But first, a word just for the adults…
A MESSAGE FROM the TALE TELLER Hello There, Adults and Happy Holidays to you! I think it might be fair to warn you that Mockingbird Tell Tale Letters are uncensored stories for kids, and so… you might not like them. In fact, I’m willing to bet that you won’t, because this is a Christmas story and everyone who’s anyone knows that the one thing adults don’t know how to do is enjoy Christmas and have fun. Sigh… I beg you please don’t ruin it for the children. I know, I know, you’re more concerned about things like candied yams and turkey and dressing than the exact right number of marshmallows to put in a cup of hot chocolate – and by the way, the answer to that is a gazillion!!! And I know you’re busy decking the halls and then cleaning up afterwards, and wassailing (whatever that is – actually, kids, I know what that is and I’ll tell you all about it later) and cleaning up afterwards. And baking cookies and cleaning up afterwards. And going to Christmas pageants and then cleaning up afterwards. And that’s only the Christmas stuff there is to do. That doesn’t include all the chores some of you have to do for Hanukkah or Kwanzaa. What I’m getting at is… yes, it’s the holidays, and you have a lot to do – but still, you don’t have to be so serious all the time. Maybe, just for the holiday season, take a break from worrying about the the light bill, and worrying if the kiddos are getting enough Vitamin D, and what the best fabric softener is , and if the car needs an oil change. Blah, blah, blah, adult, adult, adult. Mockingbird Tell Tales live in a world (yep, right next door to Santa) where there are no such things.
So adults, take a deep breath. Go on. Take a nice long deep breath, because this Christmas story is about talking rats – and for the love of jingle bells, don’t tell me, “but rats can’t talk!” Firstly, how do you know for sure? And secondly, isn’t squeaking a language? Consider me a translator of the language of rodent-squeak. Okay, I don’t actually speak fluent rodent. But I know stories about people who do – for example, Santa in Narnia! So there you go. Things happen in these stories. My advice: just go with it. Oh, I almost forgot: would you please consider reading this story while lying beneath the Christmas Tree? It’s just a suggestion. If not, can you at least read it while having a cup of hot chocolate with a gazillion marshmallows in it? Sincerely, Respectfully, Cordially, with a Happy, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, Yuletide Greetings, Happy Holidays, Joyeux Noël, Feliz Navidad, Seasons Greetings and a Happy New Year!
(Oh, and PS… for kiddos who don’t know what wassailing is – first of all, you haven’t lived until you’ve gone out and done a good and proper wassailing. A wassailing is a merry, festive, Christmasy paaaaarrrrrtttttyyyy!!!!!!! where you drink hot cider and sing carols while wearing funny hats and scarves while playing kazoos and harmonicas while ringing bells and wearing ice skates or riding a sleigh. Santa and the elves wassail ALL THE TIME! 24/7. It’s how they get things done up there. So, all you need to have for wassailing is a little Christmas in the air. Snow is optional.)
*Telltale Letters *
Holiday Edition 2021 Table of Contents Story: ALL CREATURES BRIGHT and BEAUTIFUL, WISE and WONDERFUL, GREAT and SMALL Page 5
BEYOND the STORY Page 8
Beginners: PRE K–KINDERGARTEN Page 9
Thinkers: ELEMENTARY Page 10
All Creatures Bright And Beautiful, Wise And Wonderful, Great And Small Based on “It Came to Pass: A Christmas Story” by\ Bruce L. Reynolds, and retold by the Tale Teller
I
n tide of yore, which is a very long time ago, there was a city, stuffed with streets, weighed down with tall buildings stacked to the sky. It was clogged with cars and buses and people – some waltzing, some scurrying here and there, wreathed in Christmas festivities of shopping, bell-ringing, drinking, eating and singing beneath the drifting snow and halo of Christmas lights. The parks, splattered with park benches, playgrounds and trees, were glazed with icicles, flaked with snowbanks, and smothered with snowfall and visiting snowmen. Burrowed deep beneath that blanket of Christmas and snow, there was another story unfolding as mysteriously as the stars unfold into the night. Tucked away in the farthest corner of that city’s farthermost park, in a shabby, long-forgotten and boarded-up shed, there was a tiny little rathole, creviced in a grim and dank and rotted bit of wall. There lived inside two rats, a husband and his wife, both old as dragon’s whiskers and kind as fairies. In the most starlit corner of the room that was barely a room, the wife lay in a bed cobbled together with scraps of grubby candy wrappers, oily napkins, bits of twig and Ash and Elm leaves that were moth-eaten and withered. She was shivering with suffering but nonetheless her usually gentle self. Her husband sat on a discarded soda pop cap no more than a rat’s paw away from her in the dimmest corner of their nest. And for every thing they lacked, they enjoyed the comfort of one another. Wearily looking at his wife of many years, the husband squinted and sighed, “It seems like we’ve slipped God’s mind. I’m not blaming anybody or anything, Dear Wife. But when I think of glee and cele-
