck Zaneman flapped his wings and kicked his legs high, "My sister is your sister. She is Ava Swan." Almost convinced by then, Girly Girl Ella Goose asked only one last question. "If Abuela is our grandmama and Ava Swan is our big sister, then how can you be a duck, Ava a swan, and me a goose?"
Duck Duck Zaneman dropped his head, watched a bug burrow in the mud, and shuffled his webbed feet. He cocked his head to the left, looked up at the sky and watched a tall, drifting cumulus cloud. Silence fell over the park but Girly Girl Ella Goose waited patiently. Finally, Duck Duck Zaneman looked her in the eyes and quacked, "Just because we are different but still the same. Come, on. Let’s play!"
Duck Duck Zaneman and Girly Girl Ella Goose waddled as fast as they could back to the pond.
Kerplunk! Splashhhhhhh!
Kerplunk! Splashhhhhhh!
That is how Girly Girl Ella Goose and Duck Duck Zaneman became twins, best friends, different but still the same.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
"Honk! Honk! Girly Girl Ella Goose?" called a familiar voice. "Honk! Honk! Where are you, Girly Girl Ella Goose? Come here and see what I prepared for you." That was Abuela, grandmama.
"Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!" replied Girly Girl Ella Goose. That was her way of saying, "Okay, Abuela, here I come!"
"Yummy!" honked Girly Girl Ella Goose. " Thank you for making my favorite foods. I like grass." Abuela dabbed a wet cloth on the tip of Girly Girl Ella Goose’s beak and smiled. " I’m glad you eat healthy. It will make your wings grow stronger and maybe some day you will fly. When you finish your corn, we will go for a walk."
Girly Girl Ella Goose loved to go on outings because she met other critters and they would play hide and seek or sometimes chase each other on the front pond.
"Tag, you’re it!" shouted Skinny Jimmy Frog. "Ribbit. Ribbbbbbbit." Girly Girl Ella Goose giggled and dove out of sight, under the water. Skinny Jimmy Frog thought she was going for a swim so he stretched out on his water lily pad to take his afternoon nap. But Girly Girl Ella Goose was watching and when he nodded off she swam toward him.
Jimmy was dreaming about catching fat, juicy flies for his supper when all of a sudden he woke to see an orange beak flipping his lily pad. Skinny Jimmy Frog went high up in the air, then right straight back down. Splasssssh! Splasssssh! Girly Girl Ella Goose laughed so hard she rolled upside down. When she did, Jimmy Frog grabbed the end of her pink polka-dot ribbon and jumped out of the water. "Ribbit, ribbbbbbit," he croaked as he shook his finger toward her, "You, you, you tricked me, Girly Girl Ella Goose!" he chided.
Girly Girl Ella Goose left Skinny Jimmy Frog sunning and waddled on to dry land. She didn’t understand why people called this place a park because no one parked. They just rested, played, and had fun. She was thinking it should be called a fun instead of a park when she heard quacking from the back pond. "Is that you, Girly Girl Ella Goose?" "Yes, it is me. It is Girly Girl Ella Goose," she honked, "Who are you?" Someone quacked back, "I am Duck Duck Zaneman, your twin brother."
"Honk? How can you be my twin if I am a goose and you are a duck?" asked Girly Girl Ella Goose. She added, "Besides, I honk and you quack." Duck Duck Zaneman replied, "Because we were hatched together."
Girly Girl Ella Goose was puzzled. For a few minutes she studied Duck Duck Zaneman, who by then had waddled next to her. She stared into his eyes, ran her wing across his beak, and outlined his feet with her right foot. He smiled and let her check him out. Finally, she finished and said, "Your beak is smooth and rounded. Mine has a bump and is sharp. You are gray and I am white but you are nice and have webbed toes like mine." Duck Duck Zaneman pecked her cheek and laid his head on her neck. Then he ran around in circles singing and shaking his feathers because he was so happy, "Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack."
Girly Girl Ella Goose was smart so she decided to give Duck Duck Zaneman a test to see if he really was her twin. She figured that if he could answer her questions then she would know the truth for sure.
"Who is your grandmama?" honked Girly Girl Ella Goose. Duck Duck Zaneman chuckle-quacked, "My grandmama is your grandmama. She is Abuela!" Girly Girl Ella Goose continued. "Who is our sister?" Duck Duck Zaneman flapped his wings and kicked his legs high, "My sister is your sister. She is Ava Swan." Almost convinced by then, Girly Girl Ella Goose asked only one last question. "If Abuela is our grandmama and Ava Swan is our big sister, then how can you be a duck, Ava a swan, and me a goose?"
Duck Duck Zaneman dropped his head, watched a bug burrow in the mud, and shuffled his webbed feet. He cocked his head to the left, looked up at the sky and watched a tall, drifting cumulus cloud. Silence fell over the park but Girly Girl Ella Goose waited patiently. Finally, Duck Duck Zaneman looked her in the eyes and quacked, "Just because we are different but still the same. Come, on. Let’s play!"
Duck Duck Zaneman and Girly Girl Ella Goose waddled as fast as they could back to the pond.
Kerplunk! Splashhhhhhh!
Kerplunk! Splashhhhhhh!
That is how Girly Girl Ella Goose and Duck Duck Zaneman became twins, best friends, different but still the same.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
May 9, 2009
THE BIG DAY
Today is going to be a great day. I waited ever since yesterday for it to come. The sun is glowing orange-yellow through my window and I can see the Ava Island just outside. It seems like it took an awfully long time for today to arrive even though I tried to speed it up.
