Stories, Tales, Folklore, and Such As!

By Brigitta Gisella Geltrich-Ludgate

There are fifty-four stories in the edition Stories, Tales, Folklore & Such As. They were written over the years from the late 1950s to the present. Some of the stories or tales served as jumping boards from which longer stories or tales were written and are already published in the authors books of Tales and Bedtime Stories, The Muddy Little Bell, and Fathers Can Be Good Dads, and others that are self-contained. Most of the content was culled from the publications of The Creative with Words Publications (CWW), which was published by the author from 1975 to the present for children and adult poets and writers. Originally, not all of the stories and tales and folklore and such as were written under the authors name, Brigitta Gisella Geltrich Ludgate. They were offered under her pseudonymsBert Hower, Max Davis, and Creative Kate. All, however, are the sole creations of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524573508

Brigitta Gisella Geltrich-Ludgate

Brigitta Gisella Geltrich-Ludgate was born in Kitale of the British East African colony, today’s Kenya, and was raised until school age on a farm with the name Kalua-Estates. She received her basic education in various European countries as well as in a boarding school in Lucerne, Switzerland. Even though Lucerne is in the German Swiss, the school conducted all its classes and communications in French. Her BA and MA degrees were earned at the University of Arizona in Tucson, and her Ph.D. studies were completed at the University of California Berkeley and the University of California Los Angeles. She holds an AA degree in creative writing from the Palmer Writer School, at-tended several years of memoire writing through the Monterey Peninsula College, where she had the opportunity to share her writings with fellow students, most of them outstanding writers, and bought several courses in creative writing from The Great Courses. As professor in academia, she has numerous academic as well as creative writings presented at national conferences and published in academic journals as well as in local papers. She is the author of twenty-four books, with two volumes of memoires in the final stages and a novel about a father and son moving to Alaska almost completed.

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STORIES, TALES,

FOLKLORE, AND SUCH AS!

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Brigitta Gisella Geltrich-Ludgate

Flower in the author’s garden; photograph by the author.

Copyright © 2017 by Brigitta Gisella Geltrich-Ludgate.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017900063

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5245-7352-2

   Softcover   978-1-5245-7351-5

   eBook   978-1-5245-7350-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/24/2017

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

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THE CONTENTS OF Stories, Tales, Folklore, and Such As! are dedicated to the Creative With Words’ writers and poets of all ages from 1975 to 2012. Thanks to these talented folks, the author found herself urged on to continue writing poetry and prose. It was a great learning experience all around.

The content is also dedicated to Illya Thompson, the author’s creative writing instructor for memoir chapters.

Contents

Introduction

Stories

A Ship In The Harbor

(Story Of The Author’s Observation At A Harbor)

Being One!

(Story Of A Stroll Along A Monterey Quay)

Home

(Story Of An Excerpt Of The Novel Fathers Can Be Good Dads)

Destination Tucson, Arizona

(Story Based On Destination Tucson, In The Author’s Book The Muddy Little Bell; A Rewrite)

The Cause Of A Smile

(Story Of A True Experience)

Coming To California, A Story Of Immigration

(Story Of The Author And Her Son Moving To California)

Regensburg, Germany, Twice Visited

(Story Of A Mystical Encounter)

A Barge With A Mind Of Its Own

(Story Of A True Incident On A California Shore)

Puppy Anecdotes

(Stories Of A Puppy’s Impressions In A New Home)

The First Morning At The New Home

The Outdoors

The Second Morning

Sabina’s Problem—In Master Nick’s Voice

Pelt-Shedding Time In The Bathroom

The Shoes

The Swimming Pool

Discipline

A Baby Rat

(Story Of An Unbelievable Situation)

Retrospectively Seen

(Story Of A Personal Experience At School)

Was That A Celebrity In The Blurry Picture?

(Story Of Something That Could Have Been)

That’s How It Once Was!

