Storytellers Christmas: A Mother's Love

Those are my cozy feet in the photo at left, and those red socks were made by my storyteller friend Kate Dudding, five years ago exactly. I still wear them often in the winter, hand-washing them to be sure they do not shrink. 

There is nothing like hand-knit items. My mother was a knitter, and made many, many baby sweaters, booties and shawls, as well as socks, hats, mittens, vests, sweaters and even tea cozies. So today's story, shared with us by my friend Kate from New York state, is special to me. I hope you enjoy it too. You might even recognize the old folktale on which it is based!

A Mother's Love

by Kate Dudding

Once there was a mother who knit sweaters for her daughter.  The mother started knitting sweaters for the daughter even before the daughter was born, using the ‘safe’ colors: white and yellow and green.  After the daughter was born, the mother also used pink and purple yarn. As the daughter grew, so did the sweaters.

After the daughter learned to talk, whenever the mother gave her a sweater, the daughter said, “Thanks, Mommy! I like this sweater the best.”

When the daughter was ten, she asked, “Mommy, will you teach me how to knit?”

The mother smiled.  “I would love to teach you to knit. I’ve been hoping that you would ask.”

So the mother taught the daughter how to knit.  First the daughter knit sweaters for her dolls.  But then she started making sweaters for herself, then for her father and brother, her fiancé, her husband, her son, and her friends.  But she never made a sweater for her mother.  Once that thought flitted into her mind, that she should make a sweater for her mother.  But she quickly dismissed it, without thinking much about it.  “Whenever Mom sees a sweater she likes, she makes it for herself.”

But the mother continued to knit sweaters for the daughter, even after the daughter was an adult.

The last sweater the mother made for the daughter was a red sweater with a pattern of raised hearts across the shoulders.  It was warm and soft to the touch.  When the mother gave the daughter that sweater, the daughter said,

“Thanks, Mom. I like this sweater the best. ”    

Six months after the mother finished that sweater, the mother died.

The daughter wore that sweater many, many times.  And every time she wore it, she felt her mother’s love.

The years went by.   The sweater was eventually worn out. When the daughter realized that, she said to herself, “This sweater is worn out, but I don’t want to throw it away.  It’s the last sweater my mother made for me. Isn’t there something I can do?”

She looked and she thought.  And then she smiled. “I know, I’ll take the sleeves off the sweater, and use the good yarn from the sleeves to mend the body.  Then I’ll have a vest to wear.”

That’s what she did.  The daughter wore that vest many, many times.  And every time she wore it, she felt her mother’s love.

The years went by.  The vest was eventually worn out. When the daughter realized that, she said to herself, “This vest is worn out, but I don’t want to throw it away. It’s from the last sweater my mother made for me.  Isn’t there something I can do?”

She looked and she thought.  And then she smiled. “I know, I’ll take the vest apart and see how much good yarn there is.”   She ended up with a ball as a large grapefruit.

“I’ll make a scarf from this yarn and knit the pattern of raised hearts all over it.”

That’s what she did.  The daughter wore that scarf many, many times.  And every time she wore it, she felt her mother’s love. 

The years went by. The scarf was eventually worn out. When the daughter realized that, she said to herself, “This scarf is worn out, but I don’t want to throw it away.  It’s from the last sweater my mother made for me. Isn’t there something I can do?”

She looked and she thought.  And then she smiled. “I know, I’ll take the scarf apart and see how much good yarn there is.” She ended up with a ball only as big as a lemon.

“I can’t make anything to wear out of only this much yarn.  I know, I’ll make a Christmas ornament, with a raised heart in the middle.”

That’s what she did.  The daughter knew that whenever she saw the ornament on her Christmas tree, she would feel her mother’s love.

But it wasn’t Christmas time, so she put the ornament away with all her other Christmas ornaments.

She was left with a piece of good yarn only three inches long.   “I know it’s foolish to even ask, but is there anything I can do with this?” She looked and she thought.  And then she smiled, because she was a storyteller as well as a knitter.

From that last piece of yarn, the daughter made this story for her mother.  And she knew that whenever she told it, she would feel her mother’s love.

From Kate Dudding's website: "Many people find my stories entertaining, heartwarming and memorable. I hope that you will too. For me, storytelling combines the intensity of a one person play with the intimacy of a one-on-one conversation.