Yesterday I turned my clock eight hours ahead but it didn’t seem to make a bit of difference, except that I was seven hours, fifty-eight minutes, forty-nine seconds, and nine hundred and ninety-nine milliseconds late for school. I thought something was funny when I got there because my classroom was empty. I strolled the halls looking for my best friend but only spotted a man in the cafeteria pushing a broom.
“Sir, have you seen my teacher?” I softly asked. The man stopped sweeping, turned, and looked down at me. He raised one eyebrow, was quite surprised to see me, and pulled out a chair. As I sat down, he scratched his head and glanced through the window at the dark orange sky. He tenderly patted my arm and said, “Lil lady she went home hours ago and so should you or you will miss your supper.” “But Sir,” I whispered, “that can’t be true because it is only now time for school to begin” and handed him my clock. He looked it over, shook it up and down, then handed it back to me. He smiled and suddenly roared with laughter. It was probably as loud as a freight train. I wondered what was so funny. He slapped his knee, bent forward, then leaned on his broom. With his hand waving in the air as if conducting a symphony he blurted, “You would be right if you were in London, England but this is Texas in our great USA.”
Not exactly sure what he meant, I thanked him and quickly walked away. I saw blurred notices tacked over all the walls, though I didn’t stop to read even one. When I got outside I saw the lonely racks hoping their bikes would soon be back. For sure, I would rather be at home than in this empty place but I think someone should have come to school today on this regular school day. Or it would have been a simple thing for someone to tell me, “Oh, by the way my dear, we switched the days and made today tomorrow.” Is that so much to ask, I wondered? With only that little bit of kindness, I would have put today in a jar and saved it for later.
Still, I don’t know why time takes so long. It only has one single thing to do. It doesn’t have to wash dishes, practice piano, or take a dreaded bath. Yet, it won’t negotiate or bend the rules or even say, “that’s that.” It is, I think, just stubborn because no matter what I do or say or even promise, it just sits there doing nothing.
I was so looking forward to this very special day and now it seems that time took it all away. It is unfair for time to treat me in that way because I am reliable and have never caused it any harm. I feed my pups, give them water too, and never once has Santa passed by without leaving me a surprise.
Time really should be nicer to me. I would be a good friend. I would take it to movies, buy popcorn and hot dogs, and rarely leave it alone. I would let it listen to my I-pod and loan it my roller blades. But no, it just ignores my sincere generosity and doesn’t seem to care that it has hurt my feelings.
Through it all, I have developed my opinion of time that is likely to remain. But tell me for Pete’s sake how is it that time can change but still stay the same?
Just when I was ready for supper, I felt a gentle touch on my cheek and a squeeze on my hand. I thought at first it must be that broom man again. So, I looked back but could only see a haze. I was smelling cinnamon bread when something brushed against my other hand. I quickly turned around as a voice invaded my head, “Time to wake up and get ready to go to school,” the words drifted.
“School?” I thought. “School?”
Hooray! I didn’t loose my special day. It is just beginning and I have so much to do. I will brush my teeth, wear my coat, and remember my lunch box. I will sharpen my pencils, take extra paper, and pack my backpack. I will clean my locker and sit quietly in my seat. When my teacher asks my class whether anything interesting happened last night, I won’t raise my hand or make a peep. I will never tell that the secret of how to change time is by just going to sleep.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Yesterday I turned my clock eight hours ahead but it didn’t seem to make a bit of difference, except that I was seven hours, fifty-eight minutes, forty-nine seconds, and nine hundred and ninety-nine milliseconds late for school. I thought something was funny when I got there because my classroom was empty. I strolled the halls looking for my best friend but only spotted a man in the cafeteria pushing a broom.
“Sir, have you seen my teacher?” I softly asked. The man stopped sweeping, turned, and looked down at me. He raised one eyebrow, was quite surprised to see me, and pulled out a chair. As I sat down, he scratched his head and glanced through the window at the dark orange sky. He tenderly patted my arm and said, “Lil lady she went home hours ago and so should you or you will miss your supper.” “But Sir,” I whispered, “that can’t be true because it is only now time for school to begin” and handed him my clock. He looked it over, shook it up and down, then handed it back to me. He smiled and suddenly roared with laughter. It was probably as loud as a freight train. I wondered what was so funny. He slapped his knee, bent forward, then leaned on his broom. With his hand waving in the air as if conducting a symphony he blurted, “You would be right if you were in London, England but this is Texas in our great USA.”
Not exactly sure what he meant, I thanked him and quickly walked away. I saw blurred notices tacked over all the walls, though I didn’t stop to read even one. When I got outside I saw the lonely racks hoping their bikes would soon be back. For sure, I would rather be at home than in this empty place but I think someone should have come to school today on this regular school day. Or it would have been a simple thing for someone to tell me, “Oh, by the way my dear, we switched the days and made today tomorrow.” Is that so much to ask, I wondered? With only that little bit of kindness, I would have put today in a jar and saved it for later.
Still, I don’t know why time takes so long. It only has one single thing to do. It doesn’t have to wash dishes, practice piano, or take a dreaded bath. Yet, it won’t negotiate or bend the rules or even say, “that’s that.” It is, I think, just stubborn because no matter what I do or say or even promise, it just sits there doing nothing.
I was so looking forward to this very special day and now it seems that time took it all away. It is unfair for time to treat me in that way because I am reliable and have never caused it any harm. I feed my pups, give them water too, and never once has Santa passed by without leaving me a surprise.
