Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 2
December 20, 2024
Jesse: The Boy Who Gave
It's time for this month's Fly on the Wall where my writing sisters and I share what's in our homes and hearts!And my thoughts, together with those of most of the Christian World are focused on the Saviour.This story is longer than my usual.I hope you enjoy it!
Jesse: The Boy Who Gave
“Jesse! Come, son! Your father and brothers havelong been about!”Jesse opened his eyes. Just over the low wall onthe far side of the roof from where he lay, the horizon was flushed a deep pinkas the sun approached its rise. Even as he watched, the golden ball peepedabove the horizon, sending a gleam of light straight into his eyes.“Jesse!”“Yea, Mother!”“Say your prayers, son, and wash yourself. Yourmeal is ready.”Jesse closed his eyes and offered his usualmorning prayer, then pushed his coarse mantel away and, grabbing his littlestick, got to his feet, standing up on his strong right leg and allowing hissmaller, weaker left to merely dangle. For a moment, he gazed at the beauty ofthe sunrise and breathed the cool, pure air of another harvest day.Moving to the ewer and basin, he washedcarefully, then fastened his girdle securely and hurried down the stairs asquickly as his one good leg would take him.His mother and older sister, Anna, turned fromthe fire and smiled at him. “Let me re-wrap your bandages, son, then Anna willwash your hands so you can eat.” His mother knelt and lifted the hem of histunic. She tugged at the bandage that covered his withered leg from small,misshapen toes to mid-thigh, then straightened and nodded to the low tablewhere warm breads, herbs and fresh cheese were laid.Jesse held out his hands to be washed by hisolder sister, then sat and began his meal.A few minutes later, his mother set a smallbasket on the high table beside the fire. “I have food here for your eveningmeal, son.”He nodded as he slowly got to his feet. Oncebraced against the table beside his mother, he began to wind his turban aroundhis head. Seeing the usual barley loaves in the basket, he sighed. “The son ofmy uncle had wheat loaves for his meal yesterday.”His mother smiled gently. “We have food to eatand a warm and safe place to lay our heads, son. Your father and brothers haveplenty of labour in the fields of your uncle and he has even found work for youwith your clever mind for figures. Let us never show discontent over what theLord has given us. Many are not blessed as we are!”He sighed again. “Yea, but...”His mother placed gentle fingers over his lips.“Hush, son. The Lord has blessed us richly. We have enough and to spare. Let usnot raise our voices except in thankfulness.”Jesse looked down into the small basket as hismother pulled a coarse cloth over its contents. He frowned and, pulling thecloth back, counted the loaves and fishes she had placed there. “Five loaves and two fishes, Mother? If you are concerned with showing gratitude,perhaps ‘twould be better to give to the poor who knock at our door than togive extra to your son.”His mother smiled again. “Yea, son. Your generousnature serves you well. And I have kept plenty for that purpose. Perhaps youwill have a chance to do the same for the people with whom you work today.”Jesse frowned, then shrugged. “Mayhap.”“And you will eat and you will be satisfied.” Hismother put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his face. “Be strong as aleopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer, and mighty as a lion to do thewill of thy father who is in heaven this day, son.”“I thank you, Mother.” Jesse picked up his basketof food and placed his crutch firmly under one arm. Then he smiled and noddedto his mother and sister, and hobbled through the open door and into the narrowlane.Jesse’s six-times weekly walk to his uncle’slands was usually a calm and quiet amble along peaceful roads. He enjoyed it. Itdidn’t tax his strength and the fresh air was invigorating.But today, everything was different.Throngs of people were hurrying along the usuallyquiet road, talking together excitedly.One particularly large group came up behind him.The man in the lead moved closer. “Might we pass you, young sir?” he askedquietly. “We are in a great hurry to reach our destination.”Jesse nodded and stepped to one side.As the people hurried past, he called out. “Whereare you to in such haste?”“To see the master, the great prophet whom somecall The Messiah!” a young woman called out as she aided the faltering steps ofthe man beside her. “He sits today in the desert,” she pointed. “He promisessalvation to all who gather to Him!” She glanced down at Jesse’s crutch.“Salvation and healing.” She gripped the arm of her companion more firmly andwhispered gently to him. “Come, Father. We are nearly there!”Jesse stood at the side of the road and watchedthe people go by for a moment. A prophet? The Messiah? Salvation? Healing? Whatsort of healing?He thought about it for a moment, then thrust hischin forward. He, too would seek this prophet. This healer. Clutching hisbasket tighter, he followed after them as quickly as he could.The sun was halfway up the sky, signalingmid-morning, when the people he had been following joined a far larger group. Thisgreater gathering had seated themselves on the dusty ground and were listening intentlyto a man wearing a white and brown striped mantle and seated on a little,raised patch of ground.Jesse watched the young woman and her more feeblecompanion find places to sit nearby and immediately turn their attention to theman in the striped robe.This, then must be the prophet she spoke of. Themaster.Though he was some distance away, something in his quiet manner drewJesse’s gaze. The words he spoke, though not loud, could be plainly heard.Perhaps a trick of the landscape. Perhaps carried by the slight breeze.Jesse’s heart seemed to leap within his breastand he shivered with…something. Excitement? Awe?Recollection?Perhaps a bit of all.He quietly sat down in the dust, crossing hiswithered leg over his good one and putting his basket in his lap. Then he laidhis crutch carefully beside him and was, himself, soon absorbed by what the manwas saying.“Blessed are the poorin spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” the man said. “Blessed are theythat mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek:for they shall inherit the earth.”Jessefrowned. The poor in spirit? The mournful? The meek? All were…blessed?Themaster went on, “Blessed are they which do hunger andthirst after righteousness:for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for theyshall obtain mercy.”Hisnext words went through Jesse like a bolt.“Blessed are the pure in heart,”he said. “For they shall see God.”Actuallysee G-d? How is it possible that mere mortal man would be able to see theFather of Heaven and Earth?Theman went on, speaking of peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled. “Rejoice,and be exceeding glad,” he said. “For great is your reward inheaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were beforeyou.”Jessefrowned. Rejoice in persecution?Themaster called each of them the salt of the earth, then said, “Ye arethe light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Letyour light so shine before men, that they may see yourgood works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”Formuch of the day, he went on, speaking words that seemed to glow with light andwarmth as they found a ready place in Jesse’s heart.Withthe day waning, the master stopped speaking momentarily as a few men approachedhim. With them, he quietly discussed something that appeared to be of greatconcern. Several times, they turned and indicated the mass of people stillsitting patiently, waiting for the words of peace and comfort to continue.Jessethought about the things the master had said. Was it important to be meek andlong-suffering? And the council to let his light shine. To serve and to share.Unexpectedly,a picture of his mother flashed into his mind as he had last seen her—holdinghis basket of warm food and urging him to be generous with the people he metthis day.Jesselooked around and smiled slightly. Where would he start?Themaster shook his head at something one of the others said. Then he lightlypatted his companion on the shoulder and moved him gently aside.“Arethere any among you who are sick or afflicted,” he asked. “Halt, lame, deaf,dumb? Come forward and, by your faith, you shall be healed.”Jessesucked in a breath. The ‘healing’ the young woman had spoken of. He looked downat his withered, useless leg. And could the man possibly mean him? ‘By yourfaith’, the man had said.Didhe have faith?Ashort distance away, the young woman rose and helped her father to his feet.Then the two of them made their way slowly through the throng toward the man inthe striped robe.Ayoung man seated next to Jesse plucked at the sleeve of his tunic and indicatedthe crutch lying in the dust between them. “He means you, brother,” the youngman said. “Go. And be healed.”Healed?Jesse’s breath seemed to stop in his throat. Could it actually be possible?“Go!”someone else whispered.Jesselooked around. Several people were smiling at him and nodding. A couple of thempointed toward the master.Theyoung man next to him stood up. “Please, brother, let me help you.” Strong handsgrasped Jesse’s arms and pulled him to his good foot, then handed him hisstick. “Go!”Stillclutching his basket and with his stick once more braced under his arm, Jesse finallybegan to make his way forward.Theway wasn’t easy. People were packed in tight and there was very little space tomove. They shifted as much as they could and sometimes that was very littleindeed, but eventually, Jesse was able to join the group gathered immediatelyaround the master; one of the last to do so.Aman in the line just ahead of him turned and smiled at Jesse with one dead eyeand a face twisted by old, hideous burns. Just ahead of that man, another mancarried a child who appeared to be legless.Jesselooked down at his own sound leg and its withered companion. Among thiscompany, he was blessed. Should he stay and seek the help of the master?Awoman paused beside him, breathing heavily and pressing one hand to her breast.