Trouble For Us All

I have trouble with mice. No, let me rephrase that - I have trouble with killing mice. I especially have trouble with mousetraps. Anyone who reads a fair amount of picture books has a certain affinity for mice, from Beatrix Potter's Tailor of Gloucester, Johnny Town-Mouse and Mrs. Tittlemouse to Kevin Henkes' Chrysanthemum, Wemberly, Owen, Julius, Wendell, Sheila Rae and Chester.

It's the matter of disassociation that I am incapable of achieving when it comes to these tiny creatures. I see that little mouse running thoughout the house, and before I know it, I have introduced myself. After a couple of meetings, I find out that the mouse has a name and a story. And after a week, he has become a household guest. I think the proper term is anthropomorphism, and I am "Queen Anthropomorphodite"!

Of course, the general consensus of most of the sane members of my family is that the best mouse is a dead mouse. So, I try to find the most humane euthanazia possible for the tiny mammals. I refuse to use glue pads. The idea of catching a mouse on one of those sticky pads and the tiny animal struggling for it's (literal) life to get free gives me the creeps. If you don't agree with me, that's fine. I just have a problem with starvation, suffocation, dehydration, torture and slow death! I also can't stand the bait that causes the mouse to search for water, which activates the poison and explodes in their stomach. Something seems terribly sinister about that whole concept. And the worst form of eradication for me - MOUSETRAPS!

Humans are absolutely obsessed with mousetraps! There's the spring-loaded bar mousetrap, the mouth mousetrap, the electric mousetrap, and believe it or not, the inert gas mousetrap that notifies the user by email so the trap can be emptied!

Just recently my mom told me about a humane way to eradicate mice. It's a anticoagulant bait they eat that supposedly kills them humanely and painlessly. After they have ingested the poison, it also embombs the mice so they don't have an offensive odor when they die. So, I tried it. The next morning, I opened my bedroom door, and a baby mouse was dead in the hall. He had one little drop of blood on his mouth, and I know he sacrificed his life to send me a message! Leave us alone!

Years ago, I received The Mouse Trap Story via email. I knew that the mouse tale had to be part of the Tomorrow Trunk, but I wanted to write an adaptation in picture book format. I also wanted my version to rhyme. I entitled my adaptation Trouble For Us All. I searched to find a name to credit the original story, but all I could find was Anonymous. Maybe it should have been credited to Anonymouse!

TROUBLE FOR US ALL

Mouse looked through a crack in the wall,
and that’s what started trouble for us all!

Farmer had a sack tucked behind his back.
He bent way down to Mouse’s hidden crack…
“I’m going to catch you, sneaky little mouse.
Starting today, there’s a trap in the house.”

Farmer held out his hand and the flat wooden trap
with a tiny gold hinge and a GREAT BIG SNAP!

Mouse ran outside! He squealed and he squalled!
“A trap in the house means TROUBLE FOR US ALL!”

Chicken, quite nobly, raised her proud head.
“Dear Little Mouse,” she clucked, “I heard what you said.
But truly this means no trouble for me.
Don’t ruffle my feathers! Please let me be!”

Well, Pig was a-wallowing like all pigs do.
“Mouse, I know the trap means trouble for you;
but the sun is shining, and I need a nap.
Come join me in the mud and forget about the trap.”

Now Cow was so big, and mouse was so small,
that Cow barely heard Mouse shrieking at all.
She made fun of Mouse, "MOO-OOOH! We all need to hide!
Let’s dig a deep hole and get way down inside!
Now, MOOO-VE!" Cow bellowed, and Mouse ran away.
“I’ll dig a deep hole,” said Mouse, “and that’s where I’ll stay!”

That very night trouble started with a SNAP!
Wife woke up and ran to check the trap!

But it wasn’t Mouse in the trap (like she thought),
instead the tail of a sneaky snake was caught!
Snake was scared, and he wanted to be free;
so when Wife bent down, he bit her on the knee!

Farmer called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“Your wife will be fine, if she just stays in bed.
If she runs a fever, here’s what to do –
make her a pot of hot chicken stew.”

So Farmer grabbed his hatchet, and he went outside.
Chicken saw trouble coming, and she ran away to hide.
She spied Mouse’s deep hole, and with a little peck,
tapped on the door to save her pretty neck.