(Story Of An Experience Of The Author’s Sister)

A Story Within A Story

(Story Of The Beginning Of Nameless In The Author’s Book The Muddy Little Bell)

Births In The Stable

(Stories Of Two Births At The Sanctuary)

First Birth

Second Birth

Angie Stories1

(Stories Of A Little Girl)

Mom And The Refrigerator

Angie Went Camping With Pop

An Interview With Angie About Cooking

(1Another Angie Story Is In The Little People Of Oakcreek Book)

Strong Beliefs

(Story Of Another Oatman, Arizona, Situation With Dad)

Pardon Me, While I See If My Ears Are Up!

(Story Of A Rendition Of Communication)

From Caves To School

(Story Of A Trip To The Taramuhara People In

Copper Canyon, Chihuahua, Mexico)

Stones

(Story Of An Inspiration At Reinhold Netter’s House, A Family Friend On The Mother’s Side Of The Author)

An Unusual Outing

(Story Of A Hike To The Wendelstein Mountain)

The Party Line

(Story Of The Telephone System In The 1950S Of Southern Ontario, Canada)

Pathfinder

(Story Of The Author Being Trained In Living In The All Outdoors)

One, Two, Three—Contact!

(Story Of A Painful Experience In The 1970S)

When It Rains Over Southern Arizona

(Story Of Relief Only Rain Can Bring To A Drought-Stricken Area)

Can We Not Reward The Aged Now?

(Story On Thoughts In The 1970S)

In Dedication To A Good Mother And Three Little Orphans

(Story Rewritten Of This To A Good Mother, In The Author’s Book The Muddy Little Bell)

Tales

Ferdy, The Duck

(A Tale Of A Lonely Duck)

Santa And Mrs. Claus In Carmel-By-The-Sea

(A Tale Of Santa Claus And Mrs. Claus Out Of Season)

Going Back

(A Tale Of Returning To An Old-Fashioned Christmas)

The True Story Of The Little Crooked Street

(A Tale Of A Street Fighting Against Being Built Crookedly)

Runroader Manuel

(A Tale Of A Confused Young Roadrunner)

The Prolific Cuckoo

(A Tale Of A Cuckoo Bird Coming To The Bird Apartment)

Lydia Wren’s Desert Lodging

(A Tale Of A Bewitched Desert Wren)

Ten Days In The Life Of A Small Silver Shop

(A Tale Of A Short Time In A Small Silver Shop)

The Night Mother Danced With The Apache Indians

(A Tale Of A Mother’s Unexpected Dance)

The Nightly Visitor

(A Short Tale)

The Reluctant Knight

(A Tale Of A Knight In Search Of Fame)

The Magic Dolls

(A Tale Inspired By A Dream)

The Crow, The Pigeons, The Squirrels, And Whatnot

(A Tale Based On Observations In The Author’s Front Yard)

The Water Castle

(A Tale Of An Architectural Construction Under The Sea)

The Potato Mice

(A Tale Of Three Weird Potatoes)

The Boat (Anna Bell)

(A Tale Of A Landmark Of The Street)

The Clock

(A Tale Of A Family Clock)

Jessy The Mouse

(A Tale Of A Courageous Mouse)

A Little Light On The Railing

(A Tale Of A Strange Light That Grows)

Sunshine

(A Tale Of How Sunshine Came To Be A Companion Of A Ship)

Folklore

The Traveling Hat

(Folklore Of A Hat With A Mind Of Its Own)

You Would Think They Knew Better!

(Folklore Of A Story Once Heard With The Original Author Unknown)

Wedding: A Rite Of Passage

(Folklore Of Historical Wedding Ceremonies)

Bundling And Banns

Wedding Gown

Proper Time, Day, Month

Bridal Shower

Wedding Gifts

Wedding Ceremony

Weather Conditions

Wedding Ring

Kissing The Bride

Such As!

What Went Wrong On Our Journey To Elysium?

(Such As A Journal Entry In A Philosophy Class)

The Unanswered Question

(Such As Another Journal Entry In A Philosophy Class)

How Well Do You Know Your Pets?