“Isaught well with you, sister?” Jesse asked in a low voice.Shetook a rather shaky breath. “It soon shall be!” she whispered back, shiningeyes on the man at the center of the group.Slowly,the line of people wound its way closer to him. As they drew nearer, Jesse wasable to see more clearly what was happening.Aseach person approached him, they were warmly embraced and greeted by name. Thenthe man put his hands on the person’s head and spoke softly.And,without fail, that person was healed.Jessesaw arms and legs appear where none had been before. He saw the feeblestraighten. One small child gazed at her mother in wonder as she heard thewoman’s voice for the first time. An elderly man who had been led through thethrong by a younger man, removed the bandage from his eyes and turned from thankingthe healer to look into the young man’s face, staring at it as though it wasthe most glorious sight he had ever seen.Therewas a stir as someone approached carrying a small figure bundled up in a coarsemantle. Limp hands and ashen cheeks would indicate that this child was farbeyond the help of any mortal man, but, as with the others, the healer put hishands on the little one’s head. In moments, the child was sitting up, smilingand pushing at the now-restrictive mantle.Jesse’sheart seemed to swell within him. Healings. Raisings from the dead? It was asthough he stood in the presence of G-d, Himself!Hecaught his breath on a sob, feeling suddenly humbled. Worthless. Tears stainedhis cheeks. He gazed now at the man in the striped robe with reverence wherebefore had been only awe and wonder.Reverence.And love.Hekept his eyes steadily on the healer, and as the line decreased in size, slowlymade his way closer.Whenthere were but two people ahead of him, a couple of the man’s associatesappeared.“Master,”one of them said.Theman in the striped robe turned to him questioningly.“Master,we need to send these people away. Many of them have been here all day and wehave nothing to feed them. They must go into the surrounding villages and findfood.”“ButI have not yet completed the work,” his master told him.“Theywill be here on the morrow,” his other companion said. “Master, you are tired.Let us send the people away so they can eat and you can rest.”Hismaster paused and Jesse felt his heart stop.Hewas so close!Thenthe master smiled. A tired smile, but one filled with love. “Good brethren,” Hesaid quietly. “I would first be about my father’s business. Then I will retirewith you.”Jesselet out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.“Thereis still the problem of what to feed the people,” the first companion said.“Castthrough the throngs and see if any have ought to contribute,” his master saidas he turned back. He took the little, legless girl into his arms. “Sarah, mydaughter!”Jesseclutched his basket tighter, thinking of the few loaves and fishes itcontained. He would love to share. But how many of this throng of thousandscould possibly be fed on so little food?Themaster stood the little girl on two strong legs and hugged her again. “Go,daughter. Remember this day, when your faith and that of your father…” henodded to the man beside the girl whose face was wet with tears, “…healed you.”Thelittle girl nodded eagerly and she and her father turned and began to maketheir way back through the people.Jesse’seyes blurred with tears of his own. He blotted them on his sleeve. “Thomas, my son.” The master had his armsaround the burned man. “Long you have carried these scars.”“Yea,Master,” Thomas said. “Yet I know that, in thee, all things are possible. Eventhe healing of a sinner such as I.”“Sogreat faith, Thomas.” The master smiled and put his hands on Thomas’ head andagain, Jesse’s eyes swam with tears.Andthen, it was his turn. The master’s eyes were on him. Wondrous eyes filled withendless love and acceptance.Withoutconscious thought, Jesse started forward, his own eyes on the master. TheMessiah.“Master,this should be the last. We must be off.” One of the companions was back. “Wecan find no food and the sun sets. The people will be forced find their way inthe dark.”Themaster nodded. “We would not want anyone losing their way in the darkness.”Jesseheaved a sigh of relief. One more. Him.Justthen, someone bumped into him and he stumbled and nearly lost both his crutchand his basket. Grasping them tightly, he turned.Thewoman who had come up behind him was clutching her chest, her face grey.Withoutthinking, Jesse set down his basket, reached for her arm, and pressed her aheadof him. “Here, sister. Take my place!”Themaster looked at Jesse and smiled, then placed his arms about the woman.“Emily, my daughter,” he whispered.Inmoments, Emily was on her smiling way and the master’s companions were pullingat his arm, trying to get him to follow. “Now, Master,” one of them said. “Letus be off.”Jesse felt the tears sliding down his cheeks.Sadly, he picked up his basket and then turned to leave.“Jesse.”The quiet voice seemed to wrap around his achingheart. Tugged it. He turned.The master was standing, looking at him. His armswere wide.Dropping his crutch, Jesse stumbled forward. Thearms closed about him and, for a moment, he thought his heart would burst withjoy. Somewhere, a choir of voices was singing. Angelic, heavenly voices.Then, the sound of his own sobs.“Jesse, my son.” The quiet voice was continuing. “Youhave carried this burden for so long. Lay it now at my feet. Give up your sinsand be healed by your faith.”Jesse looked up into the kind eyes. “I do. Iwill.”His left leg tingled. He looked down. Onesandaled foot. One bare. The bandage that had bound his withered limb lay in asmall heap in the dust. With wonder, he lifted that leg. Felt it withastonished hands. It was as whole and healthy as the other.He looked up into the master’s face. “How…how isit possible?”The master’s smile seemed to pull his heart fromhis breast. “By the power given me by my father and in His name, son. And byyour faith.” His smile widened. “Now, go and share what you have found!”“I will!” Jesse started to turn, then swung back.“Who are you, Master?”Again that smile. “Who say you that I am?”Jesse felt his brow pucker. “Are you John theprophet? He who is called the Baptist?”The master’s eyes filled with tears. “John, whowas my brother, is with us no longer. He has finished his work.”Jesse’s breath was squeezed from his chest. Hestared at the master. “Dead?”The master nodded. “Called home.”“But could you not . . . the child you raised . .. could you . . .?”He shook his head sadly. “John, who was theBaptist had finished his work.”“And you are John’s brother?”He smiled through his tears. “I, too have come todo the Father’s work.”“Has the Father, Himself come to dwell amongmen?” Jesse’s voice was filled with wonder.“I am the Christ, Jesus. My father hath sent meand I am here to do His will in His name.” The master smiled. “And glory beunto Him.”“Then, ‘tis true. The prophecy of a Savior sentto deliver the world.” Jesse felt strange. As though he couldn’t quite getenough air into his lungs.“Master. We must be away!” The companions hadreturned. “The hour grows late and the people must find food!”“I have food!” Jesse cried, suddenly.Jesus turned to his companions. “You hear? We areprovided for.”The companions frowned at Jesse, their eyesseeking and stopping at the small basket he held. “How?” one of them asked.The master tugged at the cover and looked down onthe small offering. Again he smiled. “It is enough. Bring me baskets.”And then Jesse witnessed yet another miracle inthis long day of miracles as Jesus the Christ blessed and broke the few loavesand fishes into fragments and filled basket after basket after basket.The master’s servants distributed the food andJesse watched as the heaping baskets were passed from hand to hand. Withgladness, all the people received and they began to eat hungrily, praising G-das they did so.Soon all had been filled.What was left was gathered up, and finally, 12baskets brimming with pieces of fish and bread remained.He looked around and smiled. “It is well.”Shortly after that, Jesus the Christ and hiscompanions disappeared into the gathering gloom. Then the people, too, began todisburse.Jesse, clutching his small basket now brimmingwith food started along the road.“Ouch!” He lifted his left foot and examined thewelt left by a sharp stone. “If only I had a sandal!”Then he began to laugh.Several men stopped beside him. “Something amusesyou, brother?”Yea,” Jesse said. “This morning when I awoke, Ihad only one useful leg. Now, through faith and by the healing power of Jesusthe Christ, I have two. But, upon feeling pain in my new foot, I instantlybegan to wish for something more.” He shook his head slowly. “I fear it willtake the rest of my life to root out the ingratitude that so quickly besetsme!”The men smiled and continued up the road.Jesse followed them, walking easily on two stronglegs for the first time.Velvet darkness surrounded him as his little homecame into view. The front door had long been shut, but light glowed in the onewindow. Jesse hurried toward it.Gently, he lifted the latch and pushed the doorwide. “Father? Mother? I have returned.”His mother rose from her seat by the fire.“Jesse! What were you about? You never arrived at the house of your uncle! Ihad feared you the victim of highway robbers!”His father loomed up behind her. “Welcome home,son.” He shook his head mournfully even as he smiled at Jesse. “I am gratefulfor your safe return.” He glanced at his wife. “But I am also certain you havemany things to explain.”Jesse set his basket on the high table.His mother glanced at it, then smiled at Jesse.“Son. Did you find the opportunity to share with those in need?”Jesse smiled back as he laid his crutch besidethe bowl. “Yea, Mother. Let me tell you the story.”
Now go to my friends and see what's happening in their homes, thoughts and lives this month!I guarantee you'll enjoy it!