Wife got better without chicken stew,
so Farmer decided to have a big barbecue.
“Let’s thank our neighbors, our family and our friends.”
So he grabbed his hatchet, and he headed to the pen.
Pig saw trouble coming, and he slid behind a log.
Farmer couldn’t find hide nor hair of that hog!
Pig is down in the hole with Chicken and Mouse,
and it’s all because there’s a trap in the house.

Finally, Wife was well, and Farmer couldn’t wait
to invite the whole town to come and celebrate!
How would he feed them all? He knew how!
He grabbed his hatchet, and he headed for the cow.
Cow saw trouble coming, and she jumped over the gate!
She knew she had to hide or else seal her fate!
So, deep, deep down in Mouse’s hole she went,
and that is where her next two weeks were spent.

When the farm was safe, they all came out.
Each one of them had a tale to talk about…
It really doesn’t matter if you’re big or you’re small –
trouble for one means TROUBLE FOR US ALL!

Adaptation, 2005. Dianne B. McLaurin.

During the past few years, we have learned many lessons about the importance of personal and global responsibility, and how they are so interconnected. We are all first-hand witnesses of the "ripple effect" within our ecosystems and our economy. We have learned that even when there is a teeny, tiny trap in our big global house, the end result might be trouble for us all. Maybe that's why there is only room for mouse stories in the Tomorrow Trunk, and never mousetraps!

Dianne ; )

A Story In There

Certain events in my life just belong in my story. Big things and little things, like having my first article (that I wrote in the fifth grade) published on the front page of our county newspaper or learning about apertures and f-stops in my tenth grade photography class where I was introduced to my first SLR camera. Of course, there was the night I met my husband, the birth days of my kids and my year at the beach. Still, at the top of the list was the day I was hired to be a children's librarian. In my former life, I had been a newspaper reporter, editor and general manager of a weekly newspaper. Then, I stayed home for ten years to be with my young children. I decided to go back to work when my youngest son entered his fifth grade of school. I had been offered three opportunities for employment: an insurance sales person for Aflac, a showroom decorator for a high-end antique store and a children's librarian at a public library. I chose the latter; and like the front page article and the photography class, that decision completely impacted my life and became part of my story.

My first position was at a city library, and my first branch manager was an old-schooled librarian. Every morning, we made sure that all the spines of all the books were completely parallel to the front of all the shelves. Actually, that was just one of many rituals that became a part of my library experience. However, as a children's librarian, my main responsibility was Preschool Story Time. I was a perfect fit!

I absolutely love children's books! To this day, I can glean more from a book with 500 words and a great lesson, than I can from a 500-page novel. Most people just read picture books, and think - cute. I read a children's book and I think composition and editing, patterns and repetition, and illustration and color, plus the ten essential items for the reading fair story boards. And I always know there's "a story in there."

One Wednesday - Preschool Story Time day - at the first library where I worked (I have worked at seven, I think), I was unable to come to work due to a sick child. I did not have sufficient time to contact the parents of the preschoolers, so my branch manager said that she would inform them at the circulation desk that the story time was cancelled. She told me to take care of my child and not to worry.

The next day, she relayed to me the sweetest story - a story I haven't forgotten in twelve years. One little four-year-old boy was so disappointed that story time had been cancelled. He grabbed his mother's hand and dragged her to the glass door of the story time room. He then said, "Please look, Mommy. I know there is a story in there."

Awww. My heart still melts when I think about that request. But then, like those picture books with 500 words, I felt the deeper profoundness of the statement. My oldest daughter always describes me to her brother and sister by saying, "You know Momma. She has always gotta have a story."

I know when my kids open the Tomorrow Trunk for years to come, they will be assured to find a story in there. But, the way that small child looked through the glass door is the way we all should look at the everyday rituals and patterns of our lives. Rituals, patterns, plots, repetitions, edits - life is just one big picture book! There is always a story in there. Maybe we just accept that preschool story time has been cancelled for us, or maybe we can be just like a little four-year-old determined to find a story.

