"a" is for allspice
"b" is for bubble (or breast or belly or berry or balloon or bread or bud or blimp)
"c" is for cell (or cloud)
"d" is for dew
"e" is for egg
"f" is for fig (or fart or foam)
"g" is for globe (or grape or gum)
"h" is for hole (or hum)
"i" is for __________
"j" is for jellyfish
"k" is for ___________
"l" is for light(bulb)
"m" is for mouth (or moon or mellon)
"n" is for nipple
"o" is for oh!
"p" is for pea (or pillow or pearl)
"q" is for queen anne's lace flower
"r" is for rain
"s" is for sound (or stars or seed or sand or soap)
"t" is for time (or tomato)
"u" is for universe
"v" is for voice (or vapor or volcano)
"w" is for water (or wind or wart)
"x" is for __________
"y" is for yodel
"z" is for zero (or zeppelin)
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
the most recent in the series of stories for big kids and little kids
GRANDMA JUNE’S BLACKBERRY BRAMBLE
by Polly Bresnick
June’s family gathered at the old farm house where her grandmother had lived her whole long life. June felt sad that her grandma wasn't there to go blackberry picking with her. She decided it would make her feel better if she went out into the big blackberry bramble at the edge of the yard to pick some berries by herself. Besides, she was sick of being inside with all those chattering grown-ups in the house who smelled like too much perfume.
(page break)
June’s grandmother had always taken her deep into the bramble for the big summer berries, teaching her to always pick only the ripest berries and to never break the plant’s branches or trample it’s roots – this way, the plant would produce more and more berries throughout the summers to come. June picked and picked and picked and picked, going deeper and deeper into the bramble until before too long, she disappeared into the thick tangle of bushes and lost her sense of time in the cool, tart taste of each blackberry. It was midsummer, and the berries were everywhere, dozens of them on every thorny branch.
(page break)
As it started to grow dark, June heard her mother calling her back inside. She didn’t want to stop picking and eating, but she knew she had to go in or her mother would worry. As she made her way quickly through the bramble, a thorn snagged on the hem of her dress.
"Hurry, June!" her mother called. "Dinner’s on the table, and we’re all waiting for you."
June tugged at her dress and pulled it free. The piece of her hem that was caught ripped off and dangled from the prickly branch.
(page break)
The following summer when June’s family visited the big old farm house, June went back to the bramble and picked lots and lots of blackberries. She stuffed herself with berries until she felt sugar-woozy from the dark berry juice that filled her belly and made her brain feel all buzzy. When June couldn’t eat another berry, she began to head toward the edge of the bramble. As she carefully made her way through the scratchy berry branches, some thorns caught on her straw hat—and snatched it right off her head! When June turned around to look, her hat was bobbing on a branch, held tightly by the thorns. Too tired and too full to go back and unhook it, June left her hat behind, planning to retrieve it in the morning. But the next morning when she looked for it, her hat was gone. Her mother said the wind must have blown it away, but June didn't remember it being windy.
(page break)
The summer before June started middle school, she returned to her grandmother's big old house with her family. Once again, she went straight to the blackberry bramble. She took a bucket with her so she could bring back some berries to share. Now that she was older and bigger, June had become braver, and she scrambled deeper into the blackberry thicket than she had ever gone before. She picked and picked and picked and picked. When she had filled both her belly and the bucket, she turned back toward her grandmother’s house and started to make her way out of the thick bramble, being careful as always not to trample any low branches.
The bushes swayed in the slight afternoon breezes and seemed to want to hold June back. Some thorns snagged her long braid, and when she couldn’t un-do the hopeless tangle, she took out her pocket knife and quickly cut off her braid. Feeling a little scared as she looked back at her braid dangling in the thorny clutches of the bramble's branches, June ran out of the bramble with one lopsided braid bouncing against her shoulder.
(page break)
Many summers later, June returned to the old farmhouse with her husband and young daughter. Leaving the two of them on the porch to read a book, June headed straight for the blackberry bramble. This time, she took along a large basket so she could bring back lots of berries to make pie and muffins for her family. She picked and picked and picked and picked until her fingers were sticky and purple. She tried to fill her basket before she filled her belly, but somehow ended up with both full of sweet berries.
