"Rock-a-bye baby"

"Rock-a-bye baby" (author unknown"

One of the Origin Stories of America’s Favourite Nursery Rhyme:

Effie Crockett was invited to help some mothers in the Muskogee Tribe. Once she arrived in camp, Effie laughed at what she saw. The Muskogee Tribe had a custom of cradling their pappooses among the swaying branches of birch trees. This protected their babies from ground insects, the sun, and wild animals.

After first finding it funny, she soon learned all the great reasons for this practice and marvelled at the beauty of it.

Effie watched the swaying and soothing motion of the topmost branches of the trees. She loved how each baby enjoyed nature, how they listened to the songbirds, observed every ladybug, and smiled at the colours of a butterfly, every little breeze was felt and enjoyed by these young ones; each babe seemed perfectly content.

One of the Tribal mothers began to sing a song to the children in her native tongue. As the Muskogee mother sang, Miss Effie observed a small tear running down the mother’s cheek.

Effie translated the words and kept the tune. She shared it with everyone and it soon became a wildly popular nursery rhyme among the Colonies.

The English translation:

Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top,

When the wind blows the cradle will rock,

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Why did the Muskogee mother cry?

A “bough” is simply a tree branch, and its breaking was used by the Muskogee mothers as an analogy of their little baby growing up.

Their little baby would soon outgrow his cradle. With each gently rocking wind, time was passing. One day, the little baby would no longer need the protection of their mother. One day, the “branch” would break because her little baby had become too heavy. The “cradle” would fall to the earth – the child, no longer a baby, would dust themselves off and grow into a self-responsible adult.

The now famous lullaby was first printed in Mother Goose’s Melody.

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"LIES MY MOM TOLD ME"

"LIES MY MOM TOLD ME"

(author unknown)

This story began when I was a child. I was born into a poor family that often didn’t have enough food to fill our hungry stomachs. During meal times, Mother would give me her portion of rice. As she transferred her rice into my bowl, she would always say, “Eat this rice, son. I’m not hungry.”

That was Mother’s First Lie.

As I grew up, my persevering mother spent her spare time fishing to provide me with nutrition. She would cook fresh fish soup for me, and while I ate, she would sit beside me, quietly picking at the remnants left on the fish bones I had finished. Feeling touched, I would offer her the other fish portion, but she always refused, saying, “Eat the fish, son. I don’t really like fish.”

That was Mother’s Second Lie.

When I was in junior high school, Mother took on extra work assembling used matchboxes to help fund my studies. One night, I woke up and saw her still working by candlelight. I said, “Mom, go to sleep. It’s late, and you have to work tomorrow.” She smiled and replied, “Go to sleep, dear. I’m not tired.”

That was Mother’s Third Lie.

The final term arrived, and Mother took leave from work to be with me. She patiently waited for hours in the heat while I finished my exam. When it ended, she welcomed me and poured a cup of tea from a flask. Seeing her covered in sweat, I offered her my cup, but she pushed it back and said, “Drink, son. I’m not thirsty!”

That was Mother’s Fourth Lie.

After my father died, my mother had to provide for us alone. Life became harder, more complicated, and we suffered daily. Despite our worsening situation, we were blessed with a kind old man who visited and helped us occasionally. Neighbours often advised my mom to remarry, but she refused, saying, “I don’t need love.”

That was Mother’s Fifth Lie.

After I finished my studies and got a job, it was time for my mom to retire. But she didn’t want to, she went to the marketplace every morning to sell vegetables to support herself. I worked in another city and often sent her money to help, but she wouldn’t accept it. Sometimes, she even sent the money back, saying, “I have enough money.”

That was Mother’s Sixth Lie.

With my Bachelor's Degree, I pursued a Master's funded by a company scholarship and got a job there. I planned to bring my mother to live with me so she could enjoy her life in the city, but she didn’t want to inconvenience me. She said, “I’m not used to that kind of life, son.”

That was Mother’s Seventh Lie.

In her later years, Mother became seriously ill and needed to be hospitalized. I travelled across the ocean to be by her side. She lay weak and exhausted on her bed after surgery, her frail appearance a stark reminder of the toll the illness had taken. Though she tried to smile warmly, it was clear it took considerable effort on her part. Seeing her like this broke my heart, and my tears flowed freely without me even realizing. Despite her own suffering, she gathered her remaining strength and said softly, “Don’t cry, my dear. I’m not in pain.”

That was Mother’s Eighth and Last Lie.

After uttering her final lie, my beloved mother closed her eyes forever, leaving behind a poignant silence that spoke louder than words ever could.

I realized that the greatest acts of love are often hidden behind simple, everyday sacrifices. Cherish the silent struggles of those who love us, for they reveal the depth of their devotion.

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"The Magic Mirror"

"The Magic Mirror"

(author unknown)

Once upon a time in a quiet village, there was a young girl named Emma. She lived with her grandmother, who was known for her wisdom and kindness. One day, Emma's grandmother gave her a special gift – a small, ornate mirror.

"This mirror holds a bit of magic, my dear," her grandmother said with a twinkle in her eye. "It can show you things beyond what you see with your eyes."

