365 Days- Book I

96. Fairy Tale

October 4, 2018

"Rewrite a fairy tale. Give it a new ending or make it modern or write as a poem."

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Once upon a time, a long time ago...

"How long ago?"

I smile at my niece and her innocuous question - "not sure, Honey, but it was a long time ago."

"Even before grandpa?"

I had no choice but to quantify it, however, I want to play it safe, so I pretend to think and then answer, "even before his great grandfather's time."

It seemed to be long enough for her, for she nodded her acceptance and gave me permission to continue, but asked me to include that pertinent fact.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, sometime around grandpa's great grandfather's time, there lived a little girl named Red Riding Hood..."

"Why Red Riding Hood?"

"Because she always wore a red cape with a hood," I rattled off without missing a beat, proud of having the answer, but my little Ila was not done yet.

"So what was her name before she started wearing that cape? And tomorrow when she grow bigger and gets a green cape will her name change to Green Riding Hood?"

I am a little taken back, I had always taken the fairy tales at face value and not once did I question this tale, but neither could I deny the logic of her questions. So I once again pondered and replied, "Well, she had a nice name, but then she loved that cape so she wore it all the time so everyone soon called her as Red Riding Hood."

Ila thought about it but soon disagreed, "No, she has to have a name, how can she not have one?"

I kept quiet, this story telling session seems to have taken a different direction and I was not planning to encourage her, not that she needed any for she came up with a solution, "We will call her Marigold and she will not wear any cape or anything, so there is no confusion."

I accept her suggestions, it was definitely easier, though I should have guessed she would pick Marigold, she loves that flower and those shades of gold and orange and yellow. I take a breath and restart.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, sometime around grandpa's great grandfather's time, there lived a little girl named Marigold who lived with her parents. One day Little Marigold's mother said, "Here, child, take this basket to your grandmother. It's got bread, butter, cake and berries in it. She's feeling sick and I hope this will make her feel better. Don't talk to strangers, don't leave the path and walk straight to your grandma's house."

Little Marigold's grandmother lived half an hour away in the woods outside the village...

"Why?"

I looked up from the book, I knew the peace was too good to last but I was not sure of what Ila wanted.

"Why what? Honey?"

"Why does her grandmother stay in the woods and not with them in the village? My grandma stays with us?"

I had not answer so I tried another way, "Sweetheart, it is just a story so it is fine..."

Her eyes pooled with tears and her lower lip trembled, which caused a shudder in me, 'Oh no, not a crying fit, first thing I cannot see her cry, secondly, a crying fit so close to her bed time would be a long drawn out one which would exhaust all of us.' I threw the book on the bed and pulled her in my arms, "You are right, since we are changing the story, we will make the grandma live in the same house, maybe upstairs, in a nice room of her own.

I was rewarded with a bright smile and a hug, which was sufficient for me to restart the story, again.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, sometime around grandpa's great grandfather's time, there lived a little girl named Marigold who lived with her parents. One day Little Marigold's mother said, "Here, child, take this basket to your grandmother. It's got bread, butter, cake and berries in it. She's feeling sick and I hope this will make her feel better. Don't talk to strangers, don't leave the path and walk straight to your grandma's house."

Little Marigold's grandmother lived with them in a room of her own, on the first floor. So Marigold set off, carrying the basket...

"But if Grandma was sick, how can she eat all that cake and butter? You make me eat dry toast and drink hot milk only."

I tried not to grit my teeth, not when it was my five year old niece, staring at me with her large brown eyes full of wonder and inquisitiveness, though I am sure it is also a ploy to postpone her bed time, as much as possible. It is with a bright smile that I reply, "Yes, you are right, I think this story writer is confused, we shall change it right away."

So I began, all over again, only to stop when it came to the entry of the wolf, for I was stumped, 'how does the wolf enter into the home and then threaten the grandmother?'

I wanted to ask Ila but then felt stupid, 'ask a five year old girl? I should be able to think up a passable tale on my own.'

Finally five minutes later, with Ila almost dropping off with disappointment, I narrated my retold version.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, sometime around grandpa's great grandfather's time, there lived a little girl named Marigold who lived with her parents and grandparents. One day Little Marigold's mother said, "Here, child, take this tray to your grandmother. It's got dry toast, some soup and milk in it. She's feeling sick and I hope this will make her feel better. Walk straight up to her room and do not stop in between, the soup would get cold. Do you understand?" Little Marigold nodded and set off, carrying the tray. But just before she reached the stairs, the neighbour's dog bounded in and stopped in front of her.

Little Marigold was scared of that dog, who was big and scary; she wanted to shout for her mother, but then felt it might make the dog jump on her. Then she remember how her Grandmother always asked her to be polite so she looked at the dog, and hoping that the tray would not fall from her tembling fingers, asked him, as politely as she could, "Dear Doggy, I have to carry this tray to my Grandma, she is not feeling well. If you move aside, I will go up and give this tray to her and once she is finished, we could play in the yard. I will throw the stick which you like to fetch."

Time stood still as Marigold waited, wondering if what her mother and grandmother taught her would work, she was also getting scared, a little and worried that the soup would get cold. Suddenly, the dog gave a whimper and settled a little far away, plopping his face on his paws as if to say, 'go on, I will wait for you.'

Fifteen minutes later a happy Marigold and the droopy dog went out to play in the yard and soon became the best of friends. And that is the end of the story.

Ila was bright and flushed; I could make out that she loved the story, though I felt it stupid. However, for the hug and kiss that I got, I can spend a lifetime writing such stories.

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Word count 1226 - I hope it sort of makes up for the tardiness.