(page break)
Once her basket was full, June started back through the thicket to the old farm house. But, just before she got to the edge of the bramble, she saw a cluster of plump, shiny blackberries glistening in the late afternoon sun. June reached out for the biggest one she could see, but just as she tried to pick it, a sharp thorn pricked her finger. The sudden stab of pain surprised her, and she quickly put her sore finger in her mouth and sucked on the bright red dot of blood that mingled with the sweet berry juice on her finger. She hurried out of the bramble, heading to the house to wash her hand and find a bandaid.
(page break)
Soon, June had bandaged her finger and was happily making blackberry pie with her young daughter in the sunny kitchen of the old farm house. Before long, she’d forgotten all about the nasty thorn prick.
(page break)
Many years later, June returned to the house when she was a grandmother herself. Her daughter, who was now grown up and married, and her baby granddaughter, whom she loved very much, had come with her. They arrived at the old farm house early in the evening, and soon after they got there, June’s daughter and granddaughter went out to the porch to shell fresh peas for supper. June went out to the blackberry bramble right away. She wanted to harvest just a few special berries for her granddaughter to taste.
(page break)
June entered the bramble, and watched the fireflies waking up all around her. As she watched them fill the air like tiny blinking stars, she thought she heard the blackberry bushes whispering a question. But, no, that couldn’t be! She listened again more carefully as she made her way deeper into the bramble where it was dark and cool and quiet. She heard the bramble whispering again! It was asking her for something!
"After so many years of giving you my berries," the bramble moaned softly, sounding almost like the evening breeze murmuring through the branches, "what do you have to give me in return?"
(page break)
June thought about the question before she answered it.
"But, but … I gave you that swatch of cloth from the hem of my dress," she said. "And you took my hat! And my braid! And, and … you pricked me and took my blood! What more do you want from me?"
"Your baby granddaughter," the bush moaned. "Give me your baby grandbaby."
"You are a heartless blackberry bramble!" June yelled at the bushes. "I will never give you my baby granddaughter!"
"Then you shall never taste the sweet berries from my bushes again!" the bramble boomed. A wave of rustles spread throughout the prickly branches, and storm clouds slid into the night sky above.
(page break)
June watched as all the big ripe berries around her began to shrivel up, and a flash of lightening streaked the sky. She rushed out, feeling afraid of the bramble’s harsh demand. But just before she reached the edge of the bramble, June spotted a berry that wasn’t shriveled yet. It was shiny and big, full of sweet blackberry juice. June grabbed the berry and popped it into her mouth as she stepped into the safety of the yard. Behind her, the bramble rustled with a low, restless shwoosh, and the first drops of a summer rainstorm plunked down on the top of June’s head as she ran toward the old farm house.
(page break)
During the summers that followed, the bramble turned dry and brown, and there were no sweet, juicy blackberries on its branches. When June and her family visited, everyone else assumed the bushes must have died. Maybe there hadn't been enough rain that year, they guessed. But there had been plenty of rain. June knew that it was her fault.
(page break)
Every summer, June went back to the old farm house and gazed out at the withered thicket. She longed for the sweet, juicy berries she’d eaten in her youth. Then one morning, when she couldn’t bear one more summer day without blackberries, she decided to make a deal with the bramble. Walking with her cane, wobbling a bit, she went deep into the thorny tangled bramble. There wasn’t a single berry in sight.
"Bramble, I know you are waiting for an offering from me," June said in her shakey, wise old woman’s voice, "and I'm ready to give you something."
"Are you ready to give me your granddaughter?" the bramble mumbled through the morning buzz of summertime grasshoppers and bumblebees.
"No, no …" June said, shaking her head.
"Then get out and leave me to rest," the bramble grumbled hoarsely. "I am too tired to make berries without your offering. I need to renew my life-energy."
(page break)
June took a deep breath before she spoke again.
