My Mother Told Me Stories

Image by StevenW. via FlickrI loved stories, and my mother told them to me.  Sometimes she would take a traditional story and change it to add excitement and flavor.  When she told me Cinderella, there were two balls.  Cinderella left the first one and did not lose her shoe.  Then, she returned on the second night and her carriage turned to a pumpkin at midnight.

She had studied literature and enjoyed telling me stories from the classics.  I loved them.  She introduced me to Pandora and Achilles.  These were better stories than the fairy tales, but I love stories from her childhood.  They were special because I visited the house and the rooms and the people in them.

Some of the stories I tell are about her.  She loved to read popular novels of the day, but she wanted to share them with my father.  They managed this by reading to each other in the evening.  Sometimes she couldn't stand the suspense and would read a chapter alone.  Then he would have to catch up.  I find it very romantic.  I have two books of poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay that they gave each other for Christmas.  Very romantic.

The most romantic and thrilling story she told was about her honeymoon.  She said they rode to Deport, about 5 or 6 miles, on a railroad handcar.  She never gave any details other than a ride in the moonlight.  More romantic.

Years later Daddy dispelled the fantasy.  Their honeymoon consisted of going to dinner at a restaurant with the maid of honor and best man after the wedding.  This isn't the bummer it could have been.  She had that romantic fantasy and shared it with me.  There was romance in her soul and I got to enjoy it.