Time really should be nicer to me. I would be a good friend. I would take it to movies, buy popcorn and hot dogs, and rarely leave it alone. I would let it listen to my I-pod and loan it my roller blades. But no, it just ignores my sincere generosity and doesn’t seem to care that it has hurt my feelings.
Through it all, I have developed my opinion of time that is likely to remain. But tell me for Pete’s sake how is it that time can change but still stay the same?
Just when I was ready for supper, I felt a gentle touch on my cheek and a squeeze on my hand. I thought at first it must be that broom man again. So, I looked back but could only see a haze. I was smelling cinnamon bread when something brushed against my other hand. I quickly turned around as a voice invaded my head, “Time to wake up and get ready to go to school,” the words drifted.
“School?” I thought. “School?”
Hooray! I didn’t loose my special day. It is just beginning and I have so much to do. I will brush my teeth, wear my coat, and remember my lunch box. I will sharpen my pencils, take extra paper, and pack my backpack. I will clean my locker and sit quietly in my seat. When my teacher asks my class whether anything interesting happened last night, I won’t raise my hand or make a peep. I will never tell that the secret of how to change time is by just going to sleep.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Feb 1, 2009
MAGICAL RAIN
The rain came down for such a long time that it left a pool of water standing in my yard. My sisters hopped around to make it splash. That looked like fun so I jumped in too and stomped my shoe. Splat! Splat! A great big splatter hit my face, dripped off my nose, then ran down into the corner of my lip.
The clouds were dark and the sky rumbled loudly but I wasn’t afraid. I took a deep breath. It started pouring like lemon-lime koolaid from my Abeula’s pitcher. It rat-a-tat-tatted when it hit the shinny roof and felt cold when it plopped on the back of my neck. Splat!
My shirt stuck to my chest. I squeezed my nose closed with my fingers, tilted my head back, and caught a cupful in my mouth. It trickled down my throat and left a salty taste on my tongue. My eyes felt so heavy I didn’t want to open them. Splat!
My hair got sopping wet; plastered on my head. My sisters twirled with their arms stretched out but no matter how they tried, they couldn’t a drop get.
I thought I saw legs tumbling from the sky. Confused when they hit the ground, they jumped around and knocked against my cement wall. I ran over, squatted down, and pushed one with my finger. Oh, my gosh. It is an ‘ole green and brown toad!
I helped it cross the bump in the grass and it looked at me as if to say, “Thanks, pal, it is wet and cold down here and hard to get any traction.” I held it in my hand and put my other one on top to warm it and keep the rain off. I took a pulse, rubbed the toad’s tummy, and determined it was fine. Then I put it in my treasure sack to keep it safe for a short time.
I saw another one tumble from the sky. Then another and another. Toads were raining everywhere; all tired, wet, and cold. How could I manage this huge family which continued high to pile? “That is a very strange way to become a father,” I sighed.
I thought I must give each a name or I would never know whether Tom was Mary or Jim was June or Gary and that would be a shame. So, I set out to do my job but when I named four, there were two more, then twelve and twenty-eight.
Soon there were forty-four green and brown toads and twenty-one brown and green ones. There were six named Mary: Mary Ella, Mary Kay, Mary Ava, Mary Glyn, Mary Abuela, and Mary Mary. There were four named James: James Paul, James Hall, James Zane, and James James. I named three Stevie: Stevie Don, Stevie John, and Stevie Ron. Only fifty-two toads were left to name if only it would not more toads rain. I hoped for the sun to shine soon so the magic would go away.
I found a box and gathered all the toads but almost as soon as I dropped them in, they jumped right out again. I shut the lid on number ten and thought I had done well, but then it popped back up and out hopped Mary Sue.
I thought I might get frustrated but then I saw my yellow lab dart around the corner of my house. “GeGee,” I yelled, “go back. You can’t come over here. Go back. Please, GeGee, go back.” But she just wagged her tail, that’s how she laughs, then barked and spotted my half-full topless box.“
Oh, GeGee. How could you?” Now I have seven toads and one leg of number eight. I don’t remember whether they are Mary, James, or Stevie. I just know they are brown and green and green and brown and plenty.I am so proud of all those toads but my sisters said I would get warts that stay until the day I die and maybe even longer. I told them I would rather have warts than a pony tail and ribbons. They put their hands over their mouths, snickered, and skipped into their playhouse.
The rain finally stopped and I was saying goodbye when a big arch showed up in the sky. It looked like someone had used my whole box of markers, maybe two oranges, and I wondered whether there was a candy store inside. I wanted to peek so I looked for stairs at the bottom but never even saw a ladder. So, until I went to sleep that night I thought, “what was that thing sticking out of the sky?”
I lost two of my seven and now only have five but when the toad fairy comes tonight, under my pillow she will find a very grand surprise!
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
The clouds were dark and the sky rumbled loudly but I wasn’t afraid. I took a deep breath. It started pouring like lemon-lime koolaid from my Abeula’s pitcher. It rat-a-tat-tatted when it hit the shinny roof and felt cold when it plopped on the back of my neck. Splat!
My shirt stuck to my chest. I squeezed my nose closed with my fingers, tilted my head back, and caught a cupful in my mouth. It trickled down my throat and left a salty taste on my tongue. My eyes felt so heavy I didn’t want to open them. Splat!
My hair got sopping wet; plastered on my head. My sisters twirled with their arms stretched out but no matter how they tried, they couldn’t a drop get.
I thought I saw legs tumbling from the sky. Confused when they hit the ground, they jumped around and knocked against my cement wall. I ran over, squatted down, and pushed one with my finger. Oh, my gosh. It is an ‘ole green and brown toad!