Emma was curious and held the mirror in her hands. As she gazed into it, she saw her own reflection, but there was something more. The mirror seemed to shimmer with a soft, golden light.

From that day on, Emma would often sit by her window with the mirror in her hands, wondering about the magic it held. She looked at the village, the trees, and the sky, hoping to see something extraordinary.

One evening, as the sun was setting and painting the sky with shades of orange and pink, Emma saw something amazing. In the mirror, she saw a field of colourful flowers, more vibrant than any she had ever seen. There were reds, blues, and yellows dancing in the breeze.

Emma's heart filled with wonder and she knew she had to find this magical place. She quickly got ready and set out on an adventure, taking the mirror with her.

She walked through forests and crossed streams, guided by the image in the mirror. Along the way, she met friendly animals and kind strangers who offered her food and shelter.

Finally, after days of travel, Emma arrived at a meadow filled with the very same flowers she had seen in the mirror. They were even more beautiful up close, their petals soft like silk.

As Emma explored the meadow, she discovered a hidden grove with a majestic tree at its centre. Its leaves seemed to sparkle like emeralds in the dappled sunlight. Under the tree, there was a small, weathered book.

When Emma opened the book, she found stories of adventures, kindness, and the magic of nature. She realized that the mirror had led her here not just to see something extraordinary, but to be a part of it.

With a heart full of gratitude, Emma returned to her village, carrying the magic of the meadow in her memories. She now knew that the mirror's true magic was not in showing her wonders, but in inspiring her to seek them out.

From that day on, Emma's village knew her as the girl with the magic mirror. She shared her stories and the wisdom she had gained from her adventure, reminding everyone that sometimes, the most magical things are found not in far-off lands, but in the simple wonders that surround us every day.

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"CATCH A FALLING STAR" by Becky Hemsley

"CATCH A FALLING STAR"
by Becky Hemsley

I caught a falling star last week,

It landed in my net

Its glow was slowly fading

So I nursed it back to strength

I fed it all the memories

Of laughter that we shared

I held it in these arms

That kept you safe when you were scared

I read it all the epic tales

Of storms we had to weather

And wrapped it in the layers of love

That hold my heart together

But then I slowly realised

It belonged up in the sky -

That sometimes when you love something

You have to let it fly

So I’m loading up my quiver

And I’m stretching out my bow

I’m practising my starry aim

Before I let it go

And it might be tomorrow

It could even be tonight

It could be weeks or months from now

Before the time is right

But I will choose my moment –

When your heart most needs a sign

And I’ll take my aim and launch

My shooting star across the sky

******

Becky Hemsley 2023

https://www.facebook.com/talkingtothewild

Beautiful artwork by Benjamin Konïg

From the book When I Am Gone: https://a.co/d/3Gr3Zds

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"THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED" By John A Elliott

"THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED"

By John A Elliott  re-edited 2024.

Throughout my early childhood during the 1950’s music in our house consisted mainly of the old upright rosewood piano in our front room, and twice a week Mr Bird, my music teacher would come round to attempt to teach me the fine art of playing a piano using all my fingers, and not just playing ‘Chopsticks’ with one of my sisters, whilst squabbling who should get the lions share of the piano stool. It took quite a few lessons before my parents got the message that I wasn’t going to be a concert pianist, and they’d be best advised to just buy me a set of drums or a Kazoo, and I wouldn’t be joining Ted Heath’s Orchestra any time soon, or in fact, don’t hold your breath ‘cos little Johnny was tone deaf and couldn’t co-ordinate more than one digit on each hand at any one time. Phew wasn’t I glad when Dad cancelled my piano lessons, I hated them. I’m the same today, I type everything using just my index finger and sometimes my thumb. Here I go digressing yet again, into the nuances of my typing skills, or I should say lack of them.

The piano wasn’t really our only source of music, we had the trusted old radio, and the BBC home service. It had a length of copper wire, and a metal coat hanger for an aerial, which hung from the wooden pelmet above the window.  I always remember listening to ‘Two Way Family Favourites’, at Mid-day every Sunday whilst mum finished making our Sunday dinner my sisters and I would be sat round our dining table listening to the requests to our forces still stationed abroad. 

Now my dad’s idea of popular music was Paul Robson singing the ‘Canoe Song’ from the film ‘Sanders of the River’, or Connie Frances’s ‘Carolina Moon’ and ‘Who’s sorry now’, constantly playing on our old gramophone from those 78 rpm records. He also liked Frankie Lane. At least mom was a little more modern playing Nat King Cole, Doris Day, Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, The Everly Brothers, Johnny Mathis, Elvis, Rickey Nelson, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, Gene Vincent and Cliff Richard.

I remember it was a cold wintry 4^th of February, and a Wednesday in 1959 when I came home from school to find my mom and young sisters, huddled together crying in our front parlour. I was just eight at the time and wondering what was wrong. My mom had just heard on the radio that Buddy Holly, Richie Vallens and The Big Bopper had all died in a plane crash the day before, near Clear Lake Iowa, USA. My mother loved Buddy Holly and his Music. Rock ‘n Roll and Rockabilly music was still in it’s infancy throughout the 1950’s, and the death of these up and coming popular artists was a massive blow to the genre. My mother was sad and weepy for quite a while, playing Buddy’s songs especially ‘That’ll be the Day’ and ‘Raining in my Heart’ over and over.