This past Wednesday I was driving home on my favorite Mississippi highway. I have always passed a sign about a canoe and cabin rental place called Okatoma, so on this day I decided to stop - to find a story in there. It was a beautiful fall day, and I thought I would just drop by for a leisurely visit. However, when I got there, a sign on the door read, "Closed for the afternoon. Drop by tomorrow."

I felt just like that little disappointed four-year-old boy. At first I just decided to leave, and then I began to see a story in there - patterns, repetitions, illustrations. Even though I had no words, I could only imagine the stories that belonged to that beautiful setting.

I bet there's a story in there!

And a couple more in there!

And bunches of stories in there!

This past semester, my middle daughter took a photojournalism class at college. She learned all about patterns and color and composition. She said, "To think, all these years, I've just been taking pictures!" And to think, picture books are cute. What I really think is that we all have a few important four-year-old lessons to learn about life. There is a story in there!

Dianne ; )

Just So Aimee Lou

The first attempt I made to write a children's story was Just So Aimee Lou. It has been read by friends and family and has been shared with hundreds of children in various settings. Aimee, my oldest daughter, is twenty-eight-years old; however, when I wrote the story, she was eight. Twenty years ago! Even though she is not as "just so" as she used to be, she is still pretty high maintenance. She just recently bought a charming cottage. During the moving in and renovation process, I definitely caught glimpses of just so Aimee Lou...especially when it came to deciding on paint colors.

Now, I really see that eight-year-old come alive when people come to visit. Aimee walks around with a coaster in one hand and a cleaning wipe in the other! Because she lives so close to the beach, sand is always an issue. I won't even begin to describe her high maintenance mania when it comes to sand in her house! She genuinely wants her friends and family to feel comfortable in her home, but she also wants everything to be "just so"!

Keeping everything just so is another one of those tough assignments. A couple of weeks ago, I went to have new tires put on my vehicle. I was talking to a guy about the maintenance on my car and how expensive it was to keep up. We got into a discussion about maintenance, in general. "Our whole lives are about maintenance," he said. "It's maintenance for our cars, our kids, our houses, our pets, our bodies! It seems like we spend our entire existence just trying to keep everything going. We even buy burial policies and life insurance, so that we can keep on maintaining after we're dead! It's exhausting! Dental check-ups, batting practice, oil changes, laundry, homework, flea treatments, weeds and flowers, gym workouts, air conditioning filters...it never stops! And here I sit, getting new brake pads on my car. Maintenance is like a drill sergeant; just when you think you have finally caught a break, there he is screaming in your ear!"

Wow! I thought, this guy needs a vacation. Or did maintenance just whisper that into my ear? When I had my two younger children one year apart, maintenance took on a whole new meaning. I was the editor of a newspaper, and I couldn't juggle all of those "just so" balls; so I traded in my writing pens for diaper pins. If you are really high maintenance in one area, the other areas of maintenance will suffer, such as friendships, hobbies or careers. I know. I completely dropped off the radar when I was maintaining the lives of three children under eight.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: World War III again...for about the tenth time this week! Matt and Katie are taking full advantage of their rank as terrible two-and three-year-old toddlers. Today they broke Barbie's neck. Yesterday, they tore out the parts of Aimee's books that they didn't like and colored the rest. I've tried shutting the door to her room, and they still find something of hers to destroy. Aimee has always been such a neat child, keeping everything clean, organized and in its place. I think Katie was pretty much following her example (through Aimee's strict indoctrination!) ...until Matt came along. That's when he began his campaign of mass destruction, and Katie was recruited in no time at all. So, the peacekeeping mission continues with me in the middle!

JUST SO AIMEE LOU

In the small town of Center Ridge
lives a girl named Aimee Lou;
Aimee Elizabeth, to be proper,
but Aimee Lou to me and you.

There is one thing about Aimee Lou
that everyone must know -
when it comes to her room, her clothes and her toys,
everything has to be just so.

She has a place for everything
and keeps everything in its place.
When something is where it doesn't belong,
she makes an awful-looking face.

You see, Aimee Lou was an only child
until she was almost eight;
then something unexpected happened
that seemed absolutely great!

Aimee's mom came home
from the doctor one day
with the most wonderful news,
"A baby is on the way!"