I helped it cross the bump in the grass and it looked at me as if to say, “Thanks, pal, it is wet and cold down here and hard to get any traction.” I held it in my hand and put my other one on top to warm it and keep the rain off. I took a pulse, rubbed the toad’s tummy, and determined it was fine. Then I put it in my treasure sack to keep it safe for a short time.
I saw another one tumble from the sky. Then another and another. Toads were raining everywhere; all tired, wet, and cold. How could I manage this huge family which continued high to pile? “That is a very strange way to become a father,” I sighed.
I thought I must give each a name or I would never know whether Tom was Mary or Jim was June or Gary and that would be a shame. So, I set out to do my job but when I named four, there were two more, then twelve and twenty-eight.
Soon there were forty-four green and brown toads and twenty-one brown and green ones. There were six named Mary: Mary Ella, Mary Kay, Mary Ava, Mary Glyn, Mary Abuela, and Mary Mary. There were four named James: James Paul, James Hall, James Zane, and James James. I named three Stevie: Stevie Don, Stevie John, and Stevie Ron. Only fifty-two toads were left to name if only it would not more toads rain. I hoped for the sun to shine soon so the magic would go away.
I found a box and gathered all the toads but almost as soon as I dropped them in, they jumped right out again. I shut the lid on number ten and thought I had done well, but then it popped back up and out hopped Mary Sue.
I thought I might get frustrated but then I saw my yellow lab dart around the corner of my house. “GeGee,” I yelled, “go back. You can’t come over here. Go back. Please, GeGee, go back.” But she just wagged her tail, that’s how she laughs, then barked and spotted my half-full topless box.“
Oh, GeGee. How could you?” Now I have seven toads and one leg of number eight. I don’t remember whether they are Mary, James, or Stevie. I just know they are brown and green and green and brown and plenty.I am so proud of all those toads but my sisters said I would get warts that stay until the day I die and maybe even longer. I told them I would rather have warts than a pony tail and ribbons. They put their hands over their mouths, snickered, and skipped into their playhouse.
The rain finally stopped and I was saying goodbye when a big arch showed up in the sky. It looked like someone had used my whole box of markers, maybe two oranges, and I wondered whether there was a candy store inside. I wanted to peek so I looked for stairs at the bottom but never even saw a ladder. So, until I went to sleep that night I thought, “what was that thing sticking out of the sky?”
I lost two of my seven and now only have five but when the toad fairy comes tonight, under my pillow she will find a very grand surprise!
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Jan 9, 2009
MR., MISS, OR MRS. PRESIDENT
My friend Sarah Jane Pipkins said a President is worth a lot but can only get a job if we all hold up our hand when she calls out a name. She said that a President gets to say who goes where and buys what. The citizens, she says that is us, give the President a great, big, spectacular, humongous house that is painted white. It even has a bowling alley and theater inside.
If the President doesn’t have a dog, someone should leave one, two, or maybe three in the yard. Sarah Jane Pipkins said we should name them Prez II, Ralph, and Sue. I wanted to name them Tippy, Todd, and Tater Roo, but Sarah Jane Pipkins said I do not get to choose.
I asked, “Sarah Jane Pipkins who appointed you to decide that I can or not take on that special task?” She looked at me, squinted her eyes, snorted from her nose and just walked away. So I hereby declare that those frisky, cold-nose, curious, tail-waggers shall be called Tippy, Todd, and Tater Roo if in fact they should find their way around that really tall guard.
Maybe a cat or two should decorate the oval office. Oval? Why would a room be oval? Square for sure; maybe round, or rectangular. But oval seems so out of the ordinary.
My teacher said that every four years some men and women decide they want to be President but first they have to run. I do not know how far. I do not know how long. I do not know why they cannot walk fast, bike, or take a bus. My teacher is extra smart and never lets me down. But I bet those people are awfully tired when they finally get to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D. C.
I think I could be President because my legs run. They stretch waaaay out front and so faaaar back that I can barely see my heels. When I go fast, every time my foot touches the ground and my body springs up, my brain cheers. “Keep going, feet. Hey, right foot! No twinkle toes in this race. Are you here to win or not? Left? Left? Listen up. Pay attention. Pick up your toes or you are going to squash your nose. Go! Go! Go! Good job, feet. Good job!”
When my left heel kisses the dirt, my right foot begins to elevate. My body has a run rhythm. Hump, fump. Hump, fump, fump. Hump, fump. Wind blows against my face and I feel it force me back. I push harder and harder. Hump, fump, fump. Hump, fump.
When I get to the mansion, I will softly step into the Green Room because it is a serious environment. Shhhhhhhh! It is where a President declared the first United States war. Afterward, I will skip to the Blue Room to check out who might be getting married. From there I will jet through the small Red Room on my way to the East and West Rooms.
I do not understand why Mr. Hoban, the builder of this grand monumental place, did not put a skating rink at the bottom of these one hundred and thirty-two rooms. If he had, the President would never need to wear shoes, walk, or run; and could just roll, pivot, and zoom. That would save a lot of time unless of course, there was a boom. Uhmph! Ouch. “Okay. Which one of you left that dog bone on the floor? Tippy? Todd? Tater Roo was it you?”
If I lived with the President I would eat chocolate donuts every single day. On Saturday we would have chocolate mash potatoes covered with raisin chocolate gravy. On Sunday, I would eat chocolate covered boiled eggs topped with chocolate whipping cream. I would have so much lemon aid we would keep it in the swimming pool. I would invite all the children to swim with me sometime in May, and serve them green oranges, purple bananas, and yellow and black polka-dot coconuts. Yum.