(Such As A Quiz)

It’s Time Again

(Such As Grandpa’s Anxiety About An Outhouse)

Days Of Our Week

(Such As A Historical Account Of The Names Of Weekdays)

A Nightly Conversation

(Such As A Dialogue)

INTRODUCTION

THE STORIES, TALES, Folklore, and Such As! in this edition were written over the years from the late 1950s to the present. Some of the stories or tales served as jumping boards from which longer stories or tales were written and are already published in the author’s books Tales and Bedtime Stories, The Muddy Little Bell, and Fathers Can Be Good Dads; others are self-contained. Most of the content was culled from the publications of The Creative With Words Publications (CWW), which was published by the author from 1975 to the present for children and adult poets and writers. Originally, not all the stories and tales and folklore and such were written under the author’s name, Brigitta Gisella Geltrich-Ludgate, but were offered under her pseudonyms, Bert Hower, Max Davis, and Creative Kate. All, however, are the sole creations of the author.

The author is also the writer of The Lucia Rider, Stepping through Time: The Human Experience Poetically Reflected, Dance around the Treasure Box, Two Summers of Adjustment, The Little People of Oakcreek, Cindy the Balcony Cocoon, a children’s book, and Out of Balance, consisting of two novelettes, in which each situation is rather out of balance and needs to be addressed.

STORIES

A SHIP IN THE HARBOR

(Story of the author’s observation at a harbor)

IT WAS ACTUALLY not a harbor where the ship lay anchored. It was a river with a river bank, part of the beginning of a river’s delta, lying inland a bit, sixty miles or so from the Atlantic Ocean, someone said. The ship sat there one day, opposite the Bourse Maritime, snow-white as if it had been freshly painted just for this occasion, with approximately one thousand two hundred passengers on board, each eager to get on shore and see what the town had to offer. The local people came from everywhere to take a look at the ship just sitting there. It was a nice ship. A sizable ship. A rather long ship, having ten lifeboats or tenders hoisted up on its sides, five on each side, which meant it had to have at least one thousand people on board, if one takes into consideration that a lifeboat nowadays can hold one hundred passengers or more.

Where have you come from? was the question everyone asked, and if someone had come off the ship, they stopped the individual to ask the same question.

From the Atlantic, the ship passenger or crew member answered.

That can’t be, the folks said. The Atlantic is far away, at least sixty miles from here to the open sea. You are on a river, not out at sea, you know that?

It wasn’t easy getting here, said the ship crew. The captain needed a helicopter to guide it and a local pilot to steer it. It was night when we came. And the tide was just not in a favorable stage.

So you are saying . . .

You know the tide has to be just right, flowing up the river, letting any ship of any size come to your town.

So you are saying it was not smooth sailing.

Not straight through. Not from the Atlantic. The ship had to be tied up at your industrial dock and wait there for high tide to come in and push it further inward. And when it did, the ship crept forward rather slowly to get there where it is now. Part of the bridge’s roadway had to be raised to let the ship go through underneath.

How exciting, some of the folks said.

Would have loved to see it, others said.

Do you realize that you are the first ship and crew and passengers coming downtown of our city? still others let those of the ship know.

^^^

Indeed, it had been the first ship coming to the inland city. The ship could be proud of that accomplishment. And being the first, it drew a lot of attention—people just flocked along the makeshift barrier between the ship and the city. A couple of boys, not older than eight, maybe nine, leaned over the wiggly balustrade with one foot each, looking at the ship from its very end, the aft, to its very front, the bulk, and then again back to its aft.

When I grow up, I will be a captain of such a ship, maybe even a larger one, and I will cruise all the seas, said one of the boys, full of hope.

You will? asked the other and then added rather rationally, I will be a dentist.

Maybe you can become the dentist on my ship.

The boys jumped off the balustrade and ran off, both loudly laughing, one chasing the other.