As an award-winning author and storyteller (I won the Story Slam at the 2010 National Storytelling Conference in Los Angeles,) I specialize in telling true stories about people who made a difference. I've told stories at many venues in the Northeastern USA, including The New-York Historical Society (New York City, NY), First Night Saratoga (Saratoga Springs, NY), and The Norman Rockwell Museum (Stockbridge, MA). Each of my four CDs has won a national storytelling award.

My fourth CD, Fighting For Our Rights - American Women Mid-20th Century won a 2015 Storytelling World Honor Award in the category Storytelling Recordings for Listening Pleasure For Any Age. Storytelling World is a fully-refereed journal offered annually through National Storytelling Network’s Storytelling Magazine. Each year, Storytelling World gives awards to the most exciting new stories that audiences of various ages would enjoy hearing and storytelling resources that offer information about the field of storytelling. This double CD set contains seven stories of women fighting for civil rights and women's rights, set during a time when white women could not rent cars, be on juries in many states or get a mortgage no matter how much money they made. African American women could not do many more things.

My third CD, Young People Who Made a Difference, has been named winner of a 2013 Storytelling World Resource Award in the adolescent listeners category.

A story on my second CD, People Who Made a Difference: Volume 1, won a 2010 Storytelling World Honor Award in the category stories for pre-adolescent listeners.

If you would like to receive my quarterly e-newsletter, Voices From the Past, please click here. Click here to visit my web design site. Click here to visit my knitting design site. "

Contact Kate at: Kate Dudding, Storyteller    kate@katedudding.com    www.katedudding.com 

(518) 383-4620 

Storytellers Christmas: The BIG Box

Who hasn't experienced the pangs of jealousy on Christmas morning as a sibling opens a particularly attractive present? I remember those feelings so well as I watched my sister open her usually feminine and pink gifts while I seemed to get only the functional blue ones! And I remember the year I got the pink flowered robe and she got the blue striped one--I am pretty sure Santa mixed them up! And her robe lasted years after mine was tossed in the ragbag, a testament to the way the two of us treated our belongings. 

Today author, poet and storyteller Joan Leotta of North Carolina brings us a tale of disappointment and learning, as she remembers her own growing-up pains on Christmas when she was an eight-year-old child. 

The BIG Box

previously published by Sasee Magazine on Dec 1, 2014

By Joan Leotta

By age eight, I already had learned one of life’s hard truths. Christmas gifts for little brothers come in BIG boxes. Big sisters receive only medium and small boxes whether from Santa or Mom and Dad. To be honest, I never really suffered in the gift category. There was abundance and well, I loved the puppets, crayons, cooking sets, books, and mountains of stuffed animals that I received. I had no interest in the fire engines, ride-on toys and forts revealed when my little brother’s BIG boxes were opened.

I admit that silly though it may seem, when I spied the HUGE boxes under the tree for my brother was the nagging suspicion that a bigger box equaled more love. The old maxim that good things come in small packages .did not ring true for me.

I thought about putting a new bicycle on my list, just so I could qualify for a big box, despite the fact that my bike was just fine. I was the same height I had been the year before—almost. I didn't. On Christmas Eve, all of my aunts, uncles and cousins met for dinner at my grandmother’s house as usual. We opened gifts from each other and laughed a lot. After clean up, my family spent the night.

Despite staying up very late on Christmas Eve, I awakened before dawn, put on slippers and robe and crept downstairs. The Christmas tree lights were on and under it were our stockings and boxes, "from Santa."  There were many, many boxes, some big, some small—and one GREAT BIG ENORMOUS Box. I sighed.

Quietly, I perused the pile for items with my name attached. I piled my gifts by my stocking and sat down next to them to wait for my parents and Grandma to come downstairs. I opened the copy of The Black Stallion my Aunt Claudia had given me the night before. I hoped my "Santa" packages would contain a Magic Bake oven, and a new diary with a lock along with a pen. I could see that my stocking was full of candy. That made me smile. I took a candy cane cookie from a plate by the tree, arranged my gaily wrapped boxes spread around me, and began to munch on a cookie and read my book while I waited.

As I read, I heard my brother, Mom and Dad pad down the stairs. Grandma came down a minute later. My brother and I dumped out our stockings. Mine had a bracelet, peppermints and chocolate Dutch shoes! Mom said I could eat one, or even a pair of the chocolate shoes, right away since, "After all, what's a little chocolate on Christmas morning?"

