Gone away

By debdunlevy
January 27, 2012 //
0

Once upon a time, Joey was six and he just wanted to be left alone.  He had to go to school every day, and the teacher talked and talked and made Joey talk too, and the other kids laughed and pushed and played and teased.  When he got home, his hound dog was excited to see him and barked and jumped up on Joey’s legs and stole his toys and ran around the house with them.  His sisters fought and his mom asked too many questions and the tea kettle whistled and the garbage disposal rumbles and his dad turned on the news.  Joey would go to his own room and close the door, but his baby sister followed him everywhere, and when he finally yelled, “Leave me alone!” she cried so loud it hurt his ears, and his mom made him say he was sorry.

One day, Joey decided it was enough.  He went to bed at five o’clock and wouldn’t get up, even to eat dinner.  When his mom came to ask what was wrong, he put his pillow over his head.  Whenever he heard or noise or someone came into his room, he didn’t answer or move.  He just lay there repeating, “Go away, go away, go away, go away” in his head.  (He knew better than to say it out loud.)  Finally, the house got quiet as everyone went to sleep.  Joey took the pillow off his head and rolled onto his side.  It was so quiet and still.  His last thought before he fell asleep was “I wish it could always be just like this.”

In the morning, when Joey woke up, it was still quiet.  He looked at his clock.  It said 7:00,  just like always.  Usually his mom was making breakfast by now and calling to them all to get out of bed.  This peaceful morning was a nice change.  He got up and got dressed and brushed his teeth.  Usually his big sister was fighting for room by the sink.  This morning he was happy to have the bathroom all to himself.  He wondered if everyone had slept in.  He checked his sisters’ room.  The beds were empty.  Joey went downstairs and got out some cereal.  Normally they all crowded around the table and ate quickly while Joey’s mom rushed them along to get to school on time.  This morning, he was the only one and got to pick his favorite seat and take his time.  When he finished, he wondered what time it was.  He went to his mom and dad’s room.  Their bed was empty, too.  Where was everyone?

Then Joey remembered that his big sister had a special breakfast before school that week.  “It must be today,” he thought.  “They must have all gone before I woke up.”  Joey felt a little sad that they would leave without telling him.  He felt left out as the only one who didn’t get to go the breakfast.  Still, the quiet was awfully nice.  He put on his coat and boots and started off down the path they always walked to school.  Usually, his big sister would jabber away the whole time and hurry him along and boss him about staying out of the mud.  Today, he got to stomp right in a puddle and dawdle and daydream all he wanted, but he couldn’t help feeling just a little scared when he had to walk past the creepy hollow tree all by himself.

When he got to school, Joey noticed that it was very quiet there, too.  Usually, the sidewalks were crowded with kids and parents saying goodbye and calling out to their friends and pushing each other to get in the door first.  Today, Joey walked right through the doors without anyone bothering him.  There was no one around at all.  Walking down the silent halls, Joey began to feel worried.  Something wasn’t right.  Where was everyone?  Quiet at home had been warm and soft.  Quiet in the big echoing school building was cold and unfriendly.  Joey went to his class room.  The door was open.  All the desks and shelves and books and papers were exactly the same as always.  But there were no people.  No teacher with her cheerful smile and pleasant voice.  No friends waiting to tell him about the new comic book they had gotten last night or the way their cat had looked  when it climbed up the curtains.  No Joey was really afraid.  What was he supposed to do if no one was there?

For more than hour, Joey looked in every room in the school.  They were all empty.  Sometimes he thought he heard voices in the next room, but always when he opened the door, there was no one.  Finally, Joey couldn’t stand being all alone in that big school.  He ran all the way home.  It was quiet on the path, but he didn’t take time to enjoy it at all.  When he got home, no one was waiting for him.  Not even his hound dog greeted him at the door.  He called everyone’s names, but no one said anything.  Joey thought about going outside and walking around to see if he could find someone, but he felt too afraid to leave the house again.  Here at least he knew he was safe, even if he didn’t know what was happening.

That was a very long day.  Joey tried to watch TV.  He tried to read some books.  He tried to draw pictures or play with his toys.  Nothing seemed like much fun.  No one laughed at the cartoons with him.  No one helped him with the words he couldn’t understand.  No one admired his pictures or the ship he made out of Legos.  Time went by very slowly.  Joey felt very lonely as he poured some more cereal for his dinner.  When it was dark outside, Joey locked all the doors and crawled into bed trying not to think about tomorrow.  He put his pillow over his head, but this time it was to shut out the quiet.  It was a long time before he fell asleep.