Today I love playing all those 1950’s and 60’s hit songs, not on 45rpm vinyl records, although I do have a retro version record and cassette player. No today it’s the modern, crackle free CD’s on my computer. I know it’s not really the same, but all those memories of yesteryear come flooding back as the music hits my aging ears. I can still picture my mother sitting in her favourite armchair, beside a glowing log fire, on a cold winters evening, knitting me yet another balaclava, and listening to her favourite music in our front parlour back on Bancroft Lane, Mansfield.

The singer/songwriter Don McLean immortalized Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and Big Bopper Richardson in the 1972 No.1 hit “American Pie,” which refers to that fateful February in 1959 as “THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED.”

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"JUST A PILE OF DIRTY CLOTHES"

"JUST A PILE OF DIRTY CLOTHES"
(author unknown)

I walked past the dirty laundry basket yesterday, and saw my husband’s dirty work clothes on the floor right beside it. Seeing this only made me appreciate him more.

⁣

I read a post a few weeks ago about how the men in our lives tend to never be able to put their clothes after work, into the laundry basket. How they’re sometimes on the floor. ⁣

⁣

When I first saw this, I agreed. I thought to myself “oh my god THIS! It’s SO annoying!” I even showed my husband the article saying “why do you do this?!” And that’s the way I thought, until yesterday. ⁣

⁣

My husband came home from work.

Sweaty.

Dirty.

Tired.

He sat down on the floor and played with our kids, asked what was for dinner, if I needed any help, then went to take a shower.

Ten minutes later, I walked past the laundry basket, right where our washroom also is, and I see it.

The thing that would usually make me yell through the shower door.

The thing that used to be so annoying.

The thing that seems so little now, that it also seems like I was looking for a fight.

This time, I see something different. ⁣⁣

I notice the stains all over his work pa⁣nts.

I notice the dirty socks stuffed into his destroyed work boots. ⁣

I notice the sweat filled t-shirt. ⁣

⁣

The evidence of just how hard he works, is all over the clothes he left on the floor. ⁣

⁣

I looked at those dirty clothes on the floor, that I once would have started a fight over.

I picked them up, put them in the basket, and walked away. ⁣

⁣

When he got out of the shower, he noticed his dirty shoes and clothes were no longer there, and that I hadn’t said anything.

“Thank you” he said to me.

Which he had not said before, probably because I was too quick to start an argument about it. ⁣

⁣

He said “thank you for putting that away, I had a long day. I was planning to put them in the wash when I was out of the shower.”

⁣

“I know. I could see it on your clothes.”⁣ I said back.

⁣

I realized in that moment, that sometimes the little things that annoy us, can be looked at differently. ⁣

⁣

I stopped looking at it as dirty clothes on the floor, and started looking at it as proof of just how hard my husband works to provide for us and our children. ⁣

⁣The dirty boots that normally annoyed me, showed how sore his feet must be.

The sweat stained shirt showed how hot he must have been at work.

The sweaty socks showed how physically hard he works everyday.

All of it piled right by the bathroom door, showed me he couldn’t wait any longer to get out of those gross clothes.

I am grateful he left his clothes on the floor that day.

I saw him in a whole new light.

It just took me awhile to see it.

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"TWO BASKET WEAVERS"

"TWO BASKET WEAVERS" (author unknown)

A wealthy king decided to hold a contest among two highly skilled basket weavers. Ultimately, he wanted to determine who could weave more baskets in a day. The two women would contest for the fastest weaver, with the winner to be awarded a large sum of money as a prize.

It started early in the morning, on the day of the contest, with the two women set to weave their best.

However, one of the women seemed faster than the other, and in only five hours, she had woven two baskets. Meanwhile, the other woman became jealous as she was still on her first basket.

Shorty, the king came to inspect the two busy women. And then, quite unexpectedly, he said to the faster woman.

"Your baskets are a bit smaller than the required size. You didn't follow the contest rules, therefore you must start all over again. Remember that you don't have much time left"

The jealous woman was so gladdened by what the king had said and she silently mocked the faster woman. She knew it was a great opportunity for her to win the contest.

However, the faster woman wasn't discouraged by her plight. With so much determination and commitment, she started all over again, hoping to achieve success.

By the end of the day, the two women were made to stop weaving as the contest was over. It was time to know the winner.

The other woman had excellently made ten baskets. Everyone was impressed by her skills.

But to the greatest surprise of all, the woman who was made to restart hers, had woven eleven baskets. She still won.

The king who couldn't contain his astonishment and curiosity, asked the faster woman.

"You had very limited time. Come on, tell me how you won?"

The woman smiled and said.

"Magic starts to happen once you start believing in yourself"

Many of us tend to give up when things get too hard. We allow disappointments to cripple our self esteem and kill the passion to pursue our dreams. We are afraid to start all over again as we think it's always too late. However, we need to understand that the moment we start believing in ourselves, we start creating confidence. And with confidence, we can do anything in life.

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