Jesse: The Boy Who Gave
“Jesse! Come, son! Your father and brothers havelong been about!”Jesse opened his eyes. Just over the low wall onthe far side of the roof from where he lay, the horizon was flushed a deep pinkas the sun approached its rise. Even as he watched, the golden ball peepedabove the horizon, sending a gleam of light straight into his eyes.“Jesse!”“Yea, Mother!”“Say your prayers, son, and wash yourself. Yourmeal is ready.”Jesse closed his eyes and offered his usualmorning prayer, then pushed his coarse mantel away and, grabbing his littlestick, got to his feet, standing up on his strong right leg and allowing hissmaller, weaker left to merely dangle. For a moment, he gazed at the beauty ofthe sunrise and breathed the cool, pure air of another harvest day.Moving to the ewer and basin, he washedcarefully, then fastened his girdle securely and hurried down the stairs asquickly as his one good leg would take him.His mother and older sister, Anna, turned fromthe fire and smiled at him. “Let me re-wrap your bandages, son, then Anna willwash your hands so you can eat.” His mother knelt and lifted the hem of histunic. She tugged at the bandage that covered his withered leg from small,misshapen toes to mid-thigh, then straightened and nodded to the low tablewhere warm breads, herbs and fresh cheese were laid.Jesse held out his hands to be washed by hisolder sister, then sat and began his meal.A few minutes later, his mother set a smallbasket on the high table beside the fire. “I have food here for your eveningmeal, son.”He nodded as he slowly got to his feet. Oncebraced against the table beside his mother, he began to wind his turban aroundhis head. Seeing the usual barley loaves in the basket, he sighed. “The son ofmy uncle had wheat loaves for his meal yesterday.”His mother smiled gently. “We have food to eatand a warm and safe place to lay our heads, son. Your father and brothers haveplenty of labour in the fields of your uncle and he has even found work for youwith your clever mind for figures. Let us never show discontent over what theLord has given us. Many are not blessed as we are!”He sighed again. “Yea, but...”His mother placed gentle fingers over his lips.“Hush, son. The Lord has blessed us richly. We have enough and to spare. Let usnot raise our voices except in thankfulness.”Jesse looked down into the small basket as hismother pulled a coarse cloth over its contents. He frowned and, pulling thecloth back, counted the loaves and fishes she had placed there. “Five loaves and two fishes, Mother? If you are concerned with showing gratitude,perhaps ‘twould be better to give to the poor who knock at our door than togive extra to your son.”His mother smiled again. “Yea, son. Your generousnature serves you well. And I have kept plenty for that purpose. Perhaps youwill have a chance to do the same for the people with whom you work today.”Jesse frowned, then shrugged. “Mayhap.”“And you will eat and you will be satisfied.” Hismother put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his face. “Be strong as aleopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer, and mighty as a lion to do thewill of thy father who is in heaven this day, son.”“I thank you, Mother.” Jesse picked up his basketof food and placed his crutch firmly under one arm. Then he smiled and noddedto his mother and sister, and hobbled through the open door and into the narrowlane.Jesse’s six-times weekly walk to his uncle’slands was usually a calm and quiet amble along peaceful roads. He enjoyed it. Itdidn’t tax his strength and the fresh air was invigorating.But today, everything was different.Throngs of people were hurrying along the usuallyquiet road, talking together excitedly.One particularly large group came up behind him.The man in the lead moved closer. “Might we pass you, young sir?” he askedquietly. “We are in a great hurry to reach our destination.”Jesse nodded and stepped to one side.As the people hurried past, he called out. “Whereare you to in such haste?”“To see the master, the great prophet whom somecall The Messiah!” a young woman called out as she aided the faltering steps ofthe man beside her. “He sits today in the desert,” she pointed. “He promisessalvation to all who gather to Him!” She glanced down at Jesse’s crutch.“Salvation and healing.” She gripped the arm of her companion more firmly andwhispered gently to him. “Come, Father. We are nearly there!”Jesse stood at the side of the road and watchedthe people go by for a moment. A prophet? The Messiah? Salvation? Healing? Whatsort of healing?He thought about it for a moment, then thrust hischin forward. He, too would seek this prophet. This healer. Clutching hisbasket tighter, he followed after them as quickly as he could.The sun was halfway up the sky, signalingmid-morning, when the people he had been following joined a far larger group. Thisgreater gathering had seated themselves on the dusty ground and were listening intentlyto a man wearing a white and brown striped mantle and seated on a little,raised patch of ground.Jesse watched the young woman and her more feeblecompanion find places to sit nearby and immediately turn their attention to theman in the striped robe.This, then must be the prophet she spoke of. Themaster.Though he was some distance away, something in his quiet manner drewJesse’s gaze. The words he spoke, though not loud, could be plainly heard.Perhaps a trick of the landscape. Perhaps carried by the slight breeze.Jesse’s heart seemed to leap within his breastand he shivered with…something. Excitement? Awe?Recollection?Perhaps a bit of all.He quietly sat down in the dust, crossing hiswithered leg over his good one and putting his basket in his lap. Then he laidhis crutch carefully beside him and was, himself, soon absorbed by what the manwas saying.“Blessed are the poorin spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” the man said. “Blessed are theythat mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek:for they shall inherit the earth.”Jessefrowned. The poor in spirit? The mournful? The meek? All were…blessed?Themaster went on, “Blessed are they which do hunger andthirst after righteousness:for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for theyshall obtain mercy.”Hisnext words went through Jesse like a bolt.“Blessed are the pure in heart,”he said. “For they shall see God.”Actuallysee G-d? How is it possible that mere mortal man would be able to see theFather of Heaven and Earth?Theman went on, speaking of peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled. “Rejoice,and be exceeding glad,” he said. “For great is your reward inheaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were beforeyou.”Jessefrowned. Rejoice in persecution?Themaster called each of them the salt of the earth, then said, “Ye arethe light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Letyour light so shine before men, that they may see yourgood works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”Formuch of the day, he went on, speaking words that seemed to glow with light andwarmth as they found a ready place in Jesse’s heart.Withthe day waning, the master stopped speaking momentarily as a few men approachedhim. With them, he quietly discussed something that appeared to be of greatconcern. Several times, they turned and indicated the mass of people stillsitting patiently, waiting for the words of peace and comfort to continue.Jessethought about the things the master had said. Was it important to be meek andlong-suffering? And the council to let his light shine. To serve and to share.Unexpectedly,a picture of his mother flashed into his mind as he had last seen her—holdinghis basket of warm food and urging him to be generous with the people he metthis day.Jesselooked around and smiled slightly. Where would he start?Themaster shook his head at something one of the others said. Then he lightlypatted his companion on the shoulder and moved him gently aside.“Arethere any among you who are sick or afflicted,” he asked. “Halt, lame, deaf,dumb? Come forward and, by your faith, you shall be healed.”Jessesucked in a breath. The ‘healing’ the young woman had spoken of. He looked downat his withered, useless leg. And could the man possibly mean him? ‘By yourfaith’, the man had said.Didhe have faith?Ashort distance away, the young woman rose and helped her father to his feet.Then the two of them made their way slowly through the throng toward the man inthe striped robe.Ayoung man seated next to Jesse plucked at the sleeve of his tunic and indicatedthe crutch lying in the dust between them. “He means you, brother,” the youngman said. “Go. And be healed.”Healed?Jesse’s breath seemed to stop in his throat. Could it actually be possible?“Go!”someone else whispered.Jesselooked around. Several people were smiling at him and nodding. A couple of thempointed toward the master.Theyoung man next to him stood up. “Please, brother, let me help you.” Strong handsgrasped Jesse’s arms and pulled him to his good foot, then handed him hisstick. “Go!”Stillclutching his basket and with his stick once more braced under his arm, Jesse finallybegan to make his way forward.Theway wasn’t easy. People were packed in tight and there was very little space tomove. They shifted as much as they could and sometimes that was very littleindeed, but eventually, Jesse was able to join the group gathered immediatelyaround the master; one of the last to do so.Aman in the line just ahead of him turned and smiled at Jesse with one dead eyeand a face twisted by old, hideous burns. Just ahead of that man, another mancarried a child who appeared to be legless.Jesselooked down at his own sound leg and its withered companion. Among thiscompany, he was blessed. Should he stay and seek the help of the master?Awoman paused beside him, breathing heavily and pressing one hand to her breast.“Isaught well with you, sister?” Jesse asked in a low voice.Shetook a rather shaky breath. “It soon shall be!” she whispered back, shiningeyes on the man at the center of the group.Slowly,the line of people wound its way closer to him. As they drew nearer, Jesse wasable to see more clearly what was happening.Aseach person approached him, they were warmly embraced and greeted by name. Thenthe man put his hands on the person’s head and spoke softly.And,without fail, that person was healed.Jessesaw arms and legs appear where none had been before. He saw the feeblestraighten. One small child gazed at her mother in wonder as she heard thewoman’s voice for the first time. An elderly man who had been led through thethrong by a younger man, removed the bandage from his eyes and turned from thankingthe healer to look into the young man’s face, staring at it as though it wasthe most glorious sight he had ever seen.Therewas a stir as someone approached carrying a small figure bundled up in a coarsemantle. Limp hands and ashen cheeks would indicate that this child was farbeyond the help of any mortal man, but, as with the others, the healer put hishands on the little one’s head. In moments, the child was sitting up, smilingand pushing at the now-restrictive mantle.Jesse’sheart seemed to swell within him. Healings. Raisings from the dead? It was asthough he stood in the presence of G-d, Himself!Hecaught his breath on a sob, feeling suddenly humbled. Worthless. Tears stainedhis cheeks. He gazed now at the man in the striped robe with reverence wherebefore had been only awe and wonder.Reverence.And love.Hekept his eyes steadily on the healer, and as the line decreased in size, slowlymade his way closer.Whenthere were but two people ahead of him, a couple of the man’s associatesappeared.“Master,”one of them said.Theman in the striped robe turned to him questioningly.“Master,we need to send these people away. Many of them have been here all day and wehave nothing to feed them. They must go into the surrounding villages and findfood.”