Tuesday night we drove back from Mammoth in the dark. The sun set, the road was two lanes and narrow. There were no lights, except cars shooting toward you in the opposite direction. The great dark hulk of the Sierras lay to the right like a sleeping monster. Driving took concentration, and we still had a long way to go.
So Jonathan came up with a game. The boys would come up with the elements, and we would tell the stories. Jonathan asked questions: Funny, funny-scary, or scary? (funny-scary, said Benji). Real or unreal (unreal, said Theo). Fable or fairy tale or science fiction? (fable, said I).
Then you are on. You have to think on your feet and keep weaving your tale, judging your audience reaction by giggles, complaints, and sighs of pleasure and satisfaction. When the story goes off track the audience chimes in to complain. (That is not a fable! or That is not very funny!) Because the goal is to pass the time, you also have to keep the story going as long as possible, so the miles fly by, and hopefully, boys will be lulled to sleep. Jonathan's was great, about a strange visitor, who makes all sorts of wonderful things happen, and solves all the family's problems. But in the end he was not real. The moral: You cannot wait for a stranger to solve all your problems. You have to figure it out yourself."
None of us saw that coming. We were disappointed. The imagination part of the story was very alluring.
Then it was my turn. I got three words: Weird (Theo), Ocean (Benji) and cat (Jonathan). I got to suck in my breath, imagine a setting, then dive in. It is like a strange sort of mental exercise--perhaps the way improv goes if you are really good. I started, and Theo yelled out (you are copying a book, and I know which one!). Harsh audience!
But I wove my tale, about a blue cat who takes to the sea, and eventually saves his mother. There is a lot more to the story, and I will not bore you with it here.
But in the end, I got the most gratifying reward.
I finished, and Benji let out a long, perfect, contented sigh.
"That was good," he said.
Oh, it was the perfect gift for a night-time storyteller. I had cast the spell and he was smitten.
"Did you like Blue?" I asked. (Blue was the name of the sea kitten).
"I want to be Blue," he said.
Oh, be still my beating heart.
No amount of money could compensate me for that perfect appreciation.
December 10
8 years ago
3 comments:
Oh how Ruth would love to live in a family of storytellers! Her request is always for true-life stories. She tells me that Daddy knows more, but when I eventually come up with one it's usually good... but Ian has one for every request.
o you are a total storyteller. and a finder of great stories. step up, jessica. thank you so much for your steady stream of great books for theo. so thoughtful and wonderful and i keep finding more you have sent. we LOVE the phantom toll booth, read it in school and at home, and i like reading it out loud because it is so clever. i have to show you the drawings in the american version because they are very famous and charming. people name children milo after the character in that book. xoxo
I thought you might have it, but also that you could always have another copy... the author also wrote the first book (first gift?) my father ever gave to my mother The Dot and the Line... have you read it?
Post a Comment