Norita and Hermanino

A story in honor of my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary

Today began like all other days. The sun was shining and all about the trees the birds and squirrels were moving and singing and jumping.  The garden was bursting with color from flowers in bloom. “Ah me…..I wish I could see what was outside my garden house.”  Chewing on a peppermint leaf, the better to make her breath ever so sweet, Norita the mouse stared at the high brick walls and decided today was the day to climb up and out.  Today would be a day for adventure. “Hmph.  I’m going to do it!  To see the world outside my garden house!  But how,” she thought aloud.  Looking about the high walls Norita noticed a black bird resting on a limb.  “Excuse me.  Mr. Bird!  I say excuse me!  My name is Norita the mouse and I do so want to see the world outside my garden house.  Will you help me?” “You’ve never seen it?  Why it’s very big out there and lots to do and learn.  Can you jump high and I will catch you and fly you over the wall.”  Norita thought about this for a while. “You promise you won’t eat me?”  “No, no not me.  Don’t care for mice myself.  Now, a good squirrel or two, mmmm, that’s good eating!”  Norita was not so sure.  “Well, if you eat me I’ll bite your leg; so don’t try it!”  “Ha! Ha!  You are a feisty little mouse aren’t  you.  Do you want to go or not?  “OK.  What do I do?”  “On the count of three jump up and I will catch you.  Norita closed her eyes and counted, “one, two, three….I’m jumping!  Weeeeee!” Black Bird caught her and flew up in the air swooping and gliding.

Norita opened her eyes and looked down from the sky at her garden house.  “It’s so small and pretty.  I hope I like the big world outside.  Black Bird flew down to a field near the garden wall and gently dropped Norita on the ground.  “Bye bye Norita.  Good luck in the big wide world.  And be careful!”  “Thank you Black Bird!” 

And off she went.   The trees were taller here.  The sky was a bluer blue. All around there were mushrooms.  “Oh they smell so tasty.  I must eat one.”  Chomp, chomp, chomp.  Norita sat and ate her fill of mushrooms when she decided to walk around to see what she could see.  On the other side of a tree she looked and saw another mouse!  She could not believe her eyes.  Norita had never seen another mouse and lived all alone in her garden.  Slowly she crawled on her mushroom filled belly and crept closer and closer to see this mouse.  It was a he mouse. The he mouse was standing on top of a mushroom with his eyes closed.  Suddenly, with a stick in his hand he raised his arms and began to move them about.  He swayed to and fro, never opening his eyes. Whatever can this he mouse be doing, thought Norita. 

“Excuse me.  I say excuse me Mr. He mouse.  Whatever are you doing?”  “Beethoven.  I am conducting a symphony.”  “But I don’t hear the music Mr. He mouse.”  “My name is Hermanino Mousito.  And who are you?”  “Norita.  But I don’t hear the music.”  “It’s in my head.”  “You must have a big head then because I don’t hear anything.”  “Don’t be silly.  You have to use your imagination.” “Oh….I see.” 

“I don’t remember seeing you here before.  Are you new here?”  “Well….what happened  was I was curious and wanted to know what life was like outside my garden wall and Black Bird picked me up and flew me far away to this place. “Oh….I see.” 

“Would you like a piece of cheese?  It’s very good.  The best.  It’s blue.  Blue cheese.”   Norita said yes and in her excitement to try this delicious delight she bit Hermanino on the hand. “Ow!”  “Oh,  sorry.  It’s so delicious.  Thank you for my cheese. “

Norita and Hermanino talked and talked and walked and walked and soon Norita forgot about her garden house.  Hermanino taught Norita about imaginary music and Norita taught Hermanino how to dance.  “Watch!  I’ll show you!”  And she jumped off a mushroom and giggled and wiggled a mousey hula dance.  “La da dee, la da dee……”  Hermanino laughed and said OK.  That’s funny. 

Many months flew by and it was not long before Norita and Hermanino decided to get married and become Mr. and Mrs. Mousito. Hermanino surprised Norita with something big!  A lovely shoe house! With two stories! It had every modern convenience and what’s more… you can move it if you want to!  The perfect place to have baby meeses. 

Very soon four meeses came into the world:  Peetee,  Keithie,  Jeika, and Yick.  Jeika pretended to play dead in the skateboard car when Norita and Hermanino went shopping.  Jeika! Play dead, cried Peetee.  And Jeika pushed out her mousey belly and said….huhhhhhh, I’m dead.  Keithie would stick her mousey feet in the air and pretend to turn on the stinky and kill everybody with the imaginary smell.  “Th, th, th…it’s on full blast.  Smell my feet!  Yick, being the smallest, copied everything that Jeika would say.  “I like books”  “I like books.”  “Stop it!” “Stop it.”  Mom!  Yick is copying me!  Mom Yick is copying me.  And on and on it went.  Such a silly little family.