If you come to visit me at the President’s house, I will show you a friendly mouse. You might think him a bit silly but he is a likeable sort. Although he spends most of his time scampering around with his needle point nose toward the floor, he is smart because he never gets caught sleeping on the davenport.
I am going to run for President, I am. Definitely, for sure. Sarah Jane Pipkins said that first I have to announce. I will, too, as soon as I can figure out what it is that Sarah Jane Pipkins is talking about.
© Coninc, TheBackyardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
If the President doesn’t have a dog, someone should leave one, two, or maybe three in the yard. Sarah Jane Pipkins said we should name them Prez II, Ralph, and Sue. I wanted to name them Tippy, Todd, and Tater Roo, but Sarah Jane Pipkins said I do not get to choose.
I asked, “Sarah Jane Pipkins who appointed you to decide that I can or not take on that special task?” She looked at me, squinted her eyes, snorted from her nose and just walked away. So I hereby declare that those frisky, cold-nose, curious, tail-waggers shall be called Tippy, Todd, and Tater Roo if in fact they should find their way around that really tall guard.
Maybe a cat or two should decorate the oval office. Oval? Why would a room be oval? Square for sure; maybe round, or rectangular. But oval seems so out of the ordinary.
My teacher said that every four years some men and women decide they want to be President but first they have to run. I do not know how far. I do not know how long. I do not know why they cannot walk fast, bike, or take a bus. My teacher is extra smart and never lets me down. But I bet those people are awfully tired when they finally get to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D. C.
I think I could be President because my legs run. They stretch waaaay out front and so faaaar back that I can barely see my heels. When I go fast, every time my foot touches the ground and my body springs up, my brain cheers. “Keep going, feet. Hey, right foot! No twinkle toes in this race. Are you here to win or not? Left? Left? Listen up. Pay attention. Pick up your toes or you are going to squash your nose. Go! Go! Go! Good job, feet. Good job!”
When my left heel kisses the dirt, my right foot begins to elevate. My body has a run rhythm. Hump, fump. Hump, fump, fump. Hump, fump. Wind blows against my face and I feel it force me back. I push harder and harder. Hump, fump, fump. Hump, fump.
When I get to the mansion, I will softly step into the Green Room because it is a serious environment. Shhhhhhhh! It is where a President declared the first United States war. Afterward, I will skip to the Blue Room to check out who might be getting married. From there I will jet through the small Red Room on my way to the East and West Rooms.
I do not understand why Mr. Hoban, the builder of this grand monumental place, did not put a skating rink at the bottom of these one hundred and thirty-two rooms. If he had, the President would never need to wear shoes, walk, or run; and could just roll, pivot, and zoom. That would save a lot of time unless of course, there was a boom. Uhmph! Ouch. “Okay. Which one of you left that dog bone on the floor? Tippy? Todd? Tater Roo was it you?”
If I lived with the President I would eat chocolate donuts every single day. On Saturday we would have chocolate mash potatoes covered with raisin chocolate gravy. On Sunday, I would eat chocolate covered boiled eggs topped with chocolate whipping cream. I would have so much lemon aid we would keep it in the swimming pool. I would invite all the children to swim with me sometime in May, and serve them green oranges, purple bananas, and yellow and black polka-dot coconuts. Yum.
If you come to visit me at the President’s house, I will show you a friendly mouse. You might think him a bit silly but he is a likeable sort. Although he spends most of his time scampering around with his needle point nose toward the floor, he is smart because he never gets caught sleeping on the davenport.
I am going to run for President, I am. Definitely, for sure. Sarah Jane Pipkins said that first I have to announce. I will, too, as soon as I can figure out what it is that Sarah Jane Pipkins is talking about.
© Coninc, TheBackyardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Oct 27, 2008
HELLO, I AM FIVE
Yesterday I was four and today I am Five. It took only one day. I thought tomorrow I would be six. “Birthdays do not work that way,” my Abuela laughed. “You will be five for three-hundred and sixty-four more days.”
I am only five but I can count and if yesterday I was four and it took three hundred and sixty-five days to get to five, then three hundred and sixty-four days are lost.
I wanted a birthday cake just like, just like, just like the one I got. I will roll my finger in the icing, squeeze it with my thumb, then plop it on my tongue. My tongue-elevator will take it fast to the roof of my mouth then swirl and wiggle it around. I will hold it there for a while then gulp it all at once. I wonder though, “Who forgot my other three-hundred and sixty birthday candles?”
There must be a zillion birthday gifts or surely at least three hundred and sixty-five. I can hardly wait to rip the wrapping paper off that orange and blue triangular box and look inside the funny round one that looks like a fat pig.
I like the orange, blue, pink, yellow, and green balloons that are floating on strings, tied from my swings. Each one has glitter that says, “Happy Birthday!” Who had so much air they could blow up a million balloons?
I am going to toot my red horn right outside my front door and when I do I know that everyone will want to hear more. I will sing, too, and maybe dance for Sue. I will share my cake and punch, even with tiny baby Jake.
Maybe every kid can have ice cream but something that I will not do, I will not do at all, is give away a single day that brought me to my birthday number five.
I bounce higher than anyone else in this big inflatable bouncy thing and if it had a spout I would not need a ladder to get out. Getting in would still be a problem though because a spout would not pour me in but only out.