A little sister, thought Aimee Lou,
who will be just so like me,
and always put everything
right where it's supposed to be.

And a little sister she was,
a baby girl named Katie Bea -
Kathryn Beatrice to be proper,
but Katie Bea to you and me.

Those first six-months were fun
for just so Aimee Lou;
then one day her mother announced,
"I've got another surprise for you!"

I went to see the doctor
for a check-up yesterday.
I can hardly believe the news myself!
Another baby is on the way!"

Wow! Another baby,
thought just so Aimee Lou.
This time I am sure
that only a boy will do!

And a baby boy he was,
a little brother named William Matt.
But after the first year passed by,
this one turned into a brat!

Matt went through the house
like a wrecking machine
and made the biggest messes
Aimee Lou had ever seen!

He tore up all her favorite books
and broke all her pretty dolls;
he pulled out all her shoes
and wrote on all her walls!

Day in and day out,
he tried to drive her crazy!
And there was one thing she knew for sure -
BOYS WERE JUST PLAIN LAZY!

Worst of all,
if all that wasn't enough,
he was teaching just so Katie Bea
to do all that rotten stuff!

Then one sunny afternoon,
they were playing outside.
Matt climbed up the ladder
and fell off the slide.

His little head was bleeding,
and his tiny jeans were torn.
Aimee remembered all the times
she wished he had never been born.

While Mom called the hospital,
Aimee lowered her head.
She walked to her room
and knelt beside her bed.

"Even though he tears up
everything I own,
without Matt around
this house just won't be home."

Aimee Lou and Katie Bea
sat quietly with Dad and waited.
All Aimee Lou thought about was the Matt she loved,
not the brat she hated.

At last, Doctor Phil announced,
"Matt is okay! He just needs a few stitches,
some chocolate ice cream
and a new pair of britches!"

When Aimee Lou saw Matt
with messy ice cream in his hand,
she knew there would be times
he'd be more than she could stand.

But at least she had learned a lesson
that everyone should know -
there's more to this life
than keeping everything just so.

Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 1990.

I have just started blogging this month. This is my third and final attempt, because blogging is so high maintenance. Sometimes I only recognize high maintenance as that "just so" unforgiving friend. My "just so" friend never lets me off the hook when I drop the ball. Even now, if I forget to call one of my kids before a difficult college exam or forget a family member's birthday or just forget to pay a bill, my "just so" friend pays me an unrelenting visit. Still, I want to give blogging one last try, even if I mess it up occasionally. Maybe that's what we all need to do: Hide the coasters, take off the white gloves and allow a little sand into our lives.

Dianne ; )

Romeo Next Door

I have never had good luck with neighbors and dogs. The neighbor's dog was either attacking my dog or the neighbor was attacking me about my dog. I remember one of the worst incidents on record was a situation where a neighbor accused my dog of torturing her two stray cats. She was shouting at me on my front porch in 100-degree Mississippi heat.

She was dressed in a tank top and short shorts with a black pair of cowboy boots and a black cowboy hat and believe it or not, a dip of snuff in the side of her mouth. Her cursing tirade went on for an hour, until I finally consented to have my dog euthanized and pay the $125 vet bill for the two tortured stray cats. I didn't do either one. I MOVED!

Just recently I had another "neighbor's dog" incident. I just love animals, and they know it. There have been times I have actually felt like Cinderella with all the animals as my only friends. But when I met Romeo, it was love at first sight. Romeo lives inside a fenced-in yard next door to my oldest daughter's new house. Every time I would go visit her, Romeo would stand at the fence and watch my every move - like a secret admirer. Then one day, he appeared at our front door. The neighbor's son picked him up and took him home; but the next morning, Romeo was right back on our front porch.

If I went inside, he would just sit and watch me through a front porch window. He was just so adorable. I mean, after all, his name IS Romeo. All day long, he sat at our house, until the neighbor's son came home from school. He would pick up Romeo and take him home, then the process started all over again the next morning.