And so…as life would have it….the minutes turned to hours, the hours turned to days, the days to weeks, the weeks to months, and month to years.   And today is fifty years.  Not bad for a little mouse who decided to fly and see the world outside the garden house.

Please, please, oh please never think for un momento that I have forgotten all of you who read my stories.  I am STILL in the middle of working on three stories:

1.  The Outrageous Adventures of a Big Little Girl

2. The Bracelet

3.  Beauregard Wants to Be a Boy

You know, I never understood what writer’s block was until I walked  (BLAM! OW!….my nose is bleeding….ah cahnt tak so gud nah…) into the wall.   I think I have the idea sorted out in my head, I write it, it’s ca-ca.  I try again.  Not bad.  Now this has to be changed.  Who knew? 

Yesterday, during 3rd period, my students were talking about their “half birthdays.”  I was taking attendance and getting the Smartboard ready to go over a story that I had written in Spanish for the students to practice “su rutina cotidiana.” (Their daily routine using reflexive verbs.)

Anyhoo, one of the students looks at me and asks me when my birthday is and I tell them.  “Miss Landers, I’m going to make you cupcakes tomorrow and bring them to class because tomorrow is your half birthday!”

Isn’t that sweet? I honestly didn’t expect anything to happen but do you know what?  Not only did they bring me fancy cupcakes but even brought me wrapped gifts!  Yippee!  Isn’t that something?

 You know, I used to wish I could be a mother and have lots and lots of babies.  But, life handed me a different set of cards and motherhood was not to be for me.  But I’m not sad.  Oh no!  You see, instead of one baby I get the joy of having many each and every day and each and every school year. 

Why, I must have taught well over one thousand children by now.   They spoil me so much.   I”m a lucky lady, if I do say so myself.

I decided to change the direction of my story The Bracelet and, as a result,  am in the middle of researching some points in the plot.  As soon as I am finished I will post the story.   Thanks for your patience.

  HurleyBurleyGirl

Sometimes the best therapy is a little time alone.  Wandering through antique stores and gazing at the past that I didn’t live yet to see. It’s not the easiest thing for most people but I find it freeing to blend into the scenery and not have eyes on me all the time. I love to talk to the shopkeepers in small antique stores and listen to all the stories of people they’ve met and places they’ve seen.   Everybody has a story to tell and I have ears that love to listen.  It’s easy really. 

One Saturday I decided to go to my most favorite place of all:  Deliah’s.  It was this amazing antique store in Sanford, Florida that had all sorts of clothes, household items, and the most exquisite jewelry I had ever seen.  I would go in and just gaze at the crystal beauty of the pins, rings, necklaces, and bracelets.  And then, that Saturday afternoon I looked into one of the glass cases and saw a 1940′s crystal bracelet in mint condition.  It was made of the type of sparkly crystals you don’t see these days and it was an explosion of blues, purples, pinks, and light greens.  The shopkeeper saw the look of love on my face and asked me if I would like to try it on to see how it looked.   A perfect fit.  As if the bracelet had been made for me.  My heart was pounding, I swear to you.  And I felt like a movie star.  In my excitement, I looked at the tag and thought it read $25.00.  Ready, with pen and check in hand I started to pay for the bracelet meant for me when the shopkeeper told me it was $75.00.  Oh dear….that was more than a teacher’s budget could handle that day.  No matter I thought.  I will come back in three months.  I will save up the money so my bracelet can come home with me.  Where she belonged. 

Three months later I went to Deliah’s with my $75.00 and looked in the glass case for my bracelet.  It was no longer there.  What!?  But the bracelet was meant for me.  I could sense it.  I just knew.  Crushed, I left.  But I never forgot about the bracelet.

One year later I was walking along the sidewalk in downtown Sanford with my friend Andrea, eating an ice cream cone and telling her about Deliah’s and the story of my bracelet and how I had lost her and how she was meant for me. 

We walked into the store and Andrea was as transfixed as I was everytime I opened the door.  I walked over to the glass case and showed Andrea where the bracelet had been when I first saw her.  The shopkeeper asked me what I was looking for and I told her about the bracelet that I was meant to have and she completely understood and then asked if I didn’t see anything else with the same or similar stones that I might like to try on instead.  I looked down at another glass case and began to describe the colors when suddenly, in the mix of hundreds of other pieces, I said to the shopkeeper that those stones looked very similar.  She reached in and pulled the other pieces aside and I gasped. 

There she was.  The bracelet.  One year later.  Just waiting for me to find her.  I could not believe my eyes and turned the tag over to make sure it was her.  It was then that the shopkeeper told me that they had so much jewelry that the owner periodically changed out items and rotated the stock around.  I just sat there staring at the bracelet and the miracle that she had been kept safe for me to come back in a year and I bought her that day and took her home with me. 