"Let me have one last berry—a big perfect one like the ones you used to bear——and then take me instead of my granddaughter. She is young and has so much life ahead of her. I am old and have lived a long life filled with happiness and blackberries. I am so grateful for the sweet fruit you have shared with me."
Pleased that June felt so thankful, and impressed by her wisdom, the bramble fell silent. Suddenly, June heard a low rumbling sound coming from the deep old roots of the bramble. It was so faint, she wasn’t sure she heard it at all, but she felt the ground tremble under her feet. Then, she watched delightedly as a string of perfectly ripe berries burst out on the branches around her. They surrounded her like a hula-hoop of dark purple jewels, sparkling in the sun, eager to be picked.
(page break)
June started with the blackberry right in front of her, carefully picking it from its perch on the thorny branch. She felt grateful all over her body, right out to the tips of her fingers where she held the berry. When she put it in her mouth, she held it there for a moment before chewing down on it, cherishing the berry's perfect berry-ness. As she bit down on it slowly, she felt the juice release its sweetness onto her tongue. It was sweeter than any blackberry she’d ever tasted before in all her long life of summer berry picking! And, this berry’s sweetness streamed into every part of her body, from her happy belly down through her wiggling toes, finally swirling around her big, grateful heart.
(page break)
No one ever saw old June again, but her daughter and her granddaughter liked to think that she had decided to disappear into the bramble and stay there forever, happily nibbling on an endless ring of blackberries.
(page break)
Years passed, and one bright August morning, June’s granddaughter went skipping out across the yard toward the large patch of blackberry bushes she and her mother called Grandma June’s Bramble. The girl was thinking she would have fresh-picked blackberries for breakfast—maybe with a splash of fresh cream.
(page break)
She gently pushed aside the thorny branches, just as Grandma June had taught her, and made her way into the cool green world of the bramble. She gazed at the shiny blackberries all around her. After its long rest, the bramble’s branches were heavy with the weight of the biggest, juiciest, sweetest berries anyone had ever eaten. The little girl stepped carefully through the thick tangled bushes, remembering how Grandma June had told her not to crush or break the branches, to be careful and respectful of the bramble as she picked the berries it offered her.
(page break)
The little girl picked and ate and picked and ate until her belly couldn’t hold another berry, then she slowly made her way out of the bramble with each hand filled to the brim with blackberries for her mother. Just as she’d almost reached the thorny branches at the edge of the bramble, her little purple hair ribbon got snagged on a thorn, but she hardly noticed it was gone as she headed toward the old farm house, proudly holding out her handfuls of berries.
The End
by Polly Bresnick
June’s family gathered at the old farm house where her grandmother had lived her whole long life. June felt sad that her grandma wasn't there to go blackberry picking with her. She decided it would make her feel better if she went out into the big blackberry bramble at the edge of the yard to pick some berries by herself. Besides, she was sick of being inside with all those chattering grown-ups in the house who smelled like too much perfume.
(page break)
June’s grandmother had always taken her deep into the bramble for the big summer berries, teaching her to always pick only the ripest berries and to never break the plant’s branches or trample it’s roots – this way, the plant would produce more and more berries throughout the summers to come. June picked and picked and picked and picked, going deeper and deeper into the bramble until before too long, she disappeared into the thick tangle of bushes and lost her sense of time in the cool, tart taste of each blackberry. It was midsummer, and the berries were everywhere, dozens of them on every thorny branch.
(page break)
As it started to grow dark, June heard her mother calling her back inside. She didn’t want to stop picking and eating, but she knew she had to go in or her mother would worry. As she made her way quickly through the bramble, a thorn snagged on the hem of her dress.
"Hurry, June!" her mother called. "Dinner’s on the table, and we’re all waiting for you."
June tugged at her dress and pulled it free. The piece of her hem that was caught ripped off and dangled from the prickly branch.