One weekend, I went home to see my parents. When I got back on Monday morning, Romeo started scurrying around the fence in his yard, found his opening and came running up to my car. I had just petted him when I heard my neighbor. She grabbed Romeo and told me that he had never behaved like this before we moved in. She rebuked me harshly for encouraging him to get out of his fence. She accused me of feeding him, and then she asked me if I would please not pay any attention to him - at all. She said she would appreciate it if I would just ignore him. That day, the neighbors found his hole in the fence and they fixed it.

I was furious at first, but then I realized they were only concerned about Romeo's safety and the strict leash laws in the neighborhood. I hated not to look at him when he stood at the fence, but I knew I had to do it. Even though I ignored him completely, he never stopped watching me. To this day, he still sits at the fence and waits for me.

I thought about Shakespeare's Romeo, and I decided to write a story about my Romeo. I never write children's stories about myself, so I made my daughter, Aimee, the protagonist. And, of course, I had to have a happy-ever-after ending. Unfortunately for Romeo and me, that's not the real-life ending we got.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: I have met someone. His name is Romeo, and he is in love with me; however, he is not allowed to visit me. He is not allowed to sit on my lap, or chase me in the front yard or ride in the basket on my bike. We are separated by a chain link fence, and we are forbidden to be friends. So, he sits and watches me when I sweep the sidewalk, or water the ferns or get out of my car. I know he is watching me, but I cannot bear to look at him. I just pretend he is not there.

Romeo Next Door

Love at first sight – that's what Aimee said about her little white cottage on the bay. She found the cottage on a perfect summer day. She loved the cottage because it had two porches and two swings, a lush green garden and an agreeable stray cat. Aimee moved in and parked her bike with a basket next to one palm tree in her front yard.

She had only begun to settle in when she had her first visitor. The minute she opened the door and looked into his eyes, it was love at first sight – for the second time. She found out that his name was Romeo, and he lived next door. Every morning, he crawled through a hole in the fence to visit her. Aimee gave Romeo special treats during his visits and always held him her lap as they sat on the front porch swing.

When Aimee went inside during the day, Romeo sat on a comfy cushion in his favorite wicker chair and watched her through a porch window. When she came into view, he sat up on his hind legs and wagged his tail. When she walked to another room, he waited.

Every afternoon, Aimee and Romeo went for a ride on the beach. He sat in the basket on her bike and barked at birds. Then, at the end of every day, Aimee kissed Romeo good night, turned off the porch light and went inside her cottage. Romeo crawled back through the hole in the fence and slept inside a small shed until morning.

Until one morning, that is, on a perfect fall day...

Aimee opened her front door, and Romeo wasn't there. She looked around for him and found him on the other side of her neighbor's fence. The hole in the fence had been repaired, and Romeo could not get through to Aimee's side.

Aimee had always known that Romeo belonged to her next door neighbor, but no one had seemed to mind the time they spent together. Romeo looked at Aimee. He began to whimper and beg, and then he timidly crawled to the fence. He waited for her to reach across the fence and pick him up. But, she couldn’t. Even though she loved him and he loved her, he did not belong to her.

Aimee still loved her cottage. She painted rooms, planted flowers and changed decorations with the seasons, but she did not go near her neighbor’s fence. Romeo never left the fence. At times, he heard her voice and caught a glimpse of her. Romeo barked and howled; Aimee pretended not to hear.

Months passed, and the fence became overgrown with hedges. Still, Romeo found one spot in the bushes where he could see Aimee. Every morning and every night, she sat on the swing on her upstairs balcony. Romeo perched on his hind legs and watched her from his favorite spot. Aimee did not know that Romeo was watching her, and Romeo did not know that Aimee's next door neighbor was watching him.

Until one morning on a perfect Spring day...

Aimee heard a knock at the door. She opened the door and saw Romeo for the first time in months. Holding him was a man she had never met. He bashfully introduced himself as her next door neighbor. Romeo jumped into her arms and began licking her face!

“I want you to have Romeo,” her neighbor said. “He watches you every morning and every night through the hedges. He wants to spend his days with you. I do not want to make him choose between us, so I am giving him to you.”

“Why does he have to choose?” asked Aimee.

So on that perfect Spring day, Aimee and her next door neighbor cleaned a spot in the hedges. Together, they put up a gate for Romeo that is always open.

Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 2010.