Grandma brought in a tray with coffee for the adults, milk for my brother and me and a plate of sweet rolls. Mom helped my brother open his boxes. Dad was ready with some tools to put together my brother's new ride-on toy. I exclaimed happily over my Magic Baking oven and diary. Santa had been good to me.

Grandma and Mom began to clean up the wrapping paper. Then Mom noticed—the BIGGEST box was still wrapped.

"Whose is this?" she asked.

I looked up. "Mom, you’d better help little brother open that one too."

Mom stood up, read the tag and looked at me. "Why, don’t you think you can open it yourself?"

"Me? It's for me?"

I walked over to the box. It was as high as I was tall, definitely the BIGGEST box under the tree this year and possible, ever! And my name was clearly printed on the tag: "Joanie." Santa and all of his helpers clearly had recognized my need for a BIG BOX. I hesitated before opening it. The box. The box was a present in and of itself.

My Mother urged me on. "Open it, dear."

So, I turned the box on its side and began to rip the paper. My hands were trembling as I tugged at the box flaps that opened to reveal a sea of shredded paper. I reached in and tossed out the paper in fistfuls. Deep down in the paper nest lay a large toy lion—silky and soft-- with a golden mane. The imprisoned lion was large but not huge. The box was and filling were about three times his size. I released him from this cardboard incarceration and hugged him tight. A moment later, I christened this amazing creature, "Goldie" and he promptly became the king of my stuffed animal jungle.

It's been a long time since the biggest box under the tree was the one I wanted. After all, jewelry comes in small boxes. But I've never forgotten the real gift that Christmas, learning that often when we think no one notices us, that no one is aware of our inner desires for a BIG box or whatever else, someone often does. As a parent, I've tried to always put this lesson into practice, carefully observing my dear daughter so Santa and  I will know how to fulfill her hidden wish, no matter what it is.

About Joan Leotta: 

On her blog, Joan says: "For as long as I can remember I have been a writer and a performer. The joy of doing what I love as a profession came to be when in 1982 I left my job at the Department of Labor to stay home with my children. At home with them I began my own business as a writer for local papers in Washington, DC , magazines, and more.

After taking Jennie and Joe to see a storytelling show at Wolf Trap I realized I wanted to do that too, so I took a course at the Kennedy Center, read all I could about story performance, joined the local and national professional groups, watched, told tales and learned. After volunteering as a teller, my son’s preschool hired me to tell and so I began my dual career of writing and telling. Each facet is still equally important to me.

In each side of my creativity I seek to serve an audience, produce and present material respectfully, entertain and edify. It is my sincere hope that my performance, whether on stage or on paper, blesses you, my audience."

Contact Joan at: 

Joan Leotta
Author, Story Performer
“Encouraging words through Pen and Performance”
Giulia Goes to War, Letters from Korea, A Bowl of Rice, Secrets of the Heart.
Simply a Smile--collection of Short Stories
WHOOSH! Picture book all are available on Amazon in print and e-format
www.joanleotta.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/joanleotta

Storytellers Christmas: 100 Spools of Thread

In the story below,Flora and Henry Joy  offer their annual Christmas greeting to friends and family. It is a true story about Flora’s mom. EnJOY!

100 SHADES OF THREAD

My wonderful mother had both a needle and thread by her side during most of my childhood, and she kept our family warm with both the quilts and garments she made. But things were different then. She had only ONE pair of scissors, ONE needle, and TWO spools of thread (one light and one dark). Those two shades had to suffice for all her stitching endeavors, and there were frequent color mismatches.
One year at Christmas the Sears & Roebuck catalog arrived, and I heard Mom gasp when she opened it. There on the page in front of her was a picture of a box of 100 spools of thread—each a different shade—with the unbelievable price of $2.99! The standard price for a spool of thread then was about 10 cents, so she figured this was truly a bargain that would give her lots of “light, medium, and dark” shades! We had never seen her so excited, and we convinced her to order it. When the package arrived just before Christmas, we all crowded around to share her thrills, but….

Yes, the box did contain 100 spools. Yes, there were 100 different shades. But the spools were miniatures—each less than an inch in height, with only about 2-3 yards of thread per spool. We all stared in disbelief—but soon she made sure we were all laughing and enjoying the holidays.
Mom never used any of that thread, but she kept it as a reminder of her “bargain.” Our new household saying soon became, “If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is.” I have always remembered that lesson, but before long I forgot about those spools of thread.