Batmen, Barbie, Ken, and Captain Jack Sparrow joined in the games but stopped to take a nap. I don’t need a nap. I am five.
I was the most important person at my party. Everyone wished that I would have a happy day. They brought me dinosaurs, balls, and dot-to-dot coloring books and sang Happy Birthday to me. We played Old Maid, pirates, and house, but no matter where we looked, no one could find my missing days.
So, when everyone went home I looked in the bottom of my toy box and three hundred and sixty-four days jumped out and said, “BOOoooooo! You, whoooooo?” I scolded them and said, “Where have you been?”
I am five. Birthdays are pretty good. I did not have to do a thing -- ‘cept get born. I do not remember that day of course. My sister said it was a scream. I wonder what she meant?
I am glad that I was born ‘cause if I hadn’t been, who would have gotten my toys today? My big sis gave me a calendar for my birthday, counted three hundred and sixty-four days, and wrote a big number six with my purple marker. Wow! Can you believe she already knows which day I will be six? She is so smart.
I act older now that I am five. A year makes a very big difference in a short person’s life. Yesterday I was a silly brat but today I hung my coat and hat. I made my bed, cleaned my room, and fed my dog and cat.
Purrrrrrr. Meow. Meow.
Meow? Oh, wait. I don’t have a cat!
I am five.
© Coninc, TheBackyardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
I am only five but I can count and if yesterday I was four and it took three hundred and sixty-five days to get to five, then three hundred and sixty-four days are lost.
I wanted a birthday cake just like, just like, just like the one I got. I will roll my finger in the icing, squeeze it with my thumb, then plop it on my tongue. My tongue-elevator will take it fast to the roof of my mouth then swirl and wiggle it around. I will hold it there for a while then gulp it all at once. I wonder though, “Who forgot my other three-hundred and sixty birthday candles?”
There must be a zillion birthday gifts or surely at least three hundred and sixty-five. I can hardly wait to rip the wrapping paper off that orange and blue triangular box and look inside the funny round one that looks like a fat pig.
I like the orange, blue, pink, yellow, and green balloons that are floating on strings, tied from my swings. Each one has glitter that says, “Happy Birthday!” Who had so much air they could blow up a million balloons?
I am going to toot my red horn right outside my front door and when I do I know that everyone will want to hear more. I will sing, too, and maybe dance for Sue. I will share my cake and punch, even with tiny baby Jake.
Maybe every kid can have ice cream but something that I will not do, I will not do at all, is give away a single day that brought me to my birthday number five.
I bounce higher than anyone else in this big inflatable bouncy thing and if it had a spout I would not need a ladder to get out. Getting in would still be a problem though because a spout would not pour me in but only out.
Batmen, Barbie, Ken, and Captain Jack Sparrow joined in the games but stopped to take a nap. I don’t need a nap. I am five.
I was the most important person at my party. Everyone wished that I would have a happy day. They brought me dinosaurs, balls, and dot-to-dot coloring books and sang Happy Birthday to me. We played Old Maid, pirates, and house, but no matter where we looked, no one could find my missing days.
So, when everyone went home I looked in the bottom of my toy box and three hundred and sixty-four days jumped out and said, “BOOoooooo! You, whoooooo?” I scolded them and said, “Where have you been?”
I am five. Birthdays are pretty good. I did not have to do a thing -- ‘cept get born. I do not remember that day of course. My sister said it was a scream. I wonder what she meant?
I am glad that I was born ‘cause if I hadn’t been, who would have gotten my toys today? My big sis gave me a calendar for my birthday, counted three hundred and sixty-four days, and wrote a big number six with my purple marker. Wow! Can you believe she already knows which day I will be six? She is so smart.
I act older now that I am five. A year makes a very big difference in a short person’s life. Yesterday I was a silly brat but today I hung my coat and hat. I made my bed, cleaned my room, and fed my dog and cat.
Purrrrrrr. Meow. Meow.
Meow? Oh, wait. I don’t have a cat!
I am five.
© Coninc, TheBackyardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Oct 23, 2007
THE HEEBIE-JEEBIES
Come rain or shine, ghosts, goblins, and those snaggletooth witches perched on broomsticks bring the heebie-jeebies every year. The summer sun is far away and a cold eery wind chills down to the bone. The graveyard no longer is at peace. The moon is blood red and full. Black cats line fences while scarecrows stand alone.
Jack-o'-lantern innards were harvested long before caramel apples went out treating. Faces torn, blood dripping, eyeballs lost, and contorted bodies beacon appreciation for the quiet disembodied.
Candy corn, oranges, Three Musketeers, and freshly made popcorn balls are sacred offerings for all of the wandering dead. Yikes! A sword, a chain, a gator just knocked on our door.
Green hairy monsters play pranks on old cranks then slink away looking for more. But wait. There is hope headed our way from just down the street. A sailor, a policeman, and Indian Chief salute while a friendly looking doctor opens our gate.
A tiny ballerina twirls on her toes while tapping her sparkling wand against a stone. Unexpectedly, Spiderman leaps on to the porch and his hobo pal drops a plastic stogie among the gore. As always, Uncle Sam is glorious in red, white, and blue. Whew, the undertaker must have messed up 'cause there is a vampire following him with a big, empty sack.
Don't mess with those wretched ones. Give 'em whatever they want so they'll leave. They shriek loudly as they rush to lurk next door but don't be fooled. Oh, sure. You think they're gone for good. Wait and see. There will be more.
There is such a longing for Snow White or even a dwarf or two. Nemo and Dora would be refreshing to see but here is yet another ghoul who lives with bats in a cave and makes his living by robbing graves.