One of the most difficult lessons to learn as a child is to not want something that belongs to someone else. As adults, we have to teach that lesson, so that our children learn boundaries. Some adults never learn that lesson, and I had to re-learn it myself...even if the something I wanted was the companionship of a dog named Romeo, and the boundary was my neighbor's fence.

Dianne ; )

Love Fest!

Whenever you realize that your favorite picture is an object of synergy, you gain an unbelievable power over what seems boring or mundane. I now understand so clearly that beauty is in the EYE of the beholder. Every week I look at loads of photography blogs, and I see lots of beautiful pictures. Weddings, dogs, sunsets, smiles. Some of the photos are of such unbelievable quality that they seem like works of art. The beauty is not necessarily in the object, but in the photographer's ability to see from that unique "eye" within - that perspective or viewpoint. As crazy as it sounds, this synergy between photographer and picture is almost like a love fest!

One of my favorite pastimes is looking at photo slideshows while listening to my favorite music playlists. Sometimes it seems like an almost serendipitous perfection when a picture falls right in sync with an appropriate song or lyric. In that moment, a random picture takes on a whole new quality of wonder. You are no longer just looking at an image taken from the lens of a camera, you are looking into a moment of significance. I have so many favorite folders, but at the top of my list is Father's Day of this past year. The folder contains a bunch of country pictures - rural settings, worms, dads, grandpas, cousins, babies, gardens, dogs - but it's a total love fest for me!

I am very seldom with every member of my family at the same time. My husband travels all over the South, and I am constantly on the road from one "home" to another. But, I do have a beloved community - all around me, all the time. Eastern tradition calls it a sangha. It's how we find home outside of home, and how we find sanctuary in exile. My beloved community exists within words and pictures, and fortunately for me, I am the beholder.

My beloved community!

What a love fest!

Dianne ; )

Miss Jane

When I think of October and fall, I think of Jonesborough, Tennessee and the National Storytelling Festival! What memories I have made at the annual festival - talk about fairy dust. It completely covers those mountains! Two years ago, my son and I made a return trip to Jonesborough for the festival, which is held the first full weekend in October. Along the way, we got side-tracked by a little town called Blowing Rock, North Carolina. Unless you are one of the deprived souls who has not read the Mitford series by Jan Karon, then you would know that the fictional village of Mitford is loosely based around this charming mountain town. That weekend spent with my son did not disappoint. I think those two days were two of the best days I have ever lived.

The reason I love the Mitford series is because of the range of characters created by the author. Every single character is one-of-a-kind. The same goes for the real-life characters at the storytelling festival. I just love authentic human beings! Real genuine characters. I have always said that my family should have the USA network logo hanging above our door: Characters welcome!

Sadly, we just don't welcome characters anymore. One of my favorite storytellers is Kathryn Tucker Windham (google her for more info - such a character!), and this is one of my favorite quotes by her: "We don't see as many characters as we used to see in small communities. We have become so homogenized. We are all just alike. We have become very dull. I hate for future generations to be deprived of characters. There is nothing so sad as a homogenized society."

Thankfully, I grew up with some 'real' characters! One stands out above all the others; not just to me, but to my kids and generations of kids. Miss Jane. It's almost Halloween, and the small town of Raleigh, Mississippi, is dressing up for the holiday in all the usual ways - pumpkins, scarecrows, witches and ghosts. But there is one resident of this small town who is 'Queen of Halloween'. Miss Jane is a retired science teacher who has been scaring the bajebees out of every kid in Raleigh for as long as I can remember! She and her family live at the end of a long driveway called Burrows Lane, which they decorate each year. Believe me, this driveway is not for the faint of heart! I can proudly say that I walked down the driveway and lived to tell the story!

TODAY'S BIG STORY: Today is a rite of passage for my children! I am passing a tradition down to them on this Halloween night - one they will always remember. Tonight they face their fears! Tonight they join the rank and file of the terrified! Tonight they walk down Burrows Lane and meet Miss Jane! What a larger than life character! What a big story! The Tomorrow Trunk would be totally deficient without it!

Miss Jane

Come close, my children, I have a story to tell

about an old lady who knows it so well.

Every year as spooks dress up for Halloween,

there can only be one who wears the title of “Queen”.