Decades later when I was cleaning out my mother’s house, I began with her sewing room. There were far more fabrics and notions than I could ever use, so I took several large crates of her sewing and quilting supplies (including that yet-unopened box of threads) to my local quilt guild and let anyone there take whatever they wanted. I shared the background story with the group, and once more I dismissed it from my mind—until this Christmas. At our December Quilt Guild meeting, a lady handed me a present: a small wreath made from those same 100 tiny spools of thread that she had gotten earlier. She suggested that I hang the wreath in a place where I would always be reminded of my amazing mother! I was emotionally knocked off the planet, and that special gift will always bring tears to my eyes!

Later I realized that I had received an even greater gift
that day by re-learning the deepest meaning of the old adage, “Tis better to give than to receive.” In my future I want to “give” to others in this manner! May each of you do the same, and may threads of joy stitch your families and friends closer together during the holidays and throughout the New Year!

Dr. Flora Joy is an award-winning quilter, author of numerous books, creator and editor of Storytelling World magazine, and an all-round fabulous storyteller and educator.

From her website: Dr. Joy graduated with honors (B.S.) and began teaching at age 18 (two years after high school graduation). [She still holds the record for being ETSU’s youngest graduate.] Four years later she received Master’s Degree in Reading (M.A.) and was selected Teacher of the Year for the State of Tennessee. She taught full-time from 1963-2000—from elementary through college levels, and in 2000 she received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Storytelling Network. From August of 2000 through May of 2004 she served as a Senior Faculty Affiliate in the Department of Curriculum and Instruction, and then segued into full retirement from teaching in May of 2004. In 2011 she was inducted into the ETSU Alumni Hall of Fame for the College of Education.

In April of 2013, the campus of East Tennessee State University named a new street after Dr. Joy. 

To see some of her amazing quilts, go here. To buy her book of European stories and classroom activities, go here. For many, many more books and other publications by Dr. Joy, go here.

Storytellers Christmas: Chris Mouse

Papa Joe Gaudet was one of my mentors when I began storytelling. I was enthusiastic, eager, and almost completely in the dark about this new venture. All I knew was that I loved sharing stories and my new job as a librarian had opened up a whole world of folk tales that I had forgotten about, stories I'd read as a child and thousands that were new to me. I soon learned, via the "new" technology of listserves--the Storytell listserve in particular--that there was much more to telling stories than just know some tales. Papa Joe's wisdom has guided many a newbie teller over the years and he continues to offer his advice and stories generously. Here is one that is sure to be a favorite with both adults and the little ones in your home.

CHRIS MOUSE 

c1996 by Papa Joe

There's a Mouse that lives in my house. His name is Chris. Chris Mouse. I was telling him about all the Winter holidays people celebrate; Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Yule, Christmas...

"Chris Mouse! I wanna celebrate Chris Mouse!"

I said, "It's not Chris Mouse, Chris. It's Christmas, silly."

"That's what I said, Chris Mouse. I wanna celebrate Chris Mouse. How do you celebrate Chris Mouse?"

"Well, Chris. Some people put candles in their windows. Others put wreaths on their doors. Most folks around here put up Christmas Trees..."

"Chris Mouse Tree! I wanna Chris Mouse Tree!"

"Fine. Go get yourself a Chris Mouse Tree!"

So off he went to get a Chris Mouse Tree. Do you think he used a chain saw? Do you think he used a bow saw? Do you think he used an ax? 

He's a mouse. He used his teeth. Chewed it down. Set it up on his Chris Mouse Tree Stand.

"Now what do I do?"

"Well, Chris. When I was a boy we used tinsel, but now-a-days most folks avoid it, 'cause if a cat eats it, it could choke."

"I want to use tinsel!"

I got out some tinsel, but it was too long. I snipped it into a pile of tiny pieces. Then

Chris Mouse.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

Then he said, "This is getting boring."

So I gave him a string of lights. He strung the tiny lights on the tiny Chris Mouse Tree.

Chris Mouse.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

Then he said, "This is getting boring."

So I gave him a bell. He hung the tiny bell on the tiny Chris Mouse Tree.