“ButI have not yet completed the work,” his master told him.“Theywill be here on the morrow,” his other companion said. “Master, you are tired.Let us send the people away so they can eat and you can rest.”Hismaster paused and Jesse felt his heart stop.Hewas so close!Thenthe master smiled. A tired smile, but one filled with love. “Good brethren,” Hesaid quietly. “I would first be about my father’s business. Then I will retirewith you.”Jesselet out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.“Thereis still the problem of what to feed the people,” the first companion said.“Castthrough the throngs and see if any have ought to contribute,” his master saidas he turned back. He took the little, legless girl into his arms. “Sarah, mydaughter!”Jesseclutched his basket tighter, thinking of the few loaves and fishes itcontained. He would love to share. But how many of this throng of thousandscould possibly be fed on so little food?Themaster stood the little girl on two strong legs and hugged her again. “Go,daughter. Remember this day, when your faith and that of your father…” henodded to the man beside the girl whose face was wet with tears, “…healed you.”Thelittle girl nodded eagerly and she and her father turned and began to maketheir way back through the people.Jesse’seyes blurred with tears of his own. He blotted them on his sleeve. “Thomas, my son.” The master had his armsaround the burned man. “Long you have carried these scars.”“Yea,Master,” Thomas said. “Yet I know that, in thee, all things are possible. Eventhe healing of a sinner such as I.”“Sogreat faith, Thomas.” The master smiled and put his hands on Thomas’ head andagain, Jesse’s eyes swam with tears.Andthen, it was his turn. The master’s eyes were on him. Wondrous eyes filled withendless love and acceptance.Withoutconscious thought, Jesse started forward, his own eyes on the master. TheMessiah.“Master,this should be the last. We must be off.” One of the companions was back. “Wecan find no food and the sun sets. The people will be forced find their way inthe dark.”Themaster nodded. “We would not want anyone losing their way in the darkness.”Jesseheaved a sigh of relief. One more. Him.Justthen, someone bumped into him and he stumbled and nearly lost both his crutchand his basket. Grasping them tightly, he turned.Thewoman who had come up behind him was clutching her chest, her face grey.Withoutthinking, Jesse set down his basket, reached for her arm, and pressed her aheadof him. “Here, sister. Take my place!”Themaster looked at Jesse and smiled, then placed his arms about the woman.“Emily, my daughter,” he whispered.Inmoments, Emily was on her smiling way and the master’s companions were pullingat his arm, trying to get him to follow. “Now, Master,” one of them said. “Letus be off.”Jesse felt the tears sliding down his cheeks.Sadly, he picked up his basket and then turned to leave.“Jesse.”The quiet voice seemed to wrap around his achingheart. Tugged it. He turned.The master was standing, looking at him. His armswere wide.Dropping his crutch, Jesse stumbled forward. Thearms closed about him and, for a moment, he thought his heart would burst withjoy. Somewhere, a choir of voices was singing. Angelic, heavenly voices.Then, the sound of his own sobs.“Jesse, my son.” The quiet voice was continuing. “Youhave carried this burden for so long. Lay it now at my feet. Give up your sinsand be healed by your faith.”Jesse looked up into the kind eyes. “I do. Iwill.”His left leg tingled. He looked down. Onesandaled foot. One bare. The bandage that had bound his withered limb lay in asmall heap in the dust. With wonder, he lifted that leg. Felt it withastonished hands. It was as whole and healthy as the other.He looked up into the master’s face. “How…how isit possible?”The master’s smile seemed to pull his heart fromhis breast. “By the power given me by my father and in His name, son. And byyour faith.” His smile widened. “Now, go and share what you have found!”“I will!” Jesse started to turn, then swung back.“Who are you, Master?”Again that smile. “Who say you that I am?”Jesse felt his brow pucker. “Are you John theprophet? He who is called the Baptist?”The master’s eyes filled with tears. “John, whowas my brother, is with us no longer. He has finished his work.”Jesse’s breath was squeezed from his chest. Hestared at the master. “Dead?”The master nodded. “Called home.”“But could you not . . . the child you raised . .. could you . . .?”He shook his head sadly. “John, who was theBaptist had finished his work.”“And you are John’s brother?”He smiled through his tears. “I, too have come todo the Father’s work.”“Has the Father, Himself come to dwell amongmen?” Jesse’s voice was filled with wonder.“I am the Christ, Jesus. My father hath sent meand I am here to do His will in His name.” The master smiled. “And glory beunto Him.”“Then, ‘tis true. The prophecy of a Savior sentto deliver the world.” Jesse felt strange. As though he couldn’t quite getenough air into his lungs.“Master. We must be away!” The companions hadreturned. “The hour grows late and the people must find food!”“I have food!” Jesse cried, suddenly.Jesus turned to his companions. “You hear? We areprovided for.”The companions frowned at Jesse, their eyesseeking and stopping at the small basket he held. “How?” one of them asked.The master tugged at the cover and looked down onthe small offering. Again he smiled. “It is enough. Bring me baskets.”And then Jesse witnessed yet another miracle inthis long day of miracles as Jesus the Christ blessed and broke the few loavesand fishes into fragments and filled basket after basket after basket.The master’s servants distributed the food andJesse watched as the heaping baskets were passed from hand to hand. Withgladness, all the people received and they began to eat hungrily, praising G-das they did so.Soon all had been filled.What was left was gathered up, and finally, 12baskets brimming with pieces of fish and bread remained.He looked around and smiled. “It is well.”Shortly after that, Jesus the Christ and hiscompanions disappeared into the gathering gloom. Then the people, too, began todisburse.Jesse, clutching his small basket now brimmingwith food started along the road.“Ouch!” He lifted his left foot and examined thewelt left by a sharp stone. “If only I had a sandal!”Then he began to laugh.Several men stopped beside him. “Something amusesyou, brother?”Yea,” Jesse said. “This morning when I awoke, Ihad only one useful leg. Now, through faith and by the healing power of Jesusthe Christ, I have two. But, upon feeling pain in my new foot, I instantlybegan to wish for something more.” He shook his head slowly. “I fear it willtake the rest of my life to root out the ingratitude that so quickly besetsme!”The men smiled and continued up the road.Jesse followed them, walking easily on two stronglegs for the first time.Velvet darkness surrounded him as his little homecame into view. The front door had long been shut, but light glowed in the onewindow. Jesse hurried toward it.Gently, he lifted the latch and pushed the doorwide. “Father? Mother? I have returned.”His mother rose from her seat by the fire.“Jesse! What were you about? You never arrived at the house of your uncle! Ihad feared you the victim of highway robbers!”His father loomed up behind her. “Welcome home,son.” He shook his head mournfully even as he smiled at Jesse. “I am gratefulfor your safe return.” He glanced at his wife. “But I am also certain you havemany things to explain.”Jesse set his basket on the high table.His mother glanced at it, then smiled at Jesse.“Son. Did you find the opportunity to share with those in need?”Jesse smiled back as he laid his crutch besidethe bowl. “Yea, Mother. Let me tell you the story.”
Now go to my friends and see what's happening in their homes, thoughts and lives this month!I guarantee you'll enjoy it!
And however you and your loved ones celebrate this beautiful season, I wish you joy and happiness!
Thank you for being my friends!
November 22, 2024
An Eggs-citing Story
Withapologies to Dr. Seuss…Itwas my favourite story when I was growing up.Let’sface it, my imagination just filled in any troubling (ie. frankly impossible) potholesin the plot.Stilldoes, in point of fact.Ahem…Hortonwas an elephant who lived in the jungle. Friendly and kind-hearted, he wasnearly always the first to offer help when needed—even when said offer may be alittle…complicated.Onthis particular day, Horton happened to be walking past the nest of Mrs. Mayzie,a bird who lived in the neighbourhood.Mayziehad laid an egg and the euphoria of anticipating her ‘blessed event’ had, howcan we say this judiciously?...erm…worn off.Shewas ready for someone else to take over so she could take a well-earned (in hereyes) break.Anunfortunate word when talking about an egg, but let’s just go on from there,shall we?Now,I will admit that it took a little convincing, but soon, Mrs. Mayzie (that lazybird) was winging her way to Palm Springs ‘for just a day or two’ and Horton—heof the several lovable tons—was sitting in her tree, gently keeping her eggwarm and comfortable.Let’sthink about that for a moment, shall we? Firstly: An elephant. In a tree.Andsecondly: Said elephant sitting so gently on a bird’s egg that it wasn’tcrushed into an eggy nothingness.Now,I probably don’t have to tell you that five-year-old Diane swallowed this storywhole.Dianeof later years filled in a lot of potholes (see above).Backto my story…NowHorton, because he was loving and dependable, or, in his words, "An elephant's faithful, onehundred percent!" stayed on that Lazy Mayzie’s egg for nearly ayear.He suffered through storms, ridicule andfinally hunting season and not once did he falter in his task.I keep wondering what he ate. (Can one ordertake-out in a jungle?)Thehunters who had discovered him during the aforementioned hunting season, ratherthan do anything hunter-ish, decided they might make a bit of money off him ifthey dug up the tree—elephant, egg and all—and hauled the whole kit andkaboodle to a circus.Whichthey did.Therefollowed an arduous trip through the jungle, over mountains and across heavingseas.Idon’t know about you, but when I’m anticipating a ‘blessed event’, the lastthing I want to be doing is crossing heaving seas.Gulp.PoorHorton could do nothing else but endure. And finally, he, his egg, and his treereached their new home.Inthe middle of a circus.Where—you’veprobably guessed it—they were instant draws.Peoplecame. They stared. They discussed.Theymarvelled.Nowthis will probably come as no surprise but coincidentally, Lazy Mayzie’s ‘day ortwo’ Palm Springs spa was just down the road!Whowould have guessed?Andour sweet little mother-to-be just happened to be in the mood for some big-top entertainment.Imaginethe surprise when she and Horton clapped eyes on each other.Ofcourse, Mayzie probably would have simply faded happily back into the audience,except that, at that very moment, the egg—that very egg Horton had been sittingon for 51 loooong weeks—started to hatch.AndMayzie, now that the work was all done, decided she was ready to be a mom.Wordswere exchanged–well, mostly screamed—and by Mayzie.AndHorton, he of the perpetually loving nature, backed down the tree and out of hisegg’s life.Andthat’s when things really went sideways.Well,for Mayzie, that is.Becausethe bird that hatched from that egg…Well,that bird looked remarkably like Horton!Yep.Littletrunk and ears and tail.Ofcourse, it also had wings and bird feet, but one can’t have everything.Andeveryone—including the ‘chick’—proclaimed Horton the parent.AndMayzie had to be content with…nothing.Ifound this so satisfying as a child. I mean, she hadn’t done any of the work.Why should she get any of the reward?Andyou know what?Istill think that.
Fly on the wall is our chance, once a month, to share what has been happening in our homes, lives and imaginations!We're so happy you could visit!Now hurry over and see what my sister writers have been up to this month!