She has always lived at the end of Burrows Lane,

and those who have met her call her Miss Jane.

Miss Jane doesn’t need tails of lizards or wings of bats;

she doesn’t need witches' broomsticks or tall pointed hats.

Miss Jane casts her spells by the stories she tells.

Like a moth to the flame, Miss Jane draws you in

when she opens her mouth and her story begins…

Two boys went out on Halloween night –

their names where Jimmy and Joe.

They rode their bikes just outside of town

to a house that few kids would go.

Jimmy and Joe had always been told

about a place called Burrows Lane.

“All who are brave enough to go in the house

never come out again.”

But Jimmy and Joe were not afraid,

as they rode down the creepy dark lane.

They stopped at the house, stepped onto the porch

and looked through a window pane.

“There is nothing here,” said Jimmy to Joe,

“except a clock on the wall, a sheet on the floor,

a bunch of spider webs and a chain on the door.”

So they unwrapped the chain and threw it on the ground,

then they walked inside to have a look around.

“This is nothing but a spooky old house,” said Jimmy to Joe.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go."

The house was so quiet, and everything seemed fine,

but right at midnight, the clock began to chime.

ONE – TWO – Jimmy and Joe watched as the sheet began to move.

THREE – FOUR – The chain started to rattle as it slid inside the door.

FIVE – SIX – SEVEN – EIGHT – They heard a noise like the locking of a gate.

NINE –TEN – The boys could not believe what they saw then.

ELEVEN – TWELVE – The spiders spun a head of white hair from all those spider webs!

Right in front of them stood an old lady with silky white hair,

wearing a long flowing sheet, and carrying a chain!

They both knew right then, she had to be Miss Jane!

As they stared at her with their mouths opened wide,

she picked up her chain and crept slowly outside.

Jimmy and Joe watched her leave, but where was she going?

Would she come back? There was no way of knowing.

So they huddled together and they trembled with fear,

and just about that time, Miss Jane screamed, “I’M HERE!”

...all the children started screaming,

their hearts filled with fright!

They never forgot that story,

and they never forgot that night.

For everyone’s Halloween tale was always the same,

“You haven’t been scared, ‘til you’ve been scared by Miss Jane!”

Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 1998.

I think one reason I love blogs is because of the range of characters I meet. I love looking at quirky pictures and admiring amazingly creative talents. But I think what I love most is how individuals tell 'their' stories. I told this story to a group of elementary children at a library program. Right on cue, Miss Jane came walking out, dragging her chain. I am laughing out loud, just thinking about their faces. We need characters to remind us not to take ourselves so seriously. We need characters so we don't become just like everybody else. And, every town in America needs at least one 'Miss Jane'.

Dianne ; )

The Tough Assignment

Sometimes "Today's Big Story" is not an easy one to write. From the reporter to the editor, anyone who has ever sat behind a news desk has experienced the tough assignment. I had plenty of them - the pictures you didn't want to take, the people you didn't want to hurt, the truth you didn't want to reveal. I can remember grabbing my camera, walking out the door and saying, "It is what it is."

The one requirement for the tough assignment is thick skin. The term "thick skin" refers to the skin of a pachyderm, such as an elephant, hippopotamus or rhinoceros -- an outer covering which is resistant and impermeable. It also refers to skin that has become callous, due to the process of induration (literally, to endure) or acquiring hardness. I can remember Matt having these terrible blisters on his hands during high school. He assured me that these open, painful sores were just part of baseball. Once they 'scabbed over' or calloused, he would be fine, i.e. thick skin.

Years ago, I had a really tough assignment. A kindergarten teacher pulled me to the side and suggested that my middle daughter might need to be "tested." She felt that my favorite five-year-old might not be "catching on" as quickly as the other kids. Even now, eighteen years years later, I can feel the weight of the sigh that just left my body.

This week, my oldest daughter and I were talking about a young man who has had to develop some thick skin and endure some hardness because of the misdeeds of his mother. I told her that I just wished his life could have been different. Aimee responded with a profound statement: "Mom, you can't rob someone of their story, because it may make them who they are supposed to be."