Chris Mouse.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

Then he said, "This is getting boring."

So I gave him a star. He taped the tiny star atop the tiny Chris Mouse Tree.

Chris Mouse.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

He took the tiny tinsel and he trimmed the tiny tree.

Then he said,  "It took a ton of tinsel to trim this tiny tree!"

That's the story of Chris Mouse. I hope you enjoyed it!

You can find more of my stories at Papa Joe Storytelling

Pax & Amicitia,

Papa Joe

About Papa Joe: Papa Joe’s living folktales have engaged over thousands of audiences from Cow Head, Newfoundland to Austin, Texas; from the beaches in Florida to the mountains in Washington State. What makes Papa Joe so special? His love of good stories? His passion for telling? His devotion to his audiences? This Master Storyteller designs every show to meet your needs, and it’s the audience that leaves feeling special. They experience stories with the opportunity to share with the group. They learn to tell their own stories, and they know they can do it.

Papa Joe’s Traveling

Storytelling Show

(603) 770-6916

Email: PapaJoeGaudet@live.com

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Storytellers Christmas: The Best Wish

Today we have a real treat: stories from two of New England's finest storytellers. Both are good friends of mine (and of each other) and I have been sharing this storytelling journey with them ever since I got started 20 years ago. Let's start with a classic tale now in public domain, offered by Karen Chace from her blog, Catch the Story Bug! Papa Joe's story of Chris Mouse will follow in a second post. Happy reading!

THE BEST WISH 

The Story of Three Brothers and an Angel 

Czechoslovak Fairy Tales by Parker Fillmore, published 1921 

There were once three brothers whose only possession was a pear tree. They took turns guarding it. That is to say while two of them went to work the third stayed at home to see that no harm came to the pear tree. 

Now it happened that an Angel from heaven was sent down to test the hearts of the three brothers. The Angel took the form of a beggar and approaching the pear tree on a day when the oldest brother was guarding it, he held out his hand and said, "In heaven's name, brother, give me a ripe pear." 

The oldest brother at once handed him a pear, saying,“ This one I can give you because it is mine, but none of the others because they belong to my brothers." 
The Angel thanked him and departed. 

The next day when the second brother was on guard he returned in the same guise and again begged the charity of a ripe pear. " Take this one," the second brother said. " It is mine and I can give it away. I can't give away any of the others because they belong to my brothers." The Angel thanked the second brother and departed. 

The third day he had exactly the same experience with the youngest brother. On the following day the Angel, in the guise of a monk, came to the brothers' house very early while they were still all at home. 

"My sons," he said, " come with me and perhaps I can find you something better to do than guard a single pear tree." 

The brothers agreed and they all started out together. After walking some time they came to the banks of a broad deep river. "My son," the Angel said, addressing the oldest brother, " if I were to grant you one wish, what would you ask? " 

"I'd be happy," the oldest brother said, " if all this water was turned into wine and belonged to me." 

The Angel lifted his staff and made the sign of the cross and lo! the water became wine from great wine presses. At once numbers of casks appeared and men filling them and rolling them about. A huge industry sprang up with sheds and storehouses and wagons and men running hither and thither and addressing the oldest brother respectfully as "Master!" 

"You have your wish," the Angel said. " See that you do not forget God's poor now that you are rich. Farewell." 

So they left the oldest brother in the midst of his wine and went on farther until they came to a broad field where flocks of pigeons were feeding. "If I were to grant you one wish," the Angel said to the second brother, " what would you ask? " 

"I'd be happy, father, if all the pigeons in this field were turned to sheep and belonged to me." The Angel lifted his staff, made the sign of the cross, and lo! the field was covered with sheep. Sheds appeared and houses and women, some of them milking the ewes and others skimming the milk and making cheeses. In one place men were busy preparing meat for the market and in another cleaning wool. And all of them as they came and went spoke respectfully to the second brother and called him, "Master!" 

"You have your wish," the Angel said. " Stay here and enjoy prosperity and see that you do not forget God's poor!" 

Then he and the youngest brother went on their way. "Now, my son," the Angel said, " you, too, may make one wish." 

"I want but one thing, father. I pray heaven to grant me a truly pious wife. That is my only wish." 