And Eggs-citing Story
Withapologies to Dr. Seuss…Itwas my favourite story when I was growing up.Let’sface it, my imagination just filled in any troubling (ie. frankly impossible) potholesin the plot.Stilldoes, in point of fact.Ahem…Hortonwas an elephant who lived in the jungle. Friendly and kind-hearted, he wasnearly always the first to offer help when needed—even when said offer may be alittle…complicated.Onthis particular day, Horton happened to be walking past the nest of Mrs. Mayzie,a bird who lived in the neighbourhood.Mayziehad laid an egg and the euphoria of anticipating her ‘blessed event’ had, howcan we say this judiciously?...erm…worn off.Shewas ready for someone else to take over so she could take a well-earned (in hereyes) break.Anunfortunate word when talking about an egg, but let’s just go on from there,shall we?Now,I will admit that it took a little convincing, but soon, Mrs. Mayzie (that lazybird) was winging her way to Palm Springs ‘for just a day or two’ and Horton—heof the several lovable tons—was sitting in her tree, gently keeping her eggwarm and comfortable.Let’sthink about that for a moment, shall we? Firstly: An elephant. In a tree.Andsecondly: Said elephant sitting so gently on a bird’s egg that it wasn’tcrushed into an eggy nothingness.Now,I probably don’t have to tell you that five-year-old Diane swallowed this storywhole.Dianeof later years filled in a lot of potholes (see above).Backto my story…NowHorton, because he was loving and dependable, or, in his words, "An elephant's faithful, onehundred percent!" stayed on that Lazy Mayzie’s egg for nearly ayear.He suffered through storms, ridicule andfinally hunting season and not once did he falter in his task.I keep wondering what he ate. (Can one ordertake-out in a jungle?)Thehunters who had discovered him during the aforementioned hunting season, ratherthan do anything hunter-ish, decided they might make a bit of money off him ifthey dug up the tree—elephant, egg and all—and hauled the whole kit andkaboodle to a circus.Whichthey did.Therefollowed an arduous trip through the jungle, over mountains and across heavingseas.Idon’t know about you, but when I’m anticipating a ‘blessed event’, the lastthing I want to be doing is crossing heaving seas.Gulp.PoorHorton could do nothing else but endure. And finally, he, his egg, and his treereached their new home.Inthe middle of a circus.Where—you’veprobably guessed it—they were instant draws.Peoplecame. They stared. They discussed.Theymarvelled.Nowthis will probably come as no surprise but coincidentally, Lazy Mayzie’s ‘day ortwo’ Palm Springs spa was just down the road!Whowould have guessed?Andour sweet little mother-to-be just happened to be in the mood for some big-top entertainment.Imaginethe surprise when she and Horton clapped eyes on each other.Ofcourse, Mayzie probably would have simply faded happily back into the audience,except that, at that very moment, the egg—that very egg Horton had been sittingon for 51 loooong weeks—started to hatch.AndMayzie, now that the work was all done, decided she was ready to be a mom.Wordswere exchanged–well, mostly screamed—and by Mayzie.AndHorton, he of the perpetually loving nature, backed down the tree and out of hisegg’s life.Andthat’s when things really went sideways.Well,for Mayzie, that is.Becausethe bird that hatched from that egg…Well,that bird looked remarkably like Horton!Yep.Littletrunk and ears and tail.Ofcourse, it also had wings and bird feet, but one can’t have everything.Andeveryone—including the ‘chick’—proclaimed Horton the parent.AndMayzie had to be content with…nothing.Ifound this so satisfying as a child. I mean, she hadn’t done any of the work.Why should she get any of the reward?Andyou know what?Istill think that.
Fly on the wall is our chance, once a month, to share what has been happening in our homes, lives and imaginations!We're so happy you could visit!Now hurry over and see what my sister writers have been up to this month!
October 18, 2024
Of Wits and WITches
Okay, I’ve officially interred this story as Chapter One in“Bad Parenting 101’.I will explain.But first a little background...
Hansel and Grethel lived happily in the woods withtheir parents. A papa who made his living—what else?—cutting wood and amama who stayed at home and made delicious things to eat and loved herfamily.But, sadly, their sweet and gentle mama got sick anddied.A year or so later, their kind papa married again.Their stepmother was not like the mama they hadlost. Oh, she was a ‘sturdy’ individual. Strong and hard working. The house wasclean and meals on time.But she was not what you would call ‘affectionate’.So Hansel and Grethel, though clean and well-fed,always went to their kind papa for snuggles and stories.And were nearlyas happy as before.Then ‘hard times’ came.
And that's where our story starts...
As the countryside grew poorer, though everyone stillneeded firewood, no one could pay. Instead, they sent their sons (and a fewdaughters) into the woods to cut their own wood.Thus the official woodcutter—though he was very goodat his job—grew very poor indeed. And his family along with him.Finally, they were looking at their last few crusts ofbread.Now remember when I said their stepmother wasn’t ‘affectionate’?Well, that comes into play here.One night, after the children had been put to bedwithout their supper, the SM told her husband, “We are starving. But there willbe more for me—and maybe you—if there are fewer mouths to feed.”Who even thinks like that?!I’m picturing the look on his face.I know what myexpression would be…Moving on…It takes—quite literally—all night, but the womanfinally convinces him that they should take the children into the woods andabandon them there. I think he gave in just to shut her up.What are your thoughts?Now there was one littlehiccup in her plan.It was overheard.By littleears.Hansel, unable to sleep, heard every word. And thatwas a lot of words.Being a clever boy, he crept out of the hut andgathered the white pebbles shining in the moonlight.Who’s with me in thinking all would have been well ifthey’d just fed said pebbles to the SM? I mean...it worked with Red Riding Hood.Just sayin'.Sigh.Back to my story…The next day, the two parents announced—one brightly,one…erm…not—that they were going for a picnic in the woods.Things rolled out as the SM had planned: long trekalong almost-non-extant trails. Fire built. Children told to wait while parents‘did something else’.And, along about nightfall, the children realizing they had been abandoned in the woods.But clever little Hansel had dropped pebbles besidethe trail during their long walk from their hut and, when the moon rose, they were clearly visible.The two littles easily found their way home byfollowing them.To their father’s joy.And their SM’s…erm…not-joy.But remember when I said this woman was ‘sturdy’. Well, she was also persistent.Undeterred, the next day, she again enacted her plan.Second time’s the charm, right?This time, Hansel, unable to pick up pebbles becausehis SM had locked the door and was sleeping on the key, used bits of his pieceof bread—oh, I forgot, each of the littles had pieces of bread for their ‘picnic—tomake a trail home.Yadda, yadda, yadda…abandoned.This time, they were unable to find their way homebecause the birds in the woods had found and devoured their tasty littlesignposts.Dratted birds.The littles simply wandered around until they finallyfell asleep.The next morning, when they awoke, they saw, to their relief,a funny little cottage peeking out between the trees.They hurried to it and discovered that it was made outof bread and cake and other yummy things. With spun sugar for the windows.Okay, I don’t know about you, but if I was starvingand came upon a little edible house, I’d be munching first and asking questionslater.Which is what they did.Soon a little old lady came out—yes, someone lived inthat little house.I have one thing to say…rain.Moving on…She was quite hospitable at first.But all that changed after the kids had eaten theirfill and were fast asleep in soft beds, dreaming of little edible houses.I have a question…How would one ‘clean’ such a place?I mean, I’ve tried to brush the dirt off of a piece of bread with little to nosuccess.And what would the dust-bunnies be? Cotton Candy? (Letme just say that this would the answer to all my childhood dreams.)Back to our story…While they slept, the old woman—actually a nasty,child devouring witch—carried poor, unsuspecting Hansel to her dungeon. Withthe intent to fatten him up and…you know…devour.And Grethel was forced to do the feeding.This went on for some time.The meals were good.And plentiful.Which begs the whole question: if the witch had somuch food to stuff into Hansel, why didn’t she just eat that? Why capture achild at all? Hmmm…?Oh, well, if we’d wanted reality we’d simply watch thenews.Every day the witch would ask Hansel to stick a fingerout of his cage so she could see how fat he was getting.Subtle, she wasn’t.He simply stuck out a bone from a past meal.The witch, unable to see very well, accepted said boneat face value. So to speak.And kept feeding him.Finally, as he didn’t seem to be gaining weight, sheran out of patience.Lighting the fire under the ‘big’ oven, she askedGrethel to check the heat.But Grethel, though she doesn’t get much of thespotlight, was as clever as her brother. Standing back, she simply said, “Please showme how to do that?”I have to tell you that I got away with somethingsimilar whenever my mom would ask me to any household chores.True story.Ahem...The witch—hopelessly outmatched in this game of wits,showed Grethel how to climb into the oven to check it for heat.At which time, Grethel simply…shut the door.I know the witch's death was distinctly unpleasant, but, let’sface it…she was sort of asking for it.Grethel wasted no time in freeing Hansel and the twoof them—justifiably, I think—ransacked the house to see if there was anythingworth taking.And discovered chests of jewels, etc.Which they lightened considerably into capaciouspockets.Then they skedaddled, finally finding their way home.(Oh, there is a little side story about a kindly duck who sails them across a great pond, but we'll discuss that another time.)Where their father, now a sad and broken—and single—mansat, grieving.There are several opinions on what happened to hissecond wife. Some say she died. Some say she left because:A. Even with the children gone, there wasn’t enough toeat.Or B. She had to go find herself.Or C. Let’s just face it…the ending is better withouther…The children and their father had a grand reunion andan almost-immediate trip to the grocery store because—a-fortune-in-jewels.And the three of them lived satiated-ly ever after.
The End.
Hansel and Grethel lived happily in the woods withtheir parents. A papa who made his living—what else?—cutting wood and amama who stayed at home and made delicious things to eat and loved herfamily.But, sadly, their sweet and gentle mama got sick anddied.A year or so later, their kind papa married again.Their stepmother was not like the mama they hadlost. Oh, she was a ‘sturdy’ individual. Strong and hard working. The house wasclean and meals on time.But she was not what you would call ‘affectionate’.So Hansel and Grethel, though clean and well-fed,always went to their kind papa for snuggles and stories.And were nearlyas happy as before.Then ‘hard times’ came.
And that's where our story starts...