TODAY'S BIG STORY: Wow. This is the day that I have to make an editorial decision about the Tomorrow Trunk. Today I have to decide if I want to be selective about the stories that go into the trunk. Today I have to decide whether to omit the ones that are difficult to carry. This morning, I met with Katie's kindergarten teacher. Today I heard the words that critically disable the great expectations of a parent. As I listened to her carefully scripted words, they burned hotter than the flames of the fire that burned a county high school to the ground. After the teacher's meeting, I walked to the playground. When Katie saw me, she came running - my favorite five-year-old. I knew I had a tough assignment ahead of me. So I held her hand, walked to the car and said, "It is what it is."

Katie's Lazy Daisy

She began like all the other daisies, from a teeny, tiny seed. But something happened the day she was planted. All the seeds were scattered in a flower bed filled with fresh dirt and bordered by strong, sturdy timbers.

All the seeds, except one…

which fell to the side and landed just outside the bed on a dried clump of red clay – a place where nothing seemed to grow.

The warm Spring sun baked the hard clay. Just underneath, the tiny seed was trapped. After days of pounding and pushing, a skinny little stem slipped through one thin crack!

“Whee! I’m free!” Daisy shouted!

“I must clean up a bit.” She shook off a stubborn clod of dirt and unfolded her petals.

Just as she was about to announce her arrival, she saw them. Bunches of them! All so tall!

Big, bright, beautiful daisies! They saw her, too, and they laughed.

“Hey, what happened to you?” they teased.

“Are you a puny petunia?"

“I think she is a weeping willow!”

“I know! She is a lazy daisy!” Then they all laughed again.

Every morning, Lazy Daisy struggled to stand straight and tall like the other daisies. No sooner than she raised her stem and opened her petals, the whole cluster started making their jokes.

One daisy blossomed above all the others. She had a perfect white circle of petals and a HUGE yellow head. Every day she made fun of Lazy Daisy. Usually, Lazy Daisy covered her head with her petals and pretended not to listen.

The summer days passed by slowly. Weeds grew up all around her. Lazy Daisy could not see the other daisies, but she knew they were there. Lazy Daisy could not even see the sun.

One morning, she was barely awake when she heard a sound. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The ground shook beneath her, as the sound came closer and closer. She lifted a petal to see what was happening.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Lazy Daisy was afraid.

The sharp, shiny blade cut its way through the crowded weeds. “No! No!” she screamed! “I am not a weed! I’m a flower! Please don’t cut me down!”

Lazy Daisy pulled her petals in tightly as dirt and diced weeds fell on top of her.

Suddenly, the shaking stopped. “What on earth are you doing here, little daisy?” asked a voice, soft and kind. Then one small finger gently straightened her willowy stem. “I think you need someone to take care of you. My name is Katie.”

Katie broke away the hard crust and loosened the dirt. With steady hands, she scooped beneath Daisy’s roots and pulled her stem out of the clay. Then, she took Daisy to a special pot.

Katie pushed her tender stem into warm, rich soil...plenty of water, too. “This should do just fine,” said Katie.

But, starting over wasn’t easy. Day after day, Katie watered and waited. At last, Daisy began to blossom and bloom like she never had before!

“Welcome to your new home,” Katie announced. She placed Daisy on a small windowsill between two red clay pots. “It’s time for you to meet your new friends! This is Violet, and this is Pansy!”

Daisy looked at Katie and her new friends, and she looked out the window. Just below, she saw the flower bed and the crowded bunch of daisies. She also saw something else – her own reflection in the window pane! Daisy straightened her stem, puffed out her petals and smiled with delight.

Katie softly touched Daisy's white petals and said, "Look at you now, my amazing Daisy."

Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 1992.

Katie called me Monday of this week. A Hall of Fame graduate from her high school and a former flight attendant, she now attends a major university. She was totally stressing over a really hard philosophy test. Despite hours of study, she expected the worst. At one point, I just told her, "It is what it is."

Yesterday, she called me again, completely ecstatic. She said she was so excited that she could hardly breathe. She had made an 87 on her philosophy test! At one point, she even used the word 'amazing'. I could almost visualize her holding the phone - straightening her stem, puffing out her petals and smiling with delight. Then, I thought about my favorite five-year-old and I said to myself, "Yes she is."

Dianne ; )