"A truly pious wife! " the Angel cried. "My boy, you have asked the hardest thing of all! Why, there are only three truly pious women in all the world! Two of them are already married and the third is a princess who is being sought in marriage at this very moment by two kings! However, your brothers have received their wishes and you must have yours, too. Let us go at once to the father of this virtuous princess and present your suit." 

So just as they were they trudged to the city where the princess lived and presented themselves at the palace looking shabby and travel-stained. The king received them and when he heard their mission he looked at them in amazement. 

"This makes three suitors for my daughter's hand! Two kings and now this young man all on the same day! How am I going to decide among them?" 

"Let heaven decide! " the Angel said. " Cut three branches of grape-vine and let the princess mark each branch with the name of a different suitor. Then let her plant the three branches to-night in the garden and to-morrow do you give her in marriage to the man whose branch has blossomed during the night and by morning is covered with ripe clusters of grapes." 

The king and the two other suitors agreed to this and the princess named and planted three branches of grapevine. In the morning two of the branches were bare and dry, but the third, the one which was marked with the name of the youngest brother, was covered with green leaves and ripe clusters of grapes. The king accepted heaven's ruling and at once led his daughter to church where he had her married to the stranger and sent her off with his blessing. The Angel led the young couple to a forest and left them there. 

A year went by and the Angel was sent back to earth to see how the three brothers were faring. Assuming the form of an old beggar, he went to the oldest brother who was busy among his wine-presses and begged the charity of a cup of wine. 

"Be off with you, you old vagabond!" the oldest brother shouted angrily. " If I gave a cup of wine to every beggar that comes along I'd soon be a beggar myself!" 

The Angel lifted his staff, made the sign of the cross, and lo! the wine and all the winepresses disappeared and in their place flowed a broad deep river. 

"In your prosperity you have forgotten God's poor," the Angel said. " Go back to your pear tree." 

Then the Angel went to the second brother who was busy in his dairy. "Brother," the Angel said, " in heaven's name, I pray you, give me a morsel of cheese." 

"A morsel of cheese, you lazy good-for-nothing!" the second brother cried. " Be off with you or I'll call the dogs!" 

The Angel lifted his staff, made the sign of the cross, and lo! the sheep and the dairy and all the busy laborers disappeared and he and the second brother were standing there alone in a field where flocks of pigeons were feeding. 

"In your prosperity you have forgotten God's poor," the Angel said." Go back to your pear tree!" Then the Angel made his way to the forest where he had left the youngest brother and his wife. He found them in great poverty living in a mean little hut. 

"God be with you! " said the Angel still in the guise of an old beggar. "I pray you in heaven's name give me shelter for the night and a bite of supper." 

“We are poor ourselves," the youngest brother said. " But come in, you are welcome to share what we have." 

They put the old beggar to rest at the most comfortable place beside the fire and the wife set three places for the evening meal. They were so poor that the loaf that was baking in the oven was not made of grain ground at the mill but of pounded bark gathered from the trees. 

"Alas," the wife murmured to herself, " it shames me that we have no real bread to put before our guest." 

Imagine then her surprise when she opened the oven and saw a browned loaf of wheaten bread. "God be praised! " she cried. She drew a pitcher of water at the spring but when she began pouring it into the cups she found to her joy that it was changed to wine. 

"In your happiness," the Angel said, " you have not forgotten God's poor and God will reward you!" 

He raised his staff, made the sign of the cross, and lo! the mean little hut disappeared and in its place arose a stately palace full of riches and beautiful things. Servants passed hither and thither and addressed the poor man respectfully as " My lord! " and his wife as " My lady!" 

The old beggar arose and as he went he blessed them both, saying: " God gives you these riches and they will be yours to enjoy so long as you share them with others." 

They must have remembered the Angel's words for all their lives long they were happy and prosperous. 

Karen Chace is an award winning storyteller, teaching artist, workshop leader and author. When she isn’t telling stories Karen is teaching children to share their own tales. She founded the Story Explorer’s, a student storytelling troupe in 2002 and has taught the art of storytelling to over 500 students. 

She writes the Stor e Telling column for Storytelling Magazine, as well as her own blog, with resources for storytellers and educators. She is a contributing author to numerous publications, and her new book, Story by Story: Creating a SchoolStorytelling Troupe, won a 2015 Anne Izard Storytelling Award.

