YAISHWARYAJ: {Awareness} Signed, Abiah Rose - The lonely frog [2 Attachments]

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Pedagogical Project

"The Joy of Reading"

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Dear Readers,

We would like to invite you to take part in a new project called "From Stories to Books".

The Stories for Everyone Team have been, for some time, gathering and selecting books that provide some sort of reflection on the fundamental ethical principles of

our society, such as solidarity, courage, honesty, respect for differences and a sense of justice, matters that have deserved the attention of writers from various

nationalities.

Therefore, the Stories for Everyone Team proposes to send, together with the usual weekly stories,and also free of charge, full texts of selected books.

In case you are interested in receiving each week, by email, a chapter of an extensive reading book, all you have to do is send an email to

books@storiesforeveryone.com or stories4ev@gmail.com by writing the following sentence in the subject field:

"Yes, I am interested in participating in the project From Stories to Books."

Hoping that this new proposal will meet your utmost interest, we look forward to your reply.

The Stories for Everyone Team

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This week's stories with PDF attachments:

- Signed, Abiah Rose

- The Lonely Frog

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Signed, Abiah Rose

My papa has a farm in the valley of the Genesee River. We four children have our own tasks to do about the farm, but we each have our own talents as well. My brother Eliah can whittle a piece of wood until it is the very image of a dog or a goose or a cat. Sister Jerusha plays a Philadelphia pianoforte and sings like a little bird. The youngest, Katherine, stitches snips of calamanco together with sulk thread to make wondrous quilts.

And I make pictures.

When I was very small I would smear soot from the hearth into the shapes of birds and flowers. Nurse said "no" and "dirty" and swept them away. I think I did not heed her overmuch.

When I was older, I wound papa´s wagon ´round with leafy tendrils of painted vines. Papa was not pleased, though I heard him tell Mama that the vines looked real enough.

One bright May morning I could not help it. The desire to do something with my own hands overcame me, and I took the whitewash bucket to the new-painted barn.

It was much improved, I thought, with likenesses of our cow Delia and our horse Becky, but Papa did not like it. This time he said, "Get her some proper paints and a surface besides my barn and wagon upon which to make her pictures."

Once I was supplied with colors and board, I painted my Papa´s portrait in thanks. He must have liked it well enough, for he hung it in the keeping room. Mama asked could I paint Cousin Mariah´s likeness for her ninetieth birthday. Papa said, "Best not. Serious painting is not girl´s work." But he did show his portrait to our neighbor Mr. Prior who asked would I paint his also. As did our neighbor Mr. Pinney.

Before long, I had not only painted Mr. Prior and Mr. Pinney but every member of my family, the hired man, and his dog, Ira, too. So I set about looking for new subjects.

Now our Aunt Eliza can tell a tale better than anyone I know. When Eliah, Jerusha, Katherine, and I were children, we would gather about her every Sunday after supper and listen while Noah built his Ark to save himself and the creatures of the world from the Great Flood. And when the ladies of old Egypt pulled little baby Moses from the River Nile, we always exclaimed and sighed with relief.

Listening to Aunt Eliza, I felt I could almost touch the blue of Mary´s mantle and the jig-jog patchwork of Joseph´s coat. I wanted to make pictures as vivid as Aunt Eliza´s stories.

I showed Mama my painting Flight into Egypt and she asked Papa if perhaps Pastor Winslow would like it for the church. "Best not," he said. But Pastor Winslow heard about Flightand greatly admired the painting when he came for a visit. So Papa gave it to him.

I asked if I should sign my name to Flight, but Mama cautioned me against being prideful. So instead, I began making my own mark upon my pictures: a tiny rose. I could hide it amongst the flowers or leaves or in the folds of a lady´s skirt. It would be a secret thing, not my name really, so I saw no harm in it.

This summer, Uncle Albion came to visit. Uncle is a peddler, though he does not often come so far north as our valley. His colorful wagon, adorned with strings of spoons that joggle in the breeze, is a welcome sight to the folk of the Genesee.