A hard jab in the ribs woke Joey up at 7 the next morning.  His baby sister was sitting on his bed poking him with a Barbie.  She was the best thing he had ever seen.

“You see me!  I see me!” she yelled over and over.  Joey raced down the hall.  His big sister darted past and slammed the bathroom door in his face.  Joey laughed.  He went to the kitchen, where his mom was cooking pancakes.

“Feeling better?” she asked with a smile.

“Much better,” Joey said.

Categories Uncategorized

Horrible Hairy Houndy

By debdunlevy
September 8, 2011 //
0

This tale is an awful one
Scoot up real close
It happened this morning
As I ate my toast

My head was still fuzzy
There was sleep in my eyes
When I felt something furry
It was quite a surprise

I jumped at least
Three feet straight up in the air
Then I looked at the creature
That now stood ‘top my chair

He was horrible, hairy
His breath knocked me out
I saw glittering teeth
There was drool on his snout

And while I was staring
Too frightened to think
He snatched up my toast
Just as quick as a wink

Once my breakfast was his
He left me there quaking
So it is that you find me
Sitting hungry and shaking

So heed my advice
Be smarter than most
That houndy is horrible
Keep your food close

Categories Poetry

Inside the Box

By debdunlevy
September 7, 2011 //
0

Once there was an old woman. There have been many old women in stories over the years and many more in life outside of stories, but this one was special. This one was Harold’s grandmother.

Harold did not see his grandmother very often. She lived quite far away…Harold was never really sure where…and she only came once each year to visit. Visits from grandmothers are always rather wonderful, but visits from Harold’s grandmother were something even more extraordinary. She always brought her bulging yellow carpetbag and, as is often the case with grandmothers’ luggage, it always contained presents for Harold. Presents from Harold’s grandmother were never exactly what you would expect. She never brought toys or books or new clothes or anything like that. She only brought magical things. One year there was a magical ball of string, which looked depressingly ordinary until you unrolled it and discovered all the things that it could do and that you had already been playing with it for hours before you even thought to ask the time. Another year there were magic bottle caps which made beautiful music and played jumping games and turned into pirate gold when you put them under your pillow at night.

However many magical presents the yellow carpetbag contained, there was always room for one more thing inside. This was the thing that Harold loved best. It was always kept at the very bottom and taken out on the very last day of the visit. It was a wooden box. The box was just the right size to sit in Harold’s two hands and its plain wooden lid was attached by plain brass hinges and held tightly shut by a plain iron lock. Harold’s grandmother said that the box contained the world’s most wonderful treasure, but Harold had never seen what was inside. He was allowed to hold it, to feel its weight in his hand, to wonder and wonder what the treasure could be until his wondering was just about to burst out of his ears and he must ask once again if he could open the box. “Not this year,” his grandmother always said. “Perhaps when you are older.” But even though Harold was older every year, he was never given the key. Often throughout the year, Harold would find himself thinking about the wooden box, and in his dreams it opened, but somehow he always woke up just before he got a look inside.

The year that Harold was eight, his grandmother came later than usual. Her back was perhaps a little more bent than Harold remembered and her voice a little quieter, but her yellow carpetbag bulged as much as ever and the presents inside had all the usual magic. Harold waited patiently for the last day of the visit, and when it finally came and the wooden box was placed in his hands, he breathed a huge sigh of happiness. The box felt heavy. Was there more treasure than before? Slowly, Harold lifted it up until it was right in front of his eyes. Then he saw it. The lock. It was open. Harold looked questioningly at his grandmother, and she nodded. Trembling now, Harold set the box on the table between them and slowly, slowly opened the lid.

It was full of small things, full right to the top, but none of the things looked like treasure to Harold. An old key. A dried rose. Two black buttons. An acorn. A feather. A shiny piece of glass. Some withered leaves. Where was the treasure? Was the glass really a precious jewel? Did the key perhaps open a larger chest filled with gold? Harold felt all empty inside, like a bubble that is just about to be popped.

Harold looked steadily at the box, not wanting to lift his face and let his grandmother see what he was thinking. He breathed slowly once. Then twice. Then a gnarled, wrinkled hand came into view as his grandmother plucked the tiny acorn from the box. Harold couldn’t help but look up. The acorn sat in his grandmother’s hand, held up right before her eye.

“What-?” Harold started to ask.

“Listen,” his grandmother said.

Harold listened. He couldn’t hear anything.

“I can’t-”

“Just listen.”

Harold listened. He leaned forward to listen better. He strained his ears. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t hear anything.