She is the host of the television series the Story Café, a 2009 recipient of the LANES Brother Blue-Ruth Hill Storytelling Award, and the 2011 National Storytelling Network’s Oracle Service and Leadership Award. Her greatest joy is helping students succeed in ways they never imagined!

Contact Karen at: 
www.storybug.net
karenchace.blogspot.com

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

A Strange Kind of Christmas Tale

I first came across the story of "The Cat on the Dovrefjell" in a collection of Christmas stories, where it was titled "The Christmas Cat." It's an old Danish tale, with trolls and bears, and no Santa or reindeer. Enjoy!

There once was a man who caught a great white bear. How he caught it I don't know, but he was well pleased with himself.

"I'll  take this to the King of Denmark," he said. "What a fine gift he will think it, and I will have it there just in time for Christmas too."

As it happened he found himself at the Dovre-Mountain just about Christmas Eve. But a snowstorm blew up and made travel difficult.

"We will not get to the King after all, with this storm," he thought.

The man, with his bear on a lead behind him, could barely see where he was going, but suddenly there was a lighted cottage in front of him.  He struggled through the snow to the house, where a man named Halvor and his family lived.

"Please," he begged when Halvor opened the door, "do you have a place where I can get out of this storm, somewhere warm for my bear and me? I promise you my bear will be no trouble. He's quite tame, and worn out from traveling in this storm."

"I wish I could!" said Halvor, "but we can't take in anyone right now. You see,every Christmas Eve the  trolls come and we have to leave and find some other place to spend the night. They are terrible, those trolls! They eat all our food, drink all our drink. We were just getting ready to leave."

  "Let me stay," said the man. "We are too exhausted to go further. My bear can sleep in that corner by the stove, and I will sleep here on this rug."

 "Very well," said Halvor. "But the trolls won't like it. We have to leave everything just so for them so that they will not be angry and destroy our house. Try to stay out of their way or I don't know what might happen to you. We are going to my father's house until the trolls are gone. We have left food on the table for the trolls, so do not touch it, please!" He looked so worried that the man promised he would not touch a thing, though his stomach was growling with hunger.

After Halvor and his family left, the man curled up in a corner on a rug, and the bear took another corner.

It was not long before the door opened, and in came trolls of every kind. There were tall ones and small ones, fat ones and skinny ones, trolls with tails and trolls with none,

By John Bauer, 1882-1918

trolls with very large, long noses and trolls with funny little ears. They rushed to the table and began gobbling everything in sight.

 "What is that?" asked one of the smaller trolls. He walked over to where the bear was sleeping and squinted. "I think it's a cat!" he shouted. He put a piece of meat on a fork and poked the bear's nose with it.

"Here, Kitty! Have some sausage!" He poked harder and harder. "Kitty kitty!" Suddenly the great white bear rose up onto his hind legs and growled. His roar shook the tiny house, and the troll fell over backwards trying to get away.

"Run! Run! It's the biggest, meanest kitty I've ever seen! Run for your lives!"

The trolls rushed out the door with the bear close behind them. The bear chased the trolls far into the woods, then returned to Halvor's house, curled up by the fire and went to sleep. After laughing until he could hardly stand, the man ate and drank his fill, then he too went to sleep. The next morning when Halvor and his family returned he told them what had happened, and they all had a good laugh. The man continued on his journey to see the King, who was well pleased with the gift of the white bear.

 A year later Havlor was out cutting wood on Christmas Eve when he heard a voice calling his name.
"Halvor! Halvor?"

  "Yes. I am right here. Who are you and what do you want?"

  "Do you still have that big white cat you had last Christmas Eve?"

  I not only have her, "said Halvor,"but she has had seven kittens and they are all BIGGER and MEANER than she is!"

  "Well then, we trolls will never come to your house again!"

And ever since that Christmas Eve, the trolls never bothered Halvor and his family again.
 

Trolls and their mischief play a large role in stories from Europe and other countries. To learn more about trolls, check out Sacred Text's article on the topic. MythEncyclopedia has a short piece about trolls with links to other sites. This site offers more extensive research with a good bibliography at the end so you can read more about these strange creatures. And of course, Wikipedia offers a lot of information on the topic. 

The image above of the bear chasing the trolls out of the house is from the book, Popular Tales from the Norse, by George Webbe Dasent, published in 1904. You can read his text of this story and others in the book at Sacred Text.

Just make sure you don't make a troll angry while you're reading!

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.