As the countryside grew poorer, though everyone stillneeded firewood, no one could pay. Instead, they sent their sons (and a fewdaughters) into the woods to cut their own wood.Thus the official woodcutter—though he was very goodat his job—grew very poor indeed. And his family along with him.Finally, they were looking at their last few crusts ofbread.Now remember when I said their stepmother wasn’t ‘affectionate’?Well, that comes into play here.One night, after the children had been put to bedwithout their supper, the SM told her husband, “We are starving. But there willbe more for me—and maybe you—if there are fewer mouths to feed.”Who even thinks like that?!I’m picturing the look on his face.I know what myexpression would be…Moving on…It takes—quite literally—all night, but the womanfinally convinces him that they should take the children into the woods andabandon them there. I think he gave in just to shut her up.What are your thoughts?Now there was one littlehiccup in her plan.It was overheard.By littleears.Hansel, unable to sleep, heard every word. And thatwas a lot of words.Being a clever boy, he crept out of the hut andgathered the white pebbles shining in the moonlight.Who’s with me in thinking all would have been well ifthey’d just fed said pebbles to the SM? I mean...it worked with Red Riding Hood.Just sayin'.Sigh.Back to my story…The next day, the two parents announced—one brightly,one…erm…not—that they were going for a picnic in the woods.Things rolled out as the SM had planned: long trekalong almost-non-extant trails. Fire built. Children told to wait while parents‘did something else’.And, along about nightfall, the children realizing they had been abandoned in the woods.But clever little Hansel had dropped pebbles besidethe trail during their long walk from their hut and, when the moon rose, they were clearly visible.The two littles easily found their way home byfollowing them.To their father’s joy.And their SM’s…erm…not-joy.But remember when I said this woman was ‘sturdy’. Well, she was also persistent.Undeterred, the next day, she again enacted her plan.Second time’s the charm, right?This time, Hansel, unable to pick up pebbles becausehis SM had locked the door and was sleeping on the key, used bits of his pieceof bread—oh, I forgot, each of the littles had pieces of bread for their ‘picnic—tomake a trail home.Yadda, yadda, yadda…abandoned.This time, they were unable to find their way homebecause the birds in the woods had found and devoured their tasty littlesignposts.Dratted birds.The littles simply wandered around until they finallyfell asleep.The next morning, when they awoke, they saw, to their relief,a funny little cottage peeking out between the trees.They hurried to it and discovered that it was made outof bread and cake and other yummy things. With spun sugar for the windows.Okay, I don’t know about you, but if I was starvingand came upon a little edible house, I’d be munching first and asking questionslater.Which is what they did.Soon a little old lady came out—yes, someone lived inthat little house.I have one thing to say…rain.Moving on…She was quite hospitable at first.But all that changed after the kids had eaten theirfill and were fast asleep in soft beds, dreaming of little edible houses.I have a question…How would one ‘clean’ such a place?I mean, I’ve tried to brush the dirt off of a piece of bread with little to nosuccess.And what would the dust-bunnies be? Cotton Candy? (Letme just say that this would the answer to all my childhood dreams.)Back to our story…While they slept, the old woman—actually a nasty,child devouring witch—carried poor, unsuspecting Hansel to her dungeon. Withthe intent to fatten him up and…you know…devour.And Grethel was forced to do the feeding.This went on for some time.The meals were good.And plentiful.Which begs the whole question: if the witch had somuch food to stuff into Hansel, why didn’t she just eat that? Why capture achild at all? Hmmm…?Oh, well, if we’d wanted reality we’d simply watch thenews.Every day the witch would ask Hansel to stick a fingerout of his cage so she could see how fat he was getting.Subtle, she wasn’t.He simply stuck out a bone from a past meal.The witch, unable to see very well, accepted said boneat face value. So to speak.And kept feeding him.Finally, as he didn’t seem to be gaining weight, sheran out of patience.Lighting the fire under the ‘big’ oven, she askedGrethel to check the heat.But Grethel, though she doesn’t get much of thespotlight, was as clever as her brother. Standing back, she simply said, “Please showme how to do that?”I have to tell you that I got away with somethingsimilar whenever my mom would ask me to any household chores.True story.Ahem...The witch—hopelessly outmatched in this game of wits,showed Grethel how to climb into the oven to check it for heat.At which time, Grethel simply…shut the door.I know the witch's death was distinctly unpleasant, but, let’sface it…she was sort of asking for it.Grethel wasted no time in freeing Hansel and the twoof them—justifiably, I think—ransacked the house to see if there was anythingworth taking.And discovered chests of jewels, etc.Which they lightened considerably into capaciouspockets.Then they skedaddled, finally finding their way home.(Oh, there is a little side story about a kindly duck who sails them across a great pond, but we'll discuss that another time.)Where their father, now a sad and broken—and single—mansat, grieving.There are several opinions on what happened to hissecond wife. Some say she died. Some say she left because:A. Even with the children gone, there wasn’t enough toeat.Or B. She had to go find herself.Or C. Let’s just face it…the ending is better withouther…The children and their father had a grand reunion andan almost-immediate trip to the grocery store because—a-fortune-in-jewels.And the three of them lived satiated-ly ever after.
The End.
September 20, 2024
Lamb Dreaming
Sooo cute!
Mary had a little lamb, Whose fleece was white as snow,And everywhere that Mary went,
the lamb was sure to go.
Itfollowed her to school one day
which was against the rules.
Itmade the children laugh and play,
to see a lamb at school.
And so the teacher turned it out,
but still it lingered near,
Andwaited patiently about,
till Mary did appear.
“Whydoes the lamb love Mary so?”
the eager children cry.
“Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know.”
the teacher did reply.
Okay, so…firstoff, as a child, I always wanted a lamb for a pet.
True story.
I just wanted toget that out there.
On with our poem…
The first linessay that Mary’s lamb had a fleece as white as snow.
Now I’ve seenlambs. And their fleeces are never that white. In point of fact, they areusually rather gray. Or downright mud-coloured.
Moving on…
The next parttalks about that lamb following Mary everywhere.
I reiterate. I wanteda little lamb with soft fleece who would follow me everywhere.
Just sayin’.
Then we are to thepart where that sparkling, clean lamb followed Mary to school. Now I couldtotally get behind this.
Lambs at schoolwould definitely have made the days a little less…I don’t know…scholastic? Anda lot more fun.
But, let’s faceit, me having a lamb follow me to school would be no small feat as we lived 20miles from town and rode the bus! He would either have to be a superbly nimble littlecreature or I would have to get a lot better at hiding things that weren’tsupposed to be on a bus with 20 or so children aged 5 to 17.
I did make it allthe way with a snake in my pocket once, but that is another story.
And I digress…
So this teacher,whoever she was, got tired of the chaos and turned that little lamb out.
Now what does shehave against laughing, playing children?
Kill joy.
But that littlelamb was not only sparkling clean, it was also smart. (We are talkingfiction, here.) It hung around patiently until it was time for Mary to go home.
I’m picturing the joyousramble as the two headed off to familiar pastures for the day.
Happy girl. Happylamb.
Now the laughing,playing (see above) kids, witnessing this, had a question for their teacher. “Whydoes the lamb love Mary so?”
And the teacherhad a ready response, “Because Mary loves the lamb, you know.”
Now, I probablydon’t have to tell you that all of this was in my (Please, May I Have a Lamb?) presentationto my father.
But I’m quite sureyou’ve heard of the sometimes animosity between the sheepherders and the cattleranchers of the great prairies of the ‘west’.
And I don’t haveto tell you which side my Daddy was on…
My chances ofgetting lamb for a pet were slim to nil.
But that didn’tstop me dreaming…
He even met the Queen!
She took him when she went to school
He sat there on the bus.
The children would politely play,
And never made a fuss.
The teacher understood that Di
Needed 'Lambie' near,
To help her with her algebra,
And chemistry. ( The dear!)
The lambie loved Diane, you know,
The children saw that she
Also loved the little lamb
Up to the nth degree!
Sigh.
Fly on the Wall is an opportunity, once a month, for my blogging sisters and me to let you into our hearts and/or minds.For better or worse...How did I do this month?Now keep the fun going! Check out my sisters' posts!August 23, 2024
Wee Willy's Parenting Pointers
WeeWillie Winkie runs through the town,Upstairs and downstairs, in his nightgown;
Rapping at the window, crying through thelock,
“Are the children in their beds?
Now it’s eight o’clock. ”
Okay. First off, who is this‘Willie Winkie’ guy?
With his only two descriptors: weeand in his nightgown, much is left to the imagination.
Allowing those of us with a large storeof it to come up with countless possibilities…
Let’s go with the obvious. Wee andnightgown suggest to me that he is really small—perhaps a child?
And if so, how come he’s not inbed. Hmmm?
That is like the person who hands thepriest a list of people who didn’t close their eyes or fold their hands reverentlyduring a prayer at church. This always begs the question: How did he make thelist?
But I digress…
We may also surmise by the whole ‘upstairsand downstairs’ scenario that Willie is very mobile, which also suggests youth.
I know if it were up to me to runupstairs and downstairs in my nightgown, exactly one household may bealerted. The rest are on their own.
And, just for the record, I don’t evenappear out of my own bedroom in my nightgown. Also: as a senior,I’m probably in bed long before the children.
So there’s that.
Now, the whole ‘rapping at the window’ part.
If anyone rapped at my window, itwould wake me from a coma.
So what window is Willie knockingat? If it’s the children’s, I’m coming out with a baseball bat.
Just sayin’.
And the whole ‘calling through thelock’? Okay, yes, the old locks were basically holes in the door. The modernday lock is not in the least conducive to being called through. Or evenshouted.
Ever tried it?
You can take my word.
And if anyone is calling throughthe hole in my door, I’m calling the cops.