After a few minutes, Harold’s grandmother leaned over and pressed the acorn into his hand. “Each and every thing in this box is a story waiting to be heard. Those stories are the greatest treasure you’ll ever find. Listen well.”

Harold held the acorn tight in his hand as he said goodbye to his grandmother. Watching her walk slowly down the path away from his house, he vowed to himself that he would uncover every bit of treasure in that box. He would listen like no one in the world had ever listened before.

And that is what he did. He set the acorn next to him in the morning while he ate his breakfast. He carried it with him as he quietly walked to school. He slept with the acorn under his pillow at night. Days went by. Then weeks.

And then one day, sitting under a tree with the acorn in his hand, he heard it. The acorn’s story was right there, just as his grandmother had said. Without warning, the story seemed to pick him up and carry him away to another place.

And when he came back, he had inside him a shining treasure.

So it was that Harold spent his days listening. Listening to keys and pressed flowers. Listening to tarnished rings and broken combs and tiny pebbles. And the treasure inside him grew and grew until it filled him up completely and he knew he needed to share it. So he began to look for others who wanted treasure, and he passed on what heard. And then he listed some more.

And Harold was happy.

Categories From the Box

Time Out Tuesday – A New Life

By debdunlevy
September 6, 2011 //
0

My whole new life is now finally underway, and I’m pretty sure that I want this space to have its place here. That means dusting things off and straightening things around. So I made a plan. Because I love plans. Plans are fun. Plans are helpful. Plans help me feel calm and peaceful. I know. Control issues. But here’s the plan anyway.

Monday: Story of the week. It’ll usually be based off of something my kids said. Nothing sets off the imagination like the crazy, random things kids say.

Tuesday: Time out Tuesday I’ll review good books I’m reading, talk about writing, or whatever else suits my fancy.

Wednesday: From the Box Series of stories inspired by little things we’ve found along the way.

Thursday: Poem of the Week Silly poems. Mostly just because there aren’t enough places in life to use those valuable rhyming skills.

Friday: A Thousand Words Stories inspired by photos. I have some talented friends, so I’ll be riffing off of some of their shots, as well as anything else I can find.

Categories Time Out Tuesday

Food Fight at the Golden Corral

By debdunlevy
February 20, 2011 //
1

When I was about four or five, my family used to go out from time to time to the Golden Corral to eat with friends after church on Sundays. Back then (for us, at least) that was a pretty nice restaurant. For some reason, my brother and I started passing time in the car inventing stories about food fights that broke out at the old GC. Every time, the story was different, and they tended to grow larger over time, but they more or less all started with someone slipping on a banana peel and dumping their buffet plate on someone else. Yadda, yadda, yadda, chaos ensues. Just recently my kids discovered banana peels and their reputation for being slippery, and I suddenly found myself cast back 20 (oh, okay, 30) years. I don’t remember the details, but I’m hoping this recreation can be as entertaining to my kids as the originals were to us.

I’ll never forget the day my family first took me to the infamous Golden Corral. I’d heard of the place: endless rows of steaming vegetables and breaded meats, dinner rolls piled up to the sky, and mashed potatoes with that one-of-a-kind boxed taste. It was every kid’s dream, and mine was about to come true. When we walked through that second set of double doors, I stopped and sniffed the air. It was pure cafeteria. I had never been so excited.

I was halfway through my chicken fried steak and thinking about a second helping of mashed potatoes when I saw a woman walk in the front door wearing a dress so pink that it hurt my eyes and carrying a poofy little dog that reminded me of the end of my grandmother’s mop. I barely had time to wonder why anyone would bring a dog to an all-you-can-eat restaurant before the dog launched himself out of his owner’s arms and literally flew straight at a man who was passing by with a plate full of roast beef.

Seeing something small and white and furry flying toward his head, the man jumped back, landing right on the edge of someone’s table and sending two bowls of pudding and a banana split smashing down onto the ground. The man was clearly embarrassed, and he backed away quickly, apologizing and clutching his injured hip with one hand and his plate of roast beef with the other hand. Unfortunately, he didn’t see that the dog was now right under his feet. He tripped, dumping his plate of roast beef all over a dignified man in a nice Sunday suit.

The man jumped up, outraged, waving his spoon around and causing bits of noodle soup to fly in every direction. The longest noodle landed with a splat on the face of a nearby woman. It must have been hot because she yelped a really loud “Yeeeeeep!” and shot up out of her chair, immediately stepping on the peel from the banana split and sliding ten feet only to collide with a mother who was carrying three glasses of ice cold Sprite. The Sprite fountained up into the air as the two women tumbled to the floor.