A teenager came scooting by on his scooter. He shot a quick glance at the ship and then continued on his craft. The ship evidently meant little to him. So what, it sat there. So what, it was rather huge. So what, it was an ocean liner. Who cares?

A young couple—he having his arm around her, she cuddling into him—were both looking at the ship, dreamy-eyed.

One of these days, he said to her, I will make enough money and take you on this ship to the end of the world.

They stood silently, looking at the ship, each absorbed in their individual dreams.

You will? Her question was more a whisper.

I will, he said rather proudly.

An old man pushed an old woman in a wheelchair over the lawn closer to the ship. They wanted to take a look at it.

It’s a fine ship, said the old woman, nodding.

It sure is, agreed the old man.

He stood there holding on to the wheelchair. Neither said another word. They just looked, each having their own thoughts.

A family walked by, their eyes cast on the ship, reflecting that for the first time they had seen a ship of this size on their river downtown of their city. Each was thinking—the father, the mother, and the four children.

If I could only afford it, I would be on that ship, thought the father.

If I could turn back the time, I would love to sail the world and be spoiled in the process, thought the mother. Having your beds made, having your room cleaned, having all the meals prepared for you . . .

Boy, I would love to be on that ship, thought the eldest boy. I could explore it from top to bottom, from side to side, from its end to its front. How much fun that would be!

I would surely find my prince on that ship, thought the eldest girl. He would be waiting there for me with a bouquet of roses and a golden ring.

That is awfully big, thought the younger girl.

What is a ship? Is that a ship? What does it do? What is it doing here? wondered the youngest boy. Does it move? Is it a carnival? Are we going on it? Will there be rides? I love rides.

More people came as the day progressed, more and more. They all stood there along the quay looking at the ship. Some wondered how it ever had made it here. After all, it is an ocean liner, and their town lay over sixty miles inland. Some of them had never been to the sea. But this ship, it was here, lying at anchor on their river, almost downtown of their city. It had come from the sea. Would sea stories or sea legends have come along with it? Would the sea stories and sea legends stay long after the ship moved on?

^^^

The people from the town did not stop coming. The size of them massing together increased. Some did not even plan to move away from looking at the ship. Some spread out towels or blankets and lay on them, their eyes on the ship. Others just clustered around in groups, talking, looking at the ship. The groups grew larger and larger. And as the ship blasted its horn, letting everyone know that it was about to leave because the high tide had come in, favorably allowing the ship to float back out toward the sea, more people came, even more and more people. The entire waterfront was now filled up with people. Thousands of them. And by the time the ship pulled away from the river’s shoreline, playing its farewell song as it usually did when it left a harbor with the passengers standing on balconies and on decks, there were uncountable groups of people standing along the river, waving and shouting, Goodbye!

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And they shouted, Goodbye!

And those on the ship shouted back to them, Goodbye!

It was as if the people said farewell to a loved one. They waved and they waved. They were still waving when the ship passed under the raised bridge.

^^^

The ship blasted its horn a couple of times more, letting everyone on shore know that it saw them, and slowly moved down the river, below the raised roadway of the bridge, and toward the ocean. The people on land turned into tiny dots, but they stood there. They waved and waved, and they shouted and shouted. None of them left before the ship itself had become a tiny dot, and then it disappeared into one of the bends of the river.

Photograph taken by the author.

The End

BEING ONE!

(Story of a stroll along a Monterey quay)

I FELT BEING one with the big cruise ship lying anchored outside the Monterey harbor. It had been blasting its horn ever since wee hours, letting the harbor master know that it had arrived.

The tourists coming off that ship were different that day. They were not Americans who were rushing off for Carmel to do shopping there. They were New Zealanders. The ship had come a long way. The New Zealanders walked along the walkway between the wharf and Cannery Row, taking in every bit what the town had to offer along its shore.

From the wharf, stretching out below the Coast Guard buildings, the view of the ship was most spectacular, sitting there with small little tenders, so it seemed, taking passengers to and fro to Monterey Wharf II, where the passengers could get off.

