My first Story-Time Tuesday!

This first story is adapted from a tell-aloud story I share with our grandchildren in the car.

So...here we go with Chapter One of my First Story-Time Tuesday! Gulp!
STORIES FROM HOME - Chapter One

At the edge of a pond…

At the edge of a woods…

At the edge of a mountain…

Stood a sad little house.

It had been so long since the sad little house had been a home, it had almost, but not quite, forgotten what it was like to be loved.

Once upon a time, the sad little house had been dressed in shiny, white paint that turned a lovely shade of pink each morning when the sun came up over the mountain.

Once upon a time, the sad little house had been surrounded by beautiful flowers and bees buzzing around blossoms of red, yellow, white and purple.

Once upon a time the sad little house’s big front porch had stood straight and proud, welcoming friends and family to sit and dream, and to drink lemonade from frosty, cold glasses.

But now the sad little house’s paint was peeling into dirty little drifts of grey. The weeds had grown tall and covered up all the flowers. The only thing that ever sat on the weathered and worn front porch was a small, skinny calico cat that lived in the old, red barn behind the sad little house.

Once upon a time the sad little house’s front door had been painted a cheerful, bright red and opened into a hallway cluttered with shoes and bookbags.

Once upon a time the sad little house had windows that were clean and sparkling. Through their polished surfaces you could see little faces anxiously awaiting the school bus, or a beloved grandmother’s arrival.

Once upon a time the sad little house was filled with chaos and clatter and the chatter of children and the steady, calm voices of a mother and a father.

But now the faded front door opened to piles of dead leaves and dirt. Some of the windows were cracked and the rest were so covered with grime that sunlight could hardly find its way inside. The only sounds the sad little house ever heard were the groan of the wind through the broken windows, or squirrels and chipmunks and tiny, brown field mice skittering across the dust-covered floor. Do you know that many people think a house is just a thing, like a rock or a chair, and that the boards and the bricks and the stones have no feelings?

And sometimes those people might be right.

But sometimes, when a house has been long and well-loved, something magical happens. The boards and the bricks and the stones become filled with laughter and love, and the house turns into a safe and wonderful place. The house becomes a home.

And often when things change and children grow up and the people who love a home move away, something very sad happens. The home becomes just a house again.

But this sad little house at the edge of a pond, at the edge of a woods, at the edge of a mountain was a very special little house.

And because it was so special, somehow deep down inside the sad little house a bit of the magic stayed alive even when its loved ones moved away.

Maybe the magic came from all the memories of laughter and love and from a wish and a dream that someday someone would return and love it again.

The sad little house stood at the edge of a pond, at the edge of a woods, at the edge of a mountain for a long, long time.

It watched as the pond froze and thawed, and fish jumped in the blue-mirrored water, and as ducks quacked loudly in the small waves decorated with colorful fall leaves.It watched as the woods became silhouettes of black and white branches aginst freshly fallen snow, and as bright green buds grew into cool, lovely summer leaves and as autumn painted all the trees glowing colors of gold and red and orange.

It watched as the tops of the mountain became decorated with glittering snow, and then covered in spring blossoms of orange and yellow. It saw when mysterious shadows made the mountain seem like a dark purple painting against a bright blue October sky.

But after some time had passed the sad little house lost even more happiness because the trees and weeds surrounding it grew higher. On some summer days the sad little house could hardly see the pond and the woods and the mountain.

Almost hidden away, the sad little house watched and waited…season after season.

And season after season, nobody came.

And the sad little house grew even sadder, its paint peeling even more. The bees rarely came to visit because the flowers were hidden in tall weeds. And sometimes even the small, calico cat didn’t come to sit on the worn and weathered front porch.

The sad little house grew lonelier.

And it had to try very, very hard to remember the sounds of chaos and clatter and the chatter of children and the steady, calm voices of a mother and a father.

And only on the very best of days could the sad little house remember what it was like to be dressed in shiny white paint with clean and sparkling windows and a cheerful, red front door.

To be continued on Tuesday, April 27th.

To read Chapter Two just click here!
To read Chapter Three just click here!
To read Chapter Four just click here!
To read Chapter Five just click here!
To read Chapter Six just click here!To read Chapter Seven just click here!
To read Chapter Eight just click here!To read Chapter Nine just click here!To read Chapter Ten just click here!To read Chapter Eleven just click here!To read Chapter Twelve just click here!
(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
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under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws .The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.