I always think of it as a magic wagon, crammed full with all manner of things, from snips of ribbon to bolts of silk. It holds hammers and saws and nails and seeds and tiny bottles of syrup to cure all that ails.

Once Uncle was fed and sat resting on our porch, I asked him if I might repaint his marvelous wagon with subjects of his own choosing.

"What is this!" he exclaimed, and insisted he see all my work, which he praised heartily. So I was allowed to paint Uncle´s wagon, entertained all the while by tales of his travels. He told me of artists he knew who were all men, and old, but he declared I painted better than a fair number of them.

Uncle Albion´s enthusiasm for my work inspired him to ask my parents if I might join him in his travels. He was very persuasive and after much discussion Papa said, "You may spend the summer helping your uncle. If a picture is requested, you may paint it, but the coins are to go to Albion for your keep. If there is more beyond his share, it shall go for your future life when you marry."

So, Uncle Albion and I set off to travel the dusty roads of our wide, green valley, offering our bolts of yardage and cards of needles, and visiting, too, with the farmers and villagers along the way.

Uncle always knew where we would be welcomed to stay the night or to share a meal. We set my Bible pictures about those dusty yards, and housewives oohed and aahed and offered us cold glasses of buttermilk or apple cider.

…

(To be continued in the PDF attachment)

Diane Browning

Signed, Abiah Rose

New York, Tricycle Press, 2009

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The Lonely Frog

Once upon a time there was a frog who lived in a pond. She lived alone. The pond was also small.

She missed having other frogs around, to keep her company and croak in competition in the nights of full moon.

She felt that if other frogs lived with her, she would be able to swim breaststroke more joyfully, faster and with more style... She felt that her plops into the water, for lack of spectators, were awkward and ungainly.

In short, the frog of this small pond felt very lonely. Abandoned, unhappy.

Now you ask why this frog didn´t move into a broader and froggier pond.

Because she was afraid she wouldn´t be able to find one nearby. And, as you certainly know, frogs hate wasting time with dry jumps. They miss the water. Without it they lose the glitter of their skin and the energy to live. Didn´t you know?

One day, the rain started and wouldn´t stop. Day and night. Night and day.

The fields became soaked. The rivers burst their banks. Small ponds, distant from each other, joined together in a huge lake.

It was a terrible flood. It was in the newspapers and the television talked about it.

Houses showing only their roofs. Drowned animals. People being saved in small boats by firemen. A calamity.

But as this story belongs to the frog, this story has a happy ending. The frog, after the tempest, found company.

Tens of frogs are now croaking, in chorus, singing the praises of the rain, the abundance of water, the embrace of the immense lake that had joined them together.

Just between us and in secret, I beg you never to tell this story to people who have suffered the tragic effects of a flood. They wouldn´t like it.

A. Torrado

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You can visit us on Facebook where you can find more interesting stories about several different topics.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Stories-for-Everyone/125862557478585

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Sir/Madam,

We are a group of people with some experience in the area of storytelling and we would like to share our project – The Joy of Reading – with everyone who is in touch with children and young people in general but above all with everyone that enjoys reading.

This project consists of sending stories for free on a weekly basis. So this particular e-mail and the ones that will follow it in the next weeks are intended to share some small stories with you. All the stories we send have some values within: respect for nature, tolerance, tenderness, responsibility, solidarity and many more. They all aim at developing the reading skills among young people, as well as allowing some moments of reflection and dialogue about topics connected with human values, which seem to have been somewhat forgotten in these times of materialism and hedonism.

We thank you for your attention and hope you will welcome this project (which, it is important to say, does not have any profitable aims).

If you know anyone interested in receiving the weekly stories by email, let us know by sending their emails to us.

Please let us know your opinion about the project.

Yours faithfully

The Pedagogical Team

sg@storiesforeveryone.com

stories4ev@gmail.com