Show and Tell Friday (#4)

It's that time again! Welcome to Show and Tell Friday, hosted by Kelli at There is no place like Home. (You can join in the fun by stopping by to view the others or find out how you can participate!)

Last weekend, I took the girls down to my mom's house to spend the night, where I had one last yard sale for her. We're going to be fixing up the old place a bit in order to put in on the market, and though we've already been in the process of helping her declutter, we decided to have... one last yard sale.
Truly! One...last...yard sale.

As I was rummaging through her garage, I found a few bags of paperwork that had made it's way out there. Most were very old bills and magazines...and hidden between all the old ads and phone bills, something pink caught my eye. I pulled it out, and found something that looked very familiar.
(My lighting wasn't very good...but you can click on the picture for a better look.)


I tell you, it was like stepping through a time machine. A little story that I made when I was about eight years old.
Only two pieces of blank paper, folded to make it look like a book...not even put together with any adhesive or staples. But somehow it had stayed together.

Now, I actually do remember seeing this off and on throughout the years. My mom and I had been saving it. But somehow, it had gotten lost in the shuffle, awaiting it's certain doom in to the recycle bin.

This one, if I remember right, was suppose to be like some of the children's books I had read when I was even younger. And according the price I wrote on the cover, I was not only trying to make it look real, perhaps I thought it had a market value of 5 cents.

I wrote countless stories growing up. Some I'd finish, but many others were "chapter books" that I'd keep starting and never finish.
Seems to be my trademark, since even today, I'm a wannabe writer, with a novel just "this close" from being finished. Sigh.

Some of those stories (and half-stories) that I wrote throughout the growing up years also somehow managed to be saved and escape the trash and survive our countless moves as a child. But finding this particular little book was meaningful because it was one of my very first story attempts.
I can almost remember writing it, and showing it proudly to my parents in that house in Kent...

And now, what makes this even more special is the timing. My oldest child is exactly the same age as I had been at the time, and I am just a little excited that she has a strong love for writing, as well! Her hand-writing is so similar to mine was at the time, and so is her style! (Only hers is a tad better!)

And for your entertainment, here's a sampling of this epic novel, entitled,
"May I have a cookie?" taken directly from this ancient manuscript, spelling errors, included...;)
Keep in mind, at age eight, I think I had high hopes of selling this to some eager first grader...

"One day Michael descuvvered that thay ran out of cookies. He told James. James said that they could get more tomorrow.
'We can get more, Michael, maybe tomorrow.' But Michael couldn't wait. He ran to tell his mother. (His father was in the Army.)
Mother said, "We can't go to the store today, I'm sorry."
So Michale looked for people who would give him a cookies, or two."

And then later, the plot continues...

"Soon Michael found a dog. In front of it was a man." Pausing to ask, OK, is this not humor at it's best, I ask you? ;) Michael asked,"May I have a cookie? He looked down. "You may not!" he said. 'What a unpolite little boy!"



I know you all are on the edge of your seat wondering if Michael ever got any cookies. But let me tell you, like all good stories do when you're eight, it had a happy ending.

But here is a picture on the first page. It's Michael, apparently, nonchalantly walking to the kitchen, completely unaware of the disaster of the empty cookie jar which awaits him...


(Hmmm...my artistic ability hasn't improved much- I kind of draw like that now.)

In all seriousness, not only was this a blessing to find and rescue because of my own personal memories...but it was so fun to share it with my family- especially my own little eight year old writer.

And this wasn't the only little gem I plucked out of the garage last weekend. There's more to come!

So...be careful when sorting your eighty year old mother's papers. Underneath her 1986 Woman's Day magazine just might be your own prize epic from third grade just waiting to be found.