brations speckling the world, I’m most sad that you, My Love, will not take part in it. I myself only need your happiness.” She turned her head slowly to face him, but paused, staying still and quiet. There were faint notes of carols drifting in the air. With her heart covered in tears, she weeped, “I’m sorry to spoil things, My Sweet.” Her voice was just a whisper. “But I can’t seem to hold a thing even as light as joy in my belly.” “If you only had a decent nest,” he muttered. “The city is so dense and full. If only I could manage to move us to a better corner. Maybe I could find some tender evergreen needles, and a matchbox for a bed with a bit of cotton for a pillow. Perhaps I could even scrounge an old empty spool for a table and a nice clean scrap of cloth to cover it? Who knows. I might even be able to forage up a sugar cube. It is Christmas after all, Dear Wife, and you are My Love. The streets, I’m sure, are strewn with things those Beings have no need of.” His wife closed her eyes and pulled her crinkled leaf up beneath her chin. “Scuttling, scampering, and scurrying,” she tsked, clicking her sandpapery-dry tongue softly. “We are much too old and coated in mange for all that, My Sweet. Best to enjoy what little we have here together. The stars are still very bright. The moon still glows. And you and I are still beside one another.” “Yes, My Love,” he answered. Both his heart and his wife’s ghostly voice reminded him that though a soft bed, a fine table, and a cube of sugar would be nice, comfort doesn’t only come from having things. In fact, they could have all those things but still have boxed up hearts, cold and lonely to the touch. Smiling at his sleeping wife, warmth (if only imagined) radiated all around them. He sighed and settled himself on his bottle cap perched next to his wife. Before long, his eyes joined hers, slowing shutting and slumbering to sleep. But suddenly, there was a knock on the door. His ears twitched quizzically as he startled. His wife slept on, but his were eyes awake and wide open. He tilted his head wonderingly at his wife and mumbled, “What could this be?” Without stirring, she said, “Maybe it’s just the wind come to call on us, Dear Husband.” He went to the door and opened it. And there in the doorway on a patch of grass as green as spring, was a tiny bed, just big enough for two frail rats. It had a thick mattress, covered with a real pink checkered quilt and two plump cotton pillows. Next to the bed was a tiny little table with a tinier tablecloth covered with red and blue flowers. Upon it was a tiniest littlest Christmas tree, and next to the table was a sugar cube with triangle of cheese to match, and one whole grape.
Scratching the tuft of his head and rubbing his crisp whiskers, he stepped out into the open as his wife softly snored inside. “Yes,” he said into the open air. There was still snow all around, except for where the green grass carried the minuscule furniture as if it were a magic carpet. Best as his old bones could move, he began to scuttle the bundle of miracles through the door. And as he re-entered, he found the air around him was no longer damp with mold and musk, but it was fresh and warm, scented with evergreen. The cracks in the walls were sealed and stained with amber tones. There were pretty postage stamps set on the walls like paintings, and everything gleamed with light. But the most luminous thing of all was his wife, standing there in the center of their home on a tiny little braided green and lavender yarn rug. She looked as right as sunshine. She hadn’t been able to get out of bed for nearly a year, but there she stood, curtsying and giggling as wee as a pup. As he began to bow in return, he noticed that he too was transformed, as if suddenly made of the stuff of life. Hurriedly, they ran to each other and clasped hands. For a moment they beamed, hearts and feelings zinging between each other. Then they set to work moving in their new fixings and fittings into their nest. “What a strange thing!” he laughed, shaking his head. “But not strange for you and me,” she winked. They closed the door and sat together on the bed, side by side, of course, with the table lavished with all the trimmings before them. “But Ella, Dear Wife,” he said, still shaken with joy. “Who was that?” She smiled at him. “But Edward, Dear Husband, what does your heart tell you?” “I saw grass growing in the snow…” “I felt it growing in my heart,” she replied. Outside, they could hear a clear song singing on the wind: Just keep faith in your heart. Nourish it, cherish it… Nourish it, cherish it… until it reflects in your thinking, and dreaming, and doing… until it reflects in your thinking, and dreaming, and doing…. Edward’s eyes filled as he found Ella’s hands. Their faces were radiant. Their eyes met and reflected a mutual understanding of one another wrapped in a blanket of comfort, so simple and so glorious.
Beyond the Story for Parents & Educators
“If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans.” James Herriot, Three James Herriot Classics: All Creatures Great and Small, All Things Bright and Beautiful, and All Things Wise and Wonderful
Beginners: Pre K–Kindergarten OUR GREATER VISION: To tender our kids to feel love and concern for all people by first helping them care for all creatures. OUR MOST ILLUMINATING THOUGHTS: Can rats and other animals be happy even though they don’t have the same things as human beings? Do you think the rats deserved kindness? Who do you think sent the gifts for Mr and Mrs Edward and Ella Rat? OUR PRACTICE & INTENTION: This season, find someone on whom you can bestow a miracle. It doesn’t need to be grand. A small gesture of generosity offered to someone in great needs can make all the difference in the world.
Thinkers: Elementary OUR GREATER VISION: To give our elementary thinkers a picture of unconditional generosity for even the most disregarded creatures. Also, to show that all people are worthy of loving, nurturing relationships and all people have the desire to be seen, remembered and cared for. OUR MOST ILLUMINATING THOUGHTS: How do you like to help those who are in need? Do you think Mr. and Mrs. Edward and Ella Rat would have survived without the gifts? Who do you know that might need extra love and care? OUR PRACTICE & INTENTION: Two of my favorite books to read about comfort and love amongst the most unlikely of creatures are by Kate DiCamillo: The Tales of Despereaux (the book is way better than the movie) and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. Also, a really great movie about tenderness and care in the smallest of hearts is Ernest and Celestine.