^^^

I was walking along the wharf curving around the Coast Guard pier toward the barking sea lions as my eye caught to my left an otter diving for a meal or a lost rock to open the meal. With my camera focused on it, a New Zealander stopped me, and in broad accent informed me of other sea animals lying just below the stone wall. In eager anticipation to see otters close-up, I leaned over the stone wall. In easy reach, two sea lions basked in the little rays of the sun, trying to burst forth, which most likely was not to happen this time of the year.

Too lazy to jump off their conquered space on the rock, the sea lions stretched a bit and yawned.

Oh, go on! they seemed to mumble. And leave us lying here for the tourists. They love that sort of thing, and shoot numerous pictures of us which to take home.

I obliged their wish, but took a picture of them anyway. I turned and took numerous pictures of the otter which had surfaced in the meantime with a rock in its paws.

^^^

Are you enjoying the cruise? the New Zealander asked.

I am enjoying all of this, I said.

Then I walked to my car and quietly snug away, letting the New Zealander believe I was one of the cruise passengers, enjoying along with him the wonders of Monterey’s shore.

The End

HOME

(Story of an excerpt of the novel Fathers Can Be Good Dads)

AS A GIRL, I traveled much, mostly during school vacations. It was not always with my whole family. At times it was with my grandparents, at other times with my father or with a combination of friends and family members, or at other times still, it was with Sean, my guardian. I loved to travel with Sean foremost. I learned a lot from him, not always willingly, often reluctantly, but nevertheless, it was always a learning experience to travel with Sean. He was an Irishman. He had come from the western coast of Ireland, somewhere north of Ennis.

^^^

At Sean’s parents’ farm in Western Ireland, he saw to it that I had chores to do which suited my age level, not necessarily my mind, as I thought. Maybe it was his mother who urged him to encourage me to do these chores, because Gramm’s O’Casey—that is what I called her—never let anyone come to the dinner table if they had not done their chores first. Early on, I learned to collect eggs without dropping a single one of them or otherwise breaking one or more of them, and I learned to feed chickens, full grown and small ones, and flocks of ducks and geese without stepping on their waddling feet. Later I learned to milk cows together with Granpa O’Casey—that is what I called him—and to call roving pigs to their troughs to feed them. And once I could be trusted with horses, Sean showed me how to bring them home, walking them slowly to cool them down after I had alighted from them once a lengthy ride was over.

When Sean and I returned by plane or by train, mostly the latter, whether it was home to London to my father’s household or to our house in Switzerland, I could always count on that one figure being there, waiting for me, and I came running to him. It did not matter if it snowed or rained or if the sun was beating down mercilessly; he was there—sometimes accompanied by family or household members, but most often just by himself. Sean had to hold me back from leaping out of my seat before the plane landed or jumping out of the train while it was still rolling into the city terminal or into the tube station, whatever it was, but when the plane came to a halt or when the train stopped, there was nothing holding me back.

I was out of whatever transportation means I had arrived in, and as I ran toward him, calling Daddy, Daddy, I’m back, everybody stepped aside. I had such urgent business to carry out. Then I was in his arms. He picked me up, twirled me around, wiggled me in the air, squeezed me, and kissed me; that was so when I was little. When I was older, I was wrapped in his arms and swung around. In those moments, I always vowed never ever to let go off that dear, dear man again who had stood there at the station or terminal in rain or snow or in sunshine.

Unfortunately, most of the time, this feeling of never letting go of him did not last long. Perhaps just a few minutes, or at least until my father asked those dreaded questions in front of everyone’s earshot, Have you been a good girl, Gina? or Did you do your chores as you were told to do?

Well… , I mumbled, knowing quite well that I had been not always the good girl he wanted me to be, and I certainly had not always done the chores expected of me because I never wanted to do them in the first place.

Well, have you? My father wanted to know.

Well… now… Daddy, I stumbled over the words and made certain that I was holding Sean’s hand