I have been writing down some of the
stories that I tell my grandchildren. I like to write, but I find it easier to
tell these stories than to write them. Perhaps, because the writing that I normally
do, is for adults rather than children it does not flow easily when I am
writing for a younger audience. When I am with the children stories seem to
slip easily out of my mouth. It has been a tradition for me to tell stories for
years and the kids often ask for them. I write a story for their birthday. Just
this last year or two, I have included my sister’s three youngest grandchildren
so that means I must write nine tales per year. I am finding that to be a bit
of a chore. The stories have been kept on a flash drive so I am not repeating
myself. I am starting to wonder just how many stories there are in my head. My brother
does not seem them so he cannot correct my telling. I get to be the authority.
I used to finish these stories in plenty
of time to mail them to the birthday child, but lately I am struggling to get
them done in a decent amount of time. I now trust the US mail to get them there
in one or two days. I know that kids enjoy hearing the stories, but I am not
sure that they like the written versions as I do not hear much about them.
From reading my stories, my niece was
surprised to learn that Carolyn and I shared a bedroom as her mom, my sister, always
referred to that bedroom as “her” room. We shared all of my life until she went
off to college. Since she did not go right after graduation and I am three
years younger, I would imagine that I was 16 years old. Perhaps because Carolyn
was older, she certainly controlled how we managed that room so it felt like
her room to her.
Paula
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