I wear the bracelet all the time with both beautiful dresses and jeans.  She is so perfect she shines no matter what I wear because she is the star.  I have had older ladies admire the bracelet and ask me if I know what era the bracelet is from.  The 1940′s I say with a smile.  They smile back and tell me about their lives when they were young girls who wore beautiful crystal bracelets that were given to them by beaus from long ago.

I sometimes wonder about my bracelet.  Her history.  Who made her?  Who was the first lady to wear her and show her off?  What was her name? 

……to be continued……

Hola amigos,

Have you ever heard of StoryCorps?  It’s amazing!  About a year ago I heard the interview on NPR between Danny and Annie. It was so funny, heartwarming, and beautiful.  This is the kind of love story everyone dreams about…. two people who love each other unconditionally.  I found it today on Youtube and have it here to share with you.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

So….I teach Spanish in Middle School, as I’ve mentioned before.  And part of helping the students move seamlessly in the language is to have them pick a name in Spanish.  I have a deck of cards with names for the boys and a separate deck for the girls.  I have to do this because after twenty-one years of teaching I grew tired of students wanting to be: Jesús, Margarita, or Nacho Libre.  Heavy sigh.  Giggle.  Rolling the eyes.  Imagine the reactions to me having to say, “Jesus, you didn’t do your homework again?!” I taught in a Catholic school so you get the idea.  

Anyhoo….I was in the midst of explaining the importance of picking a proper name to my group of seventh graders when suddenly one boy looks at me with a serious look and says, “You mean it’s like having a DOUBLE life!” 

Ha! Ha! Ha!   Uh…Yes…well….something like that. 

 I’ve said it before.  I’ll say it again. I love what I do for a living.  I can’t believe I get paid to have so many giggles in a day.

It was ironic that as I left the Pow-Wow the song on the radio was crying, “Reservation Blues. What do you choose? What do you choose when ain’t got choices.  Reservation Blues.” I didn’t see this side of Native American life.  For me, the Pow-Wow was a chance to see the extraordinary costumes and dancing.  However, the real experience, the human one, took place in that little shop on the right hand side of the road.

The directions were easy enough.  Take a left at Allsup instead of a right.  The grounds were on the right about a mile.  For the price of five dollars, I was granted permission to enter and park.  Various Nations from Colorado, Texas, Utah, New Mexico, and beyond were represented.  During the opening ceremony, the Native American announcer used the term “Indian.”  It was a loaded word.  I had been taught by a Navajo that it was not an acceptable term to use so it left me a little confused.  Everyone was asked to stand as an elder carrying the flag of Taos Pueblo walked in behind a dancer covered head to toe in blue and white feathers.  Singers cried out to the beat of huge drums surrounded by five to six men.  Much like the Olympics, participants danced single file past judges and spectators.  The line became a swirl.  Children as young as two paraded alongside their parents.  Everyone was moving and singing.  One little girl in the circle, about three years old, had on a bright blue costume with feathers on her back and head.  She watched as a man dressed in bright red feathers and bells danced around in a circle to the beat of the drums.  Unselfconsciously, she began to imitate him by bouncing up and down like a bunny.  She never questioned what he was doing or why she should join in.  It was, for her, natural.

Before the judging began, the announcer asked all non-Indian people to come into the circle and dance to the beat of the drum themselves.  It was a gesture of welcome, to make the visitors feel like a part of the festivities.  At first, two or three people walked out to the middle and started to dance.  They were very aware that all eyes were on them.  Watching the spectacle, it became apparent how difficult it must be to live under a microscope.  To have the world stare at you as an object and not a person.  The privacy Tony talked about on his “Indian land” was perfectly understood in that moment.  I watched as Native American families talked excitedly to each other in their various languages.  Smiles and laughter came easily.  I decided to try Indian Fry bread and laughed when I realized that it was a big, flat pizza-shaped Mexican Sopapilla.  It was so good that I ate two of them.  I tried to engage my vendor, a young girl, in conversation.  She just stared at me with a nervous expression on her face.  I wasn’t sure if she heard me so I asked about Fry Bread again.  It was not until I turned around to walk away that I heard her talking to her mother in Tewa.  It had never occurred to me that she might not feel comfortable talking to a stranger.  I also noticed that nobody was mixing together.  I walked around the entire circle and observed how people were interacting.  Native Americans sat next to non-Natives under the cover of the circle.  It was strange to watch two worlds in the same space not mingling together.  Was it shyness?  Language barrier?  Those in costume, however, were very open to questions about their costumes and dances and were happy to pose for pictures.

….to be continued….