What has our world come to after all? Have the little angels ascended and did sweet Scooby Doo lose his way?
Grief! Someone must have starved that pour soul over there for now he is only a skeleton clanking along his way in a crowd. He has surely ushered in Día de los Muertos. Heaven forbid.
An everyday cowgirl would surely be nice to see. But no! Coming down the walk is --oh, my gosh! -- a smelly, ugly pirate wearing skull and bones on his head, brandishing a long sword, and hopping on a wooden peg.
Robin and Batman screech to a halt. This must surely be a hallucination for now it seems that Peter Pan is holding the tiny hand of the Little Mermaid and a handsome black devil, whose tail drags behind, jumps up shaking his pitchfork while holding out one hand.
There is a horse in our yard, a panda and gorilla, too. We have no offerings for such beasts. What shall we do?
Run, run, run, all you innocent ones because a humongous red fire-snorting dragon is getting out of a car. A car? A dragon in a car?
This night calls for a long, long rest. Hearts are stressed and cannot take more scare.
S-h-w-i-s-h. Glitter, glitter.
"OOOOOh, We are sooo glad to see you Fairy God Mother -- welcome."
(Whisper, whisper.)
"WHAT?
No one said this was just make believe."
(Pondering.)
"Hey! All you ghosts, goblins, and snaggletooth witches; you dragons, beasts, and ugly 'ole pirates; just come back next year. We'll be waiting and ready for you!"
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk 2009 (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Jack-o'-lantern innards were harvested long before caramel apples went out treating. Faces torn, blood dripping, eyeballs lost, and contorted bodies beacon appreciation for the quiet disembodied.
Candy corn, oranges, Three Musketeers, and freshly made popcorn balls are sacred offerings for all of the wandering dead. Yikes! A sword, a chain, a gator just knocked on our door.
Green hairy monsters play pranks on old cranks then slink away looking for more. But wait. There is hope headed our way from just down the street. A sailor, a policeman, and Indian Chief salute while a friendly looking doctor opens our gate.
A tiny ballerina twirls on her toes while tapping her sparkling wand against a stone. Unexpectedly, Spiderman leaps on to the porch and his hobo pal drops a plastic stogie among the gore. As always, Uncle Sam is glorious in red, white, and blue. Whew, the undertaker must have messed up 'cause there is a vampire following him with a big, empty sack.
Don't mess with those wretched ones. Give 'em whatever they want so they'll leave. They shriek loudly as they rush to lurk next door but don't be fooled. Oh, sure. You think they're gone for good. Wait and see. There will be more.
There is such a longing for Snow White or even a dwarf or two. Nemo and Dora would be refreshing to see but here is yet another ghoul who lives with bats in a cave and makes his living by robbing graves.
What has our world come to after all? Have the little angels ascended and did sweet Scooby Doo lose his way?
Grief! Someone must have starved that pour soul over there for now he is only a skeleton clanking along his way in a crowd. He has surely ushered in Día de los Muertos. Heaven forbid.
An everyday cowgirl would surely be nice to see. But no! Coming down the walk is --oh, my gosh! -- a smelly, ugly pirate wearing skull and bones on his head, brandishing a long sword, and hopping on a wooden peg.
Robin and Batman screech to a halt. This must surely be a hallucination for now it seems that Peter Pan is holding the tiny hand of the Little Mermaid and a handsome black devil, whose tail drags behind, jumps up shaking his pitchfork while holding out one hand.
There is a horse in our yard, a panda and gorilla, too. We have no offerings for such beasts. What shall we do?
Run, run, run, all you innocent ones because a humongous red fire-snorting dragon is getting out of a car. A car? A dragon in a car?
This night calls for a long, long rest. Hearts are stressed and cannot take more scare.
S-h-w-i-s-h. Glitter, glitter.
"OOOOOh, We are sooo glad to see you Fairy God Mother -- welcome."
(Whisper, whisper.)
"WHAT?
No one said this was just make believe."
(Pondering.)
"Hey! All you ghosts, goblins, and snaggletooth witches; you dragons, beasts, and ugly 'ole pirates; just come back next year. We'll be waiting and ready for you!"
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk 2009 (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
Sep 29, 2007
AHOY, MATEY!
Ahoy, Matey! Each September 19th is Talk Like A Pirate day so it is time to begin a bit of review.
A pirating we go!
When we see the Jolly Roger skull and crossbones we know pirates are lurking. The flag began as the Roger and Jolly was added down the road.
All glamour aside with peg legs, eye patches, and hooks for hands, the scallywags did have missions, some legitimate and some down right illegal. Government employed pirates disabled enemy missions. Ultimately, all pirates robbed at sea and some even on land. Maybe they had a good side, too. Didn't they love parrots so much they let them sit on their shoulders? Plop. Eeeewwweee yuk!
By their loyal public, gentlemen o' fortune were both loved and cursed, as it remains today. Pirates even were able to recruit many of those they captured to become one of their own. (There is nothing quiet like joining up when the only other choice is decapitation.)
Blackbeard was famous because he was so ruthless and cruel. Maybe because he looked so ugly and scary, too. (If any one ever needed the talent of a hairdresser, it was Blackbeard.)
He will long be remembered for his ship Queen Anne's Revenge. After his modification, it sported forty cannons. Those were unavailable to him during a ferocious battle on another of his ships when the Royal Navy, led by Lieutenant Maynard, shot, stabbed, and beheaded Blackbeard. (He should have stayed with the cannons.) His headless, lifeless body was thrown overboard and legend has it that Blackbeard then swam around the ship before he sunk. His head found a less than comfortable place on the ship's bowsprit as a trophy for Maynard and his irrebuttable evidence to the world of his victory.