The teenagers at the next table, now covered in Sprite, took one look at the chaos and gave each other big smiles. In seconds, two big handfuls of mashed potatoes were flying across the room.

Then two potato-splattered strangers were launching canned peaches back into the crowd. Then a little girl with peaches in her hair was running through the restaurant throwing handfuls of peas in every direction. Then a grandmother was pegging people with small pieces of corn bread. Then a family of four, huddled under a table, was firing corn and green beans at everyone in sight. Someone poured gravy all over the floor. Someone else was using a fried chicken leg as a sword.

I had never seen anything so crazy in all my short life. Pretty soon everyone in the restaurant was in on the fight. I may have thrown a handful or two of mini corn cobs myself. The last thing I remember seeing before the fireman burst through the door with hoses to clean the place up and shock everyone back to their senses was the little white dog over under a corner table, happily slurping up gravy with bits of chocolate cake floating in it.

Categories Back when...

Dilemma

By debdunlevy
February 7, 2011 //
1

Oh snot
It’s hot
Sweat drips
Flops flip
Heat bakes
Head aches
Feel dizzy
Hair’s frizzy
Need a drink
Can’t think

Oh drool
A Pool!
Cool shade!
Let’s wade!
Or not
I’m hot!
Big grin
Dive in
Gasp! Shout
Get out!
Be bold?
Too Cold!

Categories Poetry

Still alive

By debdunlevy
February 2, 2011 //
0

I haven’t died, and I haven’t given up on this blog. I’m sure I’ve lost all five people who were reading before, but my life got a little overwhelming there for a while, so I decided to give myself a small break. Then the small break turned into a big break. But I’m hoping to make a return to Tell Me a Story, Mommy. I’ll probably just keep it to one story and one poem a week for now, at least until our South American summer ends and the kids get back to school, but I’m thinking this is a year of small steps and being happy with them.

Now, having left this short message that half-implies I’m battling a life-threatening disease (when in reality I’m just battling normal life with three small human beings and some really hot weather and a few water outages) I’m going to go see if I can hunt up my creativity so I can leave a real post tomorrow.

Categories Uncategorized

The Ride

By debdunlevy
November 16, 2010 //
0

One extra large butterfly lands on my nose
One teeny tiny one for each of my toes
Ten on my left shoulder and ten on my right
Three on each ear, their touch feather light
So many wings on my hands I can’t see if they’re there
I’ve lost track of how many are perched in my hair
And these butterflies whisper and flutter around
‘Til I feel my feet floating right up off the ground
And would you believe I am not scared at all?
I’m butterfly drifting, no thought of a fall
It’s so lovely to fly with the breeze on my face
First brushing the flowers, then lifting with grace
And the tickle of all of those delicate wings
Makes me laugh as I pass by a bird while it sings
We hover and swoop and soar over the town
Then slowly, so slowly we’re gliding back down
As if nothing happened, they dart off and hide
Good-bye, lovely butterflies, thanks for the ride

Categories Poetry

How to Lose 20 Pounds in 10 Days

By debdunlevy
November 10, 2010 //
0

My method is guaranteed to work
But only if you never shirk
Each day your teeth you need to grit
And tell yourself you’ll never quit
Then do exactly as I say
And feel that weight just melt away.

Day one, take off jewelry, rings, bracelets and lockets
Day two, throw out all of those rocks in your pockets
Day three’s when those glasses of lead need to go
Day four, trim the nails from your fingers and toes
Day five, take your armor off, lay down your spear
Day six, pull the weeds that have grown in your ears
Day seven is wooden shoe burning time
Day eight, take a bath and wash off all the grime
Day nine, get a razor, shave off all your hair
Day ten, sell the monkey that was living up there

Now don’t you feel lighter and happier, too?
It is hard to let go, but so fun when you do.
You can run, you can jump, and it feel extra nice.
And it’s all ’cause you’re smart, and you took my advice.

Categories Poetry

The Song

By debdunlevy
November 8, 2010 //
0

Once upon a time there was a young pig herder who lived on his father’s farm among the trees of the Wild Forest.  Every day he had to lead the pigs out into the trees to forage for food and had to carefully stand guard with his bow and arrow to keep wolves and bears from coming and carrying them off.  He was a steady, sensible sort of boy.  He always did his job and did it faithfully and never dreamed of leaving his charge.

Then the song came.

One night, just as he was shutting the pigs up in the their pen, a whisper of a melody came snaking out of the trees.  It was so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes.  It was so irresistible that it made his feet tingle.  He knew that no matter what, the most important thing in the world was to follow that song and find out who was singing it.  Without looking back once, he slung his bow over his shoulder and set off among  the trees to follow the song.