(page break)
The following summer when June’s family visited the big old farm house, June went back to the bramble and picked lots and lots of blackberries. She stuffed herself with berries until she felt sugar-woozy from the dark berry juice that filled her belly and made her brain feel all buzzy. When June couldn’t eat another berry, she began to head toward the edge of the bramble. As she carefully made her way through the scratchy berry branches, some thorns caught on her straw hat—and snatched it right off her head! When June turned around to look, her hat was bobbing on a branch, held tightly by the thorns. Too tired and too full to go back and unhook it, June left her hat behind, planning to retrieve it in the morning. But the next morning when she looked for it, her hat was gone. Her mother said the wind must have blown it away, but June didn't remember it being windy.
(page break)
The summer before June started middle school, she returned to her grandmother's big old house with her family. Once again, she went straight to the blackberry bramble. She took a bucket with her so she could bring back some berries to share. Now that she was older and bigger, June had become braver, and she scrambled deeper into the blackberry thicket than she had ever gone before. She picked and picked and picked and picked. When she had filled both her belly and the bucket, she turned back toward her grandmother’s house and started to make her way out of the thick bramble, being careful as always not to trample any low branches.
The bushes swayed in the slight afternoon breezes and seemed to want to hold June back. Some thorns snagged her long braid, and when she couldn’t un-do the hopeless tangle, she took out her pocket knife and quickly cut off her braid. Feeling a little scared as she looked back at her braid dangling in the thorny clutches of the bramble's branches, June ran out of the bramble with one lopsided braid bouncing against her shoulder.
(page break)
Many summers later, June returned to the old farmhouse with her husband and young daughter. Leaving the two of them on the porch to read a book, June headed straight for the blackberry bramble. This time, she took along a large basket so she could bring back lots of berries to make pie and muffins for her family. She picked and picked and picked and picked until her fingers were sticky and purple. She tried to fill her basket before she filled her belly, but somehow ended up with both full of sweet berries.
(page break)
Once her basket was full, June started back through the thicket to the old farm house. But, just before she got to the edge of the bramble, she saw a cluster of plump, shiny blackberries glistening in the late afternoon sun. June reached out for the biggest one she could see, but just as she tried to pick it, a sharp thorn pricked her finger. The sudden stab of pain surprised her, and she quickly put her sore finger in her mouth and sucked on the bright red dot of blood that mingled with the sweet berry juice on her finger. She hurried out of the bramble, heading to the house to wash her hand and find a bandaid.
(page break)
Soon, June had bandaged her finger and was happily making blackberry pie with her young daughter in the sunny kitchen of the old farm house. Before long, she’d forgotten all about the nasty thorn prick.
(page break)
Many years later, June returned to the house when she was a grandmother herself. Her daughter, who was now grown up and married, and her baby granddaughter, whom she loved very much, had come with her. They arrived at the old farm house early in the evening, and soon after they got there, June’s daughter and granddaughter went out to the porch to shell fresh peas for supper. June went out to the blackberry bramble right away. She wanted to harvest just a few special berries for her granddaughter to taste.
(page break)
June entered the bramble, and watched the fireflies waking up all around her. As she watched them fill the air like tiny blinking stars, she thought she heard the blackberry bushes whispering a question. But, no, that couldn’t be! She listened again more carefully as she made her way deeper into the bramble where it was dark and cool and quiet. She heard the bramble whispering again! It was asking her for something!
"After so many years of giving you my berries," the bramble moaned softly, sounding almost like the evening breeze murmuring through the branches, "what do you have to give me in return?"
(page break)
June thought about the question before she answered it.
"But, but … I gave you that swatch of cloth from the hem of my dress," she said. "And you took my hat! And my braid! And, and … you pricked me and took my blood! What more do you want from me?"
"Your baby granddaughter," the bush moaned. "Give me your baby grandbaby."
"You are a heartless blackberry bramble!" June yelled at the bushes. "I will never give you my baby granddaughter!"
"Then you shall never taste the sweet berries from my bushes again!" the bramble boomed. A wave of rustles spread throughout the prickly branches, and storm clouds slid into the night sky above.
