Saving Stories

Won't you put one in your pocket?

Welcome to Pocketful of Prose, a community for sharing stories. This is part four in a six-part series on the Power of Story. If you like it here, please click the heart at the bottom of the post. Last week, more people clicked the heart than ever before. Whether it was the green arrow or the good writing or a little of both, we will never know, but it made me immensely happy, so thank you. If these pockets make you immensely happy, you can choose to support them by becoming a paid subscriber. You can even gift a subscription to someone else. 

Photo by Ana Paula Grimaldi on Unsplash

Speaking of gifts, as I write this, Monty, the squirrel who frequently visits my garden, is darting across the fence with a giant pear in his mouth. It is a warm autumn day, the kind of day where you wish you could bottle the amber light. Monty and I both know these kinds of days are waning, which is why, when I am planting bulbs in my garden, I often uncover gifts, mostly in the form of peanuts, that Monty has stored for later, for times when the golden light is just a memory as are the sunflower seeds and pears. I always try to be respectful of Monty’s storage system and put everything back the way he has left it, so he can always find the gifts he has left for himself when he needs them most.

Monty’s peanuts and my bulbs are gifts we are saving for later. We plant them now knowing there will be a time down the road when we will need them, when we are hungry, or in need of a little hope, or delight.  

Today is my birthday, and birthdays always cause us to reflect on the seasons of life. Last year, my birthday corresponded with our first frost so the idea of one season ending and another beginning, was even more present.

I turned 42 this year, which felt fitting. 42, if you are not aware, is the answer to the “Great Question” of “Life, the Universe and Everything” in Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. 42 felt like the perfect year to choose a mid-life catharsis over a mid-life crisis, to carve out a little more space for myself, and to put my stories out into the cosmos. Sometimes the universe is deliciously serendipitous.  

Or so I thought for a few blissful months between last February and July.  

In July, on one of the hottest days in our part of the galaxy, my family and I decide to venture out for a hike. By the time we arrive at our destination, it is mid-day, the hottest part of the day.  As we climb, we feel like we are shooting ourselves straight into the sun at a ninety-degree angle. Dan is twenty steps ahead. Anna is forty paces behind, and Bass and I are stuck in the middle trying to catch our breath. In a moment of pure parenting prowess, indicative of my 42 years of age and wisdom, I yell to Anna and ask her why she is lagging so far behind the rest of us. 

“You are 16, and I’m 42,” I shout, too tired to get any more words out. 

“You’re 43,” Dan says.  

I am panting, drenched in sweat and totally perplexed as to why it is so hard for four people to hike at the same pace. And now he’s gone and stolen a year of my life. I can’t believe him sometimes.  

“No, I’m not,” I say. I am not going down without a fight. 

“You are,” Dan says.  

My interpretation of numbers has always been a little loose. For example, I have promised you all a six-part series on story. What you don’t know is that I chose the number six for alliteration purposes alone. The series, in reality, could contain 4 parts, or 42 parts, and if you have been following along, you are aware that if it contains 42 parts, it probably actually contains 43 parts.  

“Am I really 43?” Dan and the kids nod their heads in unison. It’s the first thing they have agreed on all day.  

In his book The Truth About Stories, A Native Narrative, Thomas King shares that he tells three stories over and over again. He tells these stories because they make him laugh, they humble him, and they give him hope. He refers to these stories as “saving stories,” and suggests that the stories we live by have the power to save our lives.

I think I believe this too. 

I wonder if you do too.  

I think perhaps the universe is serendipitous after all because part of the reason that I called this Substack Pocketful of Prose is because I like the idea of carrying stories around in my pocket. My hope is that, like Monty and his peanuts, I can reach in there later and pull one out when I really need it. In sharing them, I hope to remind you that you can do the same.   

I won’t share Thomas King’s stories. For those, you will have to read his book, which I would highly recommend. I will share a few of my own saving stories. I’ve already told you one, the story which answers the question of “life, the universe and everything,” also referred to as the time Dan stole a year off my life or the time I forgot how old I was. (Warning, this story changes considerably depending on which family member tells it.) 

Here are three more.

The story of why I buy school pictures. I never bought the kids’ school pictures. I figured with digital cameras, it was a bit of an unnecessary money grab. I balked at the convention and didn’t take it seriously. I sent Seabass to school in his superman pajamas, socks and sandals. It was, of course, the cutest school picture ever. I have bought every school picture since. 

The story of parenting, #getting it wrong. Anna, as you know, is currently on crutches. These mid-teenage years are hard enough without the crutches and the excruciating physical pain. When my kids were younger, I often worried that I was doing the parenting thing all wrong. Now, Anna sometimes tells me, with one withering look, that I am indeed doing it all wrong. Still, the other day I took her to her follow-up appointment with the orthopedist. She was in so much pain that day and frustrated because her ankle was still swollen. To top it all off, she found out she would have to wear the boot for longer than originally anticipated. However, when an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair was leaving the doctor’s office, she hopped up on her good foot and catapulted herself over to the door, to open it for him, making sure to also say, “Have a Good Day!”

The story of the 4^th grade surprise party. I will close out with a story that happened on my birthday over twenty years ago, when I first started teaching in Baltimore. My class of fourth graders threw me a surprise party. I can still see the look of joy on their faces. They brought a cake and were so excited to give me the gifts they had picked out. Their presents included earring backs, a framed version of the “Our Father” prayer in Spanish and a decapitated angel figurine which I had enough common sense to compliment profusely without taking it out of the bag. To this day, these gifts remain among the best gifts I have ever received. Also, considering how many earrings I have lost over the last twenty years, I probably should have taken the earring backs more seriously.

Like Thomas King, I keep my saving stories close.  They soothe me and remind me that I am loved. They help me find my way through dark times. I can’t carry the October sun in my pocket, but my stories come close.

What are your saving stories? List them. Love them. Share them. Scatter them. Pull them out when you need them. Put a little hope in your pocket.

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