He walked all night with only the song for company, and it was the best company he’d ever had.  The longer he listened, the sweeter the song grew, until he began to feel that his heart would burst just from listening.  He barely even noticed when the trees came to an end, and he began walking among field after field of grain.  It wasn’t until the sun came up that he noticed he was approaching a strange village.  He was farther from home than he had ever been in his life.  Normally, he might have felt scared, but with that lovely song in his ears, all he felt was wonder.  The song led him right to the main square of the village, and then it disappeared.

Suddenly the boy felt very, very lost.  He stood, looking around at that strange place and blinking and realizing how tired he was from walking all night.  It was still very early in the morning, and no one in the village was awake yet.  Without the song, it was very, very quiet.  Then he heard a small sound.

It wasn’t the song.  It was the sound of someone crying.  The boy didn’t know what else to do, so he went to see who it was.  In a little ditch that ran between two houses, he found a small girl.  She was holding a tiny ball and crying so hard that she almost wasn’t breathing.

“What’s wrong?” asked the boy as gently as he could.

The little girl was so miserable she didn’t even look afraid of a stranger talking to her.  “I…can’t…find…my…puppy,” she said.  “M-m-my father gave h-h-him to me, and n-n-now he is gone.  I…thing…th-th-the bears got him.  And oh, my f-f-father is going to be so mad.”  The last word got lost in another long wail.

“Shhhh, don’t cry,” said the boy.  “Maybe I can find your puppy.  Where did you last see him?”

The little girl looked up hopefully, and her wails calmed into hiccups.  “He was sleeping with me in my bed last night.  I felt him get up and leave just a while ago.  When I woke up and came to find him, he was gone.”

The boy had the girl show him where her door was, and he looked around for paw prints.  After a bit he found some, and some larger prints, too.  It looked like a bear had been near the houses. He showed the little girl the puppy prints.

“I have to go follow these and see if I can find him,” he said.  “I am only a pig herder and not good at many things, but finding lost animals is something I know how to do.  You stay here and wash away those tears before your mother find you like this.”  He didn’t say anything about the bear tracks because he didn’t want to worry her.

Unslinging his bow, he followed the bear tracks back the way he himself had come, back towards the trees of the forest.  He knew that many times bears will carry their food off to their dens before killing it.  He hoped that was what had happened with the puppy.  The boy had never been to this side of the forest before, but the trees still felt familiar, and it did not take long for him to find the bear’s den.  He saw the dark shape of the bear swaying toward the opening with something in its mouth.  The boy stopped and carefully took aim with his bow.  It was important to get a good shot the first time with a bear.  When he let the arrow fly, it went straight into the back of the bear’s neck.  The bear dropped what was in its mouth and whirled toward the boy, who was already fitting another arrow into the bow.  That one went straight into the bear’s heart.  With a great crash, the bear dropped over.  Cautiously, the boy approached the bear.  It didn’t move.  It was dead.  Just on the other side of the bear, a small pile of fur was trembling.  It was the puppy.  He was alive, though there were several cuts along his little body.  The boy gently picked up the pup and carried him back home.

By the time he arrived at the village, everyone was awake and about their daily work.  The little girl was overjoyed to see her puppy home safe, and her parents were happy, too.  The mother was happy to see her daughter happy, and she offered the boy a huge plate of breakfast.  The father was happy that he had killed the dangerous bear that threatened the village, and he offered the boy a job in his carpenter shop and a bed in the barn.

“I really can’t stay, ” said the boy, thinking first of the song and then, almost ashamedly, of his father and the pigs.  “I must go home.”

“If you wait until tomorrow, there will be a merchant’s wagon to give you a ride,” said the father.  “They are expected this morning and never stay more than one night.  It would be better than walking all day after walking all night.”

The boy thought about it.  He didn’t even know exactly how far he was from home.  The wagon sounded like a good idea.  One day more would not make much difference now.  So he stayed the day.  And the father took him to the shop and showed him how to use the saw and plane and make fine angles and build sturdy things.  There was too much to learn in just one day, but he loved watching as the expert carpenter crafted a table and then a chair and other things that would be beautiful and useful.  It made him realize how little he knew as a pig herder.

That afternoon the merchant arrived, and the next day he was ready to head on into the forest on his usual route.  But the boy did not go with him because the boy was no longer there.

You see, just as the sun had been setting and the family began to wash for supper, the boy heard the melody snaking out from the fields and filling him up and setting his feet to the road.

And the song whispered him on.

To Be Continued

Categories Frogs and Snails, Serial Adventures
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