And who does he think he is? Demandingthat the children be in their beds by 8 o’clock?
Isn’t that a rather negativecommentary on people’s parenting skills?
I mean, even a truant officer canonly pick on children during the daylight hours.
True story.
So, Wee Willie Winkie, if you’rethinking of trying these games in the modern world, I can just see the outrage!
And the comments on whateverFacebook ‘discussion’ page you currently peruse.
“Did anyone else record some smalldude in a dress running through your yard? My alarm system went off rightaround 8 PM last night right in the middle of Desperate Housewives and this is what it caught:
[Follows: grainy and creepy nightvideo of someone flitting across the yard]
He was knocking on the windows andshouting something unintelligible at the front door. Scared both my cat and mykids so badly that I couldn’t get any back into bed. My camera didn’t get a clearview of his face. Did anyone else have something similar happen?
Comments?”
Yep. I can picture it well.
I think poor Wee Willie needs amodern-day do-over…
W. William Winkie [ Ph.D/Psy.D/MFT/MFCC] works in the town,
Here on Nightgown Avenue; upstairs or down
You needn’t try the window, his door is neverlocked,"Are there troubles in your home? Come in—you’re on the clock.”
Fly on the Wall is an opportunity, once a month, for my blogging sisters and me to let you into our hearts and/or minds.For better or worse...How did I do this month?Now keep the fun going! Check out my sisters' posts!July 19, 2024
Travels and Stories
It's been another busy month for the flies in the Tolley Household.First: A RecapWith health and age concerns, the powers-that-be (Husby) have decided 2024 and 2025 will be 'The Years of the Travel' and so far they've delivered.First, February in Hawaii:
Husby and a friend
March and April in Europe:
A little bit of Florence
Husby doing what he likes best!
May: at home welcoming a new Great Grand-Baby!
Auntie Q holding her nephew!
June exploring Saskatchewan and crying over graduates:
Eldest Grandson
Third Granddaughter--my writer!
Hanging Hearts Lake, Saskatchewan
And then July. Home with family, then off to visit extended family in Nova Scotia:
Annual Family Medieval Feast
A little pilgrim girl...
Peggy's Cove with my sister!!!
Did I mention that her youngest son, my nephew, is a chef? Well, he is and this is what he made for us:
You can check out his other videos at Redsfeast on Youtube. Bring your appetite!Thank you for taking this whirlwind trip with me!
And now...a story... (Warning: Nudity!)First, a little background...I get to have Q, Granddaughter #11 with me whenever her mama works. Which isn't often enough for me!Recently, Son # 2 and his wife went to Scotland for a little rain-soaked and wonderful holiday. This is what they brought me:
Which is a huge joke here because Gramma (me) goes every year to see the Highland Games and every single one of those stone throwers is wearing underwear. Just ask all of us senior women who line up every year to watch the event!
Ahem...Also: Grampa, whilst all of this is going on inside, is out in the garden, shirtless to try and get some sun.Now on to my story...This magnet sits at the very top of my fridge where I thought none of the youngers would see it. But little Miss Bright Eyes did.Q: Gramma? Why isn't that girl wearing any underwear?Me: That's not a girl, sweetie. That's a guy and it's kind of a joke. You see, the men in this country called Scotland have special cloth that they make into what is called a kilt. Different colours for different families. It's kind of like a skirt for guys. And they claim they don't wear any underwear under the kilt.Q: (Thinking it over) Well, I always wear underwear under my skirts! And leggings, too!Me: Yes, Sweetie. The men are very proud of their kilts. Here I'll show you some pictures.Picture us looking at...pictures.One of them is of a VERY buff man. Shirtless. In a kilt.Q: Oh look, Gramma! He looks just like Grampa. But with muscles.Me: Bwahahahaha! I think it very odd, but my husby didn't find it nearly as funny as I did.Hmmmm...
Fly on the Wall is a monthly challenge that I share with my blogging sisters, Karen and Marcia (and this time, Sarah!) where we invite people into our lives and recap the activities and/or thoughts of our past month.This was a wee glimpse into mine...Now see what my sisters have done!Baking In A Tornado
Menopausal Mother
Husby and a friendMarch and April in Europe:
A little bit of Florence
Husby doing what he likes best!May: at home welcoming a new Great Grand-Baby!
Auntie Q holding her nephew!June exploring Saskatchewan and crying over graduates:
Eldest Grandson
Third Granddaughter--my writer!
Hanging Hearts Lake, SaskatchewanAnd then July. Home with family, then off to visit extended family in Nova Scotia:
Annual Family Medieval Feast
A little pilgrim girl...
Peggy's Cove with my sister!!!Did I mention that her youngest son, my nephew, is a chef? Well, he is and this is what he made for us:
You can check out his other videos at Redsfeast on Youtube. Bring your appetite!Thank you for taking this whirlwind trip with me!
And now...a story... (Warning: Nudity!)First, a little background...I get to have Q, Granddaughter #11 with me whenever her mama works. Which isn't often enough for me!Recently, Son # 2 and his wife went to Scotland for a little rain-soaked and wonderful holiday. This is what they brought me:
Which is a huge joke here because Gramma (me) goes every year to see the Highland Games and every single one of those stone throwers is wearing underwear. Just ask all of us senior women who line up every year to watch the event!
Ahem...Also: Grampa, whilst all of this is going on inside, is out in the garden, shirtless to try and get some sun.Now on to my story...This magnet sits at the very top of my fridge where I thought none of the youngers would see it. But little Miss Bright Eyes did.Q: Gramma? Why isn't that girl wearing any underwear?Me: That's not a girl, sweetie. That's a guy and it's kind of a joke. You see, the men in this country called Scotland have special cloth that they make into what is called a kilt. Different colours for different families. It's kind of like a skirt for guys. And they claim they don't wear any underwear under the kilt.Q: (Thinking it over) Well, I always wear underwear under my skirts! And leggings, too!Me: Yes, Sweetie. The men are very proud of their kilts. Here I'll show you some pictures.Picture us looking at...pictures.One of them is of a VERY buff man. Shirtless. In a kilt.Q: Oh look, Gramma! He looks just like Grampa. But with muscles.Me: Bwahahahaha! I think it very odd, but my husby didn't find it nearly as funny as I did.Hmmmm...
Fly on the Wall is a monthly challenge that I share with my blogging sisters, Karen and Marcia (and this time, Sarah!) where we invite people into our lives and recap the activities and/or thoughts of our past month.This was a wee glimpse into mine...Now see what my sisters have done!Baking In A TornadoMenopausal Mother
June 21, 2024
Eensie Weensie
Fly on the Wall is a monthly challenge that I share with my blogging sisters, Karen and Marcia (and this time, Sarah!) where we invite people into our lives and recap the activities and/or thoughts of our past month.This is a wee glimpse into mine...
Okay, I tried to find the cutest one I could. It still makes me shiver.
Sigh.
Thefact that spiders and I aren’t friends won’t come as a surprise to many of you.Further,the statement ‘Spiders and I exist best when on different time continuums’ willalso strike a familiar chord.Butstill, I’m bothered by what follows…
Theeensie weensie parasite crawled up the chi-ld’s back.Downcame the rain and washed it down the crack.Outcame the sun and dried up all the rain…Andthe eensie weensie parasite crawled up and ate his brain!
Youcan now picture the resultant squeals of laughter.
*See also "Incy Wincy”Spider. Or “Itsy Bitsy”. I’m assuming they all mean the same thing…
If you enjoyed my Fly on the Wall post, go now and see what my friends have been up to this month!You'll be glad you did!
Okay, I tried to find the cutest one I could. It still makes me shiver.Sigh.
Thefact that spiders and I aren’t friends won’t come as a surprise to many of you.Further,the statement ‘Spiders and I exist best when on different time continuums’ willalso strike a familiar chord.Butstill, I’m bothered by what follows…
The eensy weensy* spider climbed up the waterspout.
Actually as far as this goes, I’m fine with it. Spider in waterspout. Diane. Both in different quadrants of their co-existent world and unlikely to cross paths. We’re good.
Theeensie weensie parasite crawled up the chi-ld’s back.Downcame the rain and washed it down the crack.Outcame the sun and dried up all the rain…Andthe eensie weensie parasite crawled up and ate his brain!
Youcan now picture the resultant squeals of laughter.
*See also "Incy Wincy”Spider. Or “Itsy Bitsy”. I’m assuming they all mean the same thing…
If you enjoyed my Fly on the Wall post, go now and see what my friends have been up to this month!You'll be glad you did!
May 17, 2024
Away From Home
Fly on the Wall is a monthly challenge that I share with my blogging sisters, Karen and Marcia, where we invite people into our lives and recap our past month.This is my glimpse into mine...
I'm a homebody.
There, I've admitted it.I do like being in familiar surroundings. And especially in my own bed. With my own bathroom (something that grows increasingly important with the passage of years! But I digress...)And my own stuff around me.But Husby loves to travel.And I love to be with him.So I travel.It's actually quite funny. With numerous health concerns between the two of us, much of what we pack consists of...pills.Yeah. We pretty much resemble a traveling pharmacy.Fortunately, pills are fairly portable. Thus far.Where was I?Oh, yes. Traveling.And enjoying it.Recently, Husby and I and a couple of close friends, Bill and Judy, left our aforementioned comfortable surroundings and did an Amsterdam/Belgium/Italy loop.It was cold. I've never quite witnessed the cold like Amsterdam when it's +3 C, blowing a legitimate gale. AND raining.
Yep. There's no cold quite like it.And I live in Canada!But we enjoyed every single minute.Let me 'briefly' tell you about it...First Amsterdam (Or Hamsterdance, as Granddaughter #11 called it!). We were there for the tulips.And wow! Did we see TULIPS!(Just FYI: None of my pictures turned out, so most of what follows came from my artist/photographer friend, Judy White.)