The names Henry Morgan, Black Bart and Captain Kidd give us plenty of cause to tremble in fear. But least we forget, the beloved Captain Hook lives on right next to our vivid memories of sweet Tinker Bell and boy forever Peter Pan.
There was even then, in the olden days, the great divide between male and female. Female creatures were forbidden from occupying pirate ships. It was a world for the guys; the early version of a Men's Only Club.
As the gender discrimination law was not yet written, women were left to their own devises (and disguises). The proclamation against seafaring women was short lived, however.
Adventure is indiscriminate when it calls. Anne Bonny and Mary Read are two of the most famous female pirates but there were others. All dressed in men's clothing and otherwise disguised themselves. Bonny and Read sailed with Calico Jack and fought equally beside their male counterparts. It is rumored that Bonny said Calico wouldn't have died if only he had fought like a man! (Now that is a tough talking lady pirate.)
Calico's ship was captured and after some type of trial (probably not by a fair and impartial jury), both Bonny and Read were sentenced to death. Then came the revelation that they were women and not only that, but pregnant women. Read later died in prison and Bonny's fate is unknown. She may be near, waiting to ambush.
Grace O'Malley was likewise a famous female pirate though she began life as the daughter of a legal sea merchant. Her father refused to let her sail with him so she shaved her head and dressed like her brothers. When she was discovered, she was called bald Grace and she later became known as Granuaile. In her youth she once saved her father from death by warning him of a pirate sneaking up from behind. Grown, Granuaile became a fine leader. She coupled her sea duties with rearing a family. In her more mature years she was sentenced to be executed but managed to evade that declared fate. She eventually was received as a guest by Queen Elizabeth.
Yo-ho-ho. Don't be a lily-livered landlubber, Matey.
Board a furner to avoid walking the plank at the direction of blind buccaneer Pew which would end you in Davy Jones' Locker while me hearty go to the Fiddlers Green.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
A pirating we go!
When we see the Jolly Roger skull and crossbones we know pirates are lurking. The flag began as the Roger and Jolly was added down the road.
All glamour aside with peg legs, eye patches, and hooks for hands, the scallywags did have missions, some legitimate and some down right illegal. Government employed pirates disabled enemy missions. Ultimately, all pirates robbed at sea and some even on land. Maybe they had a good side, too. Didn't they love parrots so much they let them sit on their shoulders? Plop. Eeeewwweee yuk!
By their loyal public, gentlemen o' fortune were both loved and cursed, as it remains today. Pirates even were able to recruit many of those they captured to become one of their own. (There is nothing quiet like joining up when the only other choice is decapitation.)
Blackbeard was famous because he was so ruthless and cruel. Maybe because he looked so ugly and scary, too. (If any one ever needed the talent of a hairdresser, it was Blackbeard.)
He will long be remembered for his ship Queen Anne's Revenge. After his modification, it sported forty cannons. Those were unavailable to him during a ferocious battle on another of his ships when the Royal Navy, led by Lieutenant Maynard, shot, stabbed, and beheaded Blackbeard. (He should have stayed with the cannons.) His headless, lifeless body was thrown overboard and legend has it that Blackbeard then swam around the ship before he sunk. His head found a less than comfortable place on the ship's bowsprit as a trophy for Maynard and his irrebuttable evidence to the world of his victory.
The names Henry Morgan, Black Bart and Captain Kidd give us plenty of cause to tremble in fear. But least we forget, the beloved Captain Hook lives on right next to our vivid memories of sweet Tinker Bell and boy forever Peter Pan.
There was even then, in the olden days, the great divide between male and female. Female creatures were forbidden from occupying pirate ships. It was a world for the guys; the early version of a Men's Only Club.
As the gender discrimination law was not yet written, women were left to their own devises (and disguises). The proclamation against seafaring women was short lived, however.
Adventure is indiscriminate when it calls. Anne Bonny and Mary Read are two of the most famous female pirates but there were others. All dressed in men's clothing and otherwise disguised themselves. Bonny and Read sailed with Calico Jack and fought equally beside their male counterparts. It is rumored that Bonny said Calico wouldn't have died if only he had fought like a man! (Now that is a tough talking lady pirate.)
Calico's ship was captured and after some type of trial (probably not by a fair and impartial jury), both Bonny and Read were sentenced to death. Then came the revelation that they were women and not only that, but pregnant women. Read later died in prison and Bonny's fate is unknown. She may be near, waiting to ambush.
Grace O'Malley was likewise a famous female pirate though she began life as the daughter of a legal sea merchant. Her father refused to let her sail with him so she shaved her head and dressed like her brothers. When she was discovered, she was called bald Grace and she later became known as Granuaile. In her youth she once saved her father from death by warning him of a pirate sneaking up from behind. Grown, Granuaile became a fine leader. She coupled her sea duties with rearing a family. In her more mature years she was sentenced to be executed but managed to evade that declared fate. She eventually was received as a guest by Queen Elizabeth.
Yo-ho-ho. Don't be a lily-livered landlubber, Matey.
Board a furner to avoid walking the plank at the direction of blind buccaneer Pew which would end you in Davy Jones' Locker while me hearty go to the Fiddlers Green.
© Coninc, TheBackYardKids.com, Short Stories For Short Folk (Library of Congress 1-147158261, pending)