(page break)
June watched as all the big ripe berries around her began to shrivel up, and a flash of lightening streaked the sky. She rushed out, feeling afraid of the bramble’s harsh demand. But just before she reached the edge of the bramble, June spotted a berry that wasn’t shriveled yet. It was shiny and big, full of sweet blackberry juice. June grabbed the berry and popped it into her mouth as she stepped into the safety of the yard. Behind her, the bramble rustled with a low, restless shwoosh, and the first drops of a summer rainstorm plunked down on the top of June’s head as she ran toward the old farm house.
(page break)
During the summers that followed, the bramble turned dry and brown, and there were no sweet, juicy blackberries on its branches. When June and her family visited, everyone else assumed the bushes must have died. Maybe there hadn't been enough rain that year, they guessed. But there had been plenty of rain. June knew that it was her fault.
(page break)
Every summer, June went back to the old farm house and gazed out at the withered thicket. She longed for the sweet, juicy berries she’d eaten in her youth. Then one morning, when she couldn’t bear one more summer day without blackberries, she decided to make a deal with the bramble. Walking with her cane, wobbling a bit, she went deep into the thorny tangled bramble. There wasn’t a single berry in sight.
"Bramble, I know you are waiting for an offering from me," June said in her shakey, wise old woman’s voice, "and I'm ready to give you something."
"Are you ready to give me your granddaughter?" the bramble mumbled through the morning buzz of summertime grasshoppers and bumblebees.
"No, no …" June said, shaking her head.
"Then get out and leave me to rest," the bramble grumbled hoarsely. "I am too tired to make berries without your offering. I need to renew my life-energy."
(page break)
June took a deep breath before she spoke again.
"Let me have one last berry—a big perfect one like the ones you used to bear——and then take me instead of my granddaughter. She is young and has so much life ahead of her. I am old and have lived a long life filled with happiness and blackberries. I am so grateful for the sweet fruit you have shared with me."
Pleased that June felt so thankful, and impressed by her wisdom, the bramble fell silent. Suddenly, June heard a low rumbling sound coming from the deep old roots of the bramble. It was so faint, she wasn’t sure she heard it at all, but she felt the ground tremble under her feet. Then, she watched delightedly as a string of perfectly ripe berries burst out on the branches around her. They surrounded her like a hula-hoop of dark purple jewels, sparkling in the sun, eager to be picked.
(page break)
June started with the blackberry right in front of her, carefully picking it from its perch on the thorny branch. She felt grateful all over her body, right out to the tips of her fingers where she held the berry. When she put it in her mouth, she held it there for a moment before chewing down on it, cherishing the berry's perfect berry-ness. As she bit down on it slowly, she felt the juice release its sweetness onto her tongue. It was sweeter than any blackberry she’d ever tasted before in all her long life of summer berry picking! And, this berry’s sweetness streamed into every part of her body, from her happy belly down through her wiggling toes, finally swirling around her big, grateful heart.
(page break)
No one ever saw old June again, but her daughter and her granddaughter liked to think that she had decided to disappear into the bramble and stay there forever, happily nibbling on an endless ring of blackberries.
(page break)
Years passed, and one bright August morning, June’s granddaughter went skipping out across the yard toward the large patch of blackberry bushes she and her mother called Grandma June’s Bramble. The girl was thinking she would have fresh-picked blackberries for breakfast—maybe with a splash of fresh cream.
(page break)
She gently pushed aside the thorny branches, just as Grandma June had taught her, and made her way into the cool green world of the bramble. She gazed at the shiny blackberries all around her. After its long rest, the bramble’s branches were heavy with the weight of the biggest, juiciest, sweetest berries anyone had ever eaten. The little girl stepped carefully through the thick tangled bushes, remembering how Grandma June had told her not to crush or break the branches, to be careful and respectful of the bramble as she picked the berries it offered her.
(page break)
The little girl picked and ate and picked and ate until her belly couldn’t hold another berry, then she slowly made her way out of the bramble with each hand filled to the brim with blackberries for her mother. Just as she’d almost reached the thorny branches at the edge of the bramble, her little purple hair ribbon got snagged on a thorn, but she hardly noticed it was gone as she headed toward the old farm house, proudly holding out her handfuls of berries.
The End
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
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