Husby and me!
Keukenhof- a must-see!
Of course, being in Holland, we had to see windmills in Kinderdijk:
I want this library so much!
Now THAT's a model!
Nightwatch by Rembrandt. Just one of thousands!
And churches:
Grote Kerk, Haarlem
We could have spent a month there!But we had a schedule to keep, so on to the First World War Sites in Belgium. Just outside of what was known then as Ypres:
Of the 12,000 graves in this cemetery, only 4,000 were identified. The rest were 'Known Unto God'.
I've never cried so much...
Hill 62 Battlefield. Preserved just as it was. The divots and swales are from artillery blasts.
And now "sheep may safely graze'.
St. Julien Canadian Memorial
And then Florence and the surrounding countryside:
David.
So many works of art. So little time!
And SO many people!
We also took a bus trip out into the countryside of Tuscany. Pisa, Siena, San Gimingano. Fantastic!
We're not sure how many of these trips we have left in us, so we toured and ate and talked and laughed and absolutely enjoyed ourselves. There are thousands more pictures and an equal number of memories, but at least you got a glimpse.Thank you for coming along!
When you start to look like your passport photo, it's time to go home.
Now go and see what Karen and Marcia were up to this month!Trust me. You'll be glad you did!
I'm a homebody.
There, I've admitted it.I do like being in familiar surroundings. And especially in my own bed. With my own bathroom (something that grows increasingly important with the passage of years! But I digress...)And my own stuff around me.But Husby loves to travel.And I love to be with him.So I travel.It's actually quite funny. With numerous health concerns between the two of us, much of what we pack consists of...pills.Yeah. We pretty much resemble a traveling pharmacy.Fortunately, pills are fairly portable. Thus far.Where was I?Oh, yes. Traveling.And enjoying it.Recently, Husby and I and a couple of close friends, Bill and Judy, left our aforementioned comfortable surroundings and did an Amsterdam/Belgium/Italy loop.It was cold. I've never quite witnessed the cold like Amsterdam when it's +3 C, blowing a legitimate gale. AND raining.
Yep. There's no cold quite like it.And I live in Canada!But we enjoyed every single minute.Let me 'briefly' tell you about it...First Amsterdam (Or Hamsterdance, as Granddaughter #11 called it!). We were there for the tulips.And wow! Did we see TULIPS!(Just FYI: None of my pictures turned out, so most of what follows came from my artist/photographer friend, Judy White.)
Husby and me!
Keukenhof- a must-see!Of course, being in Holland, we had to see windmills in Kinderdijk:
And museums: The Rijks Museum is beyond stupendous:
I want this library so much!
Now THAT's a model!
Nightwatch by Rembrandt. Just one of thousands!And churches:
Grote Kerk, HaarlemWe could have spent a month there!But we had a schedule to keep, so on to the First World War Sites in Belgium. Just outside of what was known then as Ypres:
Of the 12,000 graves in this cemetery, only 4,000 were identified. The rest were 'Known Unto God'.
I've never cried so much...
Hill 62 Battlefield. Preserved just as it was. The divots and swales are from artillery blasts.And now "sheep may safely graze'.
St. Julien Canadian MemorialAnd then Florence and the surrounding countryside:
David.So many works of art. So little time!
And SO many people!We also took a bus trip out into the countryside of Tuscany. Pisa, Siena, San Gimingano. Fantastic!
We're not sure how many of these trips we have left in us, so we toured and ate and talked and laughed and absolutely enjoyed ourselves. There are thousands more pictures and an equal number of memories, but at least you got a glimpse.Thank you for coming along!
When you start to look like your passport photo, it's time to go home.Now go and see what Karen and Marcia were up to this month!Trust me. You'll be glad you did!
April 19, 2024
Being Simple
It's time for Fly on the Wall!Where we give our beloved readers an opportunity to see what has been going on in our homes--and minds--this past month.I have been thinking about--what else--pie!
I’m quite sure you all know that I love pie.True story.And so poems that discuss this particular subject are pretty muchguaranteed to capture my attention.Ahem….Thus, I introduce to you:Simple Simon.Okay, personally, I think labeling anyone as ‘simple’ is alittle insulting. I just want to put that out there. And yes, at first glance,this appears to have nothing at all to do with ‘pie’.Wait for it…
Simple Simon met a pieman, Going to the fair, Says Simple Simon to the pieman. Let me taste your ware!
Ha!Told you!Let’sjust make a note here and now that I am totally with Simon in asking for alittle taste. If someone is giving away free tastes, I’m there.Justask the girl at Baskin Robbins. I think I set a record.Judgingby the look on her face, she wasn’t as impressed as I was.ButI digress…Whatwere we talking about?Oh,yes. Pie tastes…I’mthere.Particularlyif the pie is lemon. Or cherry. Maybe blueberry. Pumpkin.Okay.Any flavour. Ahem...So thus far in the story, Simon and me, we’re together.Now that pieman’s reaction in the next stanza is, in a word,predictable.
Says the pieman unto Simon. Show me first your penny, Says Simple Simon to the pieman. Indeed I have not any!
Oh,Simon, I feel your pain.ThatBaskin Robbins girl (see above) said the same thing.Ofcourse, by that point, I think my ‘tasting’ could easily have equaled a doublecone.Oops.But thisis where Simon and I depart company. Because I DID have a penny!Orseveral, because, let’s face it…ice cream ain’t cheap!Ishould point out here that I do, in point of fact, sympathize with the pieman.I mean, this is his livelihood we’re talking about. And—here’s where icecream differs from pie—a little taste out of a tub of ice cream is noticeably lessnoticeable than a little taste from a nicely, neatly-covered pie.Solet’s move on, sadly, away from pie.Sigh.
Simple Simon went a-fishing, For to catch a whale, All the water he could find Was in his mother's pail.
Okay, here’s where I admit that I am a miserable fisherman.In my life, I’ve caught a grand total of…zero fish.Oh, I’ve drowned a lot of poor, defenseless worms, one or twobugs and some fairly innocent corn kernels in a bid to catch something besidesboredom.With no luck whatsoever.But even I, with said miserable record, know that one ishardly likely to catch even a mini whale in one’s mother’s pail.Pretty simple, Simon.And lastly, this…
Simple Simon went to look If plums grew on a thistle, He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistle.
A couple of thoughts here.Thistles were plentiful where I grew up.And—I just want to say this here—not one ever bore anythingeven remotely resembling a plum.Stupid, useless thistles.And I have been the recipient of a thistle’s tender embrace.It is anything but tender.And you’ve probably figured out that, having experienced the ‘prickly’tendencies of your typical thistle, the last thing I feel like doing iswhistling.Just sayin’…
Up for more? Go, now and read what my sister writers have been up to this month! Enjoyment guaranteed!
I’m quite sure you all know that I love pie.True story.And so poems that discuss this particular subject are pretty muchguaranteed to capture my attention.Ahem….Thus, I introduce to you:Simple Simon.Okay, personally, I think labeling anyone as ‘simple’ is alittle insulting. I just want to put that out there. And yes, at first glance,this appears to have nothing at all to do with ‘pie’.Wait for it…
Simple Simon met a pieman, Going to the fair, Says Simple Simon to the pieman. Let me taste your ware!
Ha!Told you!Let’sjust make a note here and now that I am totally with Simon in asking for alittle taste. If someone is giving away free tastes, I’m there.Justask the girl at Baskin Robbins. I think I set a record.Judgingby the look on her face, she wasn’t as impressed as I was.ButI digress…Whatwere we talking about?Oh,yes. Pie tastes…I’mthere.Particularlyif the pie is lemon. Or cherry. Maybe blueberry. Pumpkin.Okay.Any flavour. Ahem...So thus far in the story, Simon and me, we’re together.Now that pieman’s reaction in the next stanza is, in a word,predictable.
Says the pieman unto Simon. Show me first your penny, Says Simple Simon to the pieman. Indeed I have not any!
Oh,Simon, I feel your pain.ThatBaskin Robbins girl (see above) said the same thing.Ofcourse, by that point, I think my ‘tasting’ could easily have equaled a doublecone.Oops.But thisis where Simon and I depart company. Because I DID have a penny!Orseveral, because, let’s face it…ice cream ain’t cheap!Ishould point out here that I do, in point of fact, sympathize with the pieman.I mean, this is his livelihood we’re talking about. And—here’s where icecream differs from pie—a little taste out of a tub of ice cream is noticeably lessnoticeable than a little taste from a nicely, neatly-covered pie.Solet’s move on, sadly, away from pie.Sigh.
Simple Simon went a-fishing, For to catch a whale, All the water he could find Was in his mother's pail.
Okay, here’s where I admit that I am a miserable fisherman.In my life, I’ve caught a grand total of…zero fish.Oh, I’ve drowned a lot of poor, defenseless worms, one or twobugs and some fairly innocent corn kernels in a bid to catch something besidesboredom.With no luck whatsoever.But even I, with said miserable record, know that one ishardly likely to catch even a mini whale in one’s mother’s pail.Pretty simple, Simon.And lastly, this…
Simple Simon went to look If plums grew on a thistle, He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistle.
A couple of thoughts here.Thistles were plentiful where I grew up.And—I just want to say this here—not one ever bore anythingeven remotely resembling a plum.Stupid, useless thistles.And I have been the recipient of a thistle’s tender embrace.It is anything but tender.And you’ve probably figured out that, having experienced the ‘prickly’tendencies of your typical thistle, the last thing I feel like doing iswhistling.Just sayin’…
Up for more? Go, now and read what my sister writers have been up to this month! Enjoyment guaranteed!
On the Border
Stories from the Stringam Family ranches from the 1800's through to today.
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