A recent conversation about "domestic" iguanas escaping into the trees of Santa Barbara and geckos living on the walls reminded me of a night in Kenya I will never forget: The Night the Termites Came to Town.
It's only fair to directly quote the journal I kept during my year living and teaching in Kenya:
Friday 8th November (1996)
Monday was "Attack of the African Rain Dudu" night--the little-known sequel to Hitchcock's The Birds. During an afternoon conversation, Bharti [my tough Indian landlady] offhandedly joked and said we'd all eat at my house tonight, and I said, "Fine!" (but there's a Murphy's Law in play whenever Bharti, consummate Indian wife and mother, is around: that I will look stupid and do things wrong). I tried making focaccia [Kenya-style], and didn't follow directions [duh]. My spaghetti sauce was blah. I even almost ruined the noodles.
In the midst of preparation for my guests, it began raining hard, and big flying bugs materialized near the kitchen window. Soon, there were multitudes coming through a crack at the side of the window. I wisely thought, I will open it, and let them fly out.
Yikes! So many flying, flapping buggies were in my face and hitting the wall and then crawling around as I shrieked and hit them with a curtain and avoided squishing them underfoot,. I found even more in the living room and hallway, pouring into my porous house. It was an insect invasion like no other I had experienced.
In a flash of inspiration, I figured out they were attracted to light, and I turned on the outside bulb and extinguished all lights inside. I opened the front door, and many flew out.
The ones remaining appeared to lose their wings, crawl around, hump each other, and inexplicably disappear. Their wings, however, were ubiquitous. I joked with my fourth-grade students the next day that I could have stuffed pillows with dudu wings.
"You should have fried them up and eaten them, Miss," a student offered. "They taste like peanut butter."
Which might have been better than the spaghetti I served my guests that night.
That they were "dudus" and tasted like sandwich spread were the only details offered by my students about these winged invaders. [I learned later that these were your garden-variety termites, the ones who build admirable mounds above ground. Here is a similar account of Termite Horror from a San Diego Zoo conservation program specialist].
It's not unusual for me to find an errant dudu wing tucked in an journal or bag I used during my time in Kenya...
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Check-In
Six weeks ago I entered NPR's Three-Minute Fiction Contest. I didn't win! But I am not fazed; I've entered several contests over the years and I am grateful for the challenge and incentive to write. I once entered an edited version of this blog post in a Real Simple magazine essay contest, and I was a finalist in this blog entry contest.
The premise of NPR's seventh contest of this nature was to write a fictional narrative of less than 600 words featuring one character coming to town and one leaving. My story is not autobiographical, but inspired by a time a friend left me his car at the airport.
The car was right where she said it would be, on the fourth floor of the parking garage, midway down the third row from the elevator. My heart skipped with surprise and satisfaction that our wacky plan worked. Now, for the key. She’d duct-taped it inside the right rear wheel well (“Say that 10 times fast,” she texted with a smiley face).
She’d written directions from the airport to my hotel and folded them over the top of the steering wheel (“In case you’re as GPS- and iPhone-deprived as I am”). Back in the day, she’d refused to use the microwave.
She was the first thing I thought of when I read the wedding invitation. I hadn’t been back in years—five, to be exact, since things ended badly, with both of us ready and not in our own ways. I’d moved away. Meanwhile, she remained in our college town, working as a post-doc in a lab at the university. That much I could tell from Facebook, where we were friends but not correspondents.
Still, I could call her, I thought, for coffee. I didn’t not want to. So after I booked my flight I found myself leaving her a message in a cheery, nervous voice: “Hi! How are you? My old roommate is getting married…remember her boyfriend of forever? They’re finally getting hitched, and I will be in town…anyway, I thought maybe we could get coffee, or something…call me if you want.”
She called back within the hour: happy to hear from me, disappointed that she, too, would be at a wedding that weekend, out of town. When we established that our respective flights left no overlap time, she thought of something. “Wait! If your flight arrives after I leave, and you take off before I return, I could leave you my car at the airport…” Before I could protest, she continued, “You would save me finding a ride or taking a cab, and I would save you a rental car…I mean, unless you’re traveling with someone?” “No…” I replied, adding, “And you?” before I could think better of it. “Nope…This is perfect! Parking will hardly cost anything because our flights are close. I’ll just text you the car’s location after I park and you do the same!”
Over the next eight weeks we conversed regularly over Facebook, mainly idle chitchat about my running and her biking and inquiries about our families, and then confirmations that our plan was still a go. Now here I was, in the driver’s seat of her familiar car, turning the key and hearing the CD of a favorite chanteuse in her player. I peered around for evidence she’d changed irrevocably. She still drank Starbucks soy lattes; she still stored bike jerseys in her car.
The wedding events were a blur of reunions and hugs and how-have-you-beens, of helping bride and bridesmaids with hair and having reasonably interesting conversations with other solo guests once or twice removed from the bridal party.
She texted on Saturday to ask how the car and I were doing. “Still running!” I replied, and “Giving myself a dollar for every time someone asks if I am seeing someone.”
“Weddings,” she texted back. “So awkward.”
On Sunday I left the post-wedding brunch early to have her car detailed. At the gas station I popped open the fuel tank door to find a note taped inside: “Thanks for reaching out.”
As I put on my shoes at the end of the security area I realized that if I accidentally missed my flight, I could probably meet her at her gate.
The premise of NPR's seventh contest of this nature was to write a fictional narrative of less than 600 words featuring one character coming to town and one leaving. My story is not autobiographical, but inspired by a time a friend left me his car at the airport.
Check-In
The car was right where she said it would be, on the fourth floor of the parking garage, midway down the third row from the elevator. My heart skipped with surprise and satisfaction that our wacky plan worked. Now, for the key. She’d duct-taped it inside the right rear wheel well (“Say that 10 times fast,” she texted with a smiley face).
She’d written directions from the airport to my hotel and folded them over the top of the steering wheel (“In case you’re as GPS- and iPhone-deprived as I am”). Back in the day, she’d refused to use the microwave.
She was the first thing I thought of when I read the wedding invitation. I hadn’t been back in years—five, to be exact, since things ended badly, with both of us ready and not in our own ways. I’d moved away. Meanwhile, she remained in our college town, working as a post-doc in a lab at the university. That much I could tell from Facebook, where we were friends but not correspondents.
Still, I could call her, I thought, for coffee. I didn’t not want to. So after I booked my flight I found myself leaving her a message in a cheery, nervous voice: “Hi! How are you? My old roommate is getting married…remember her boyfriend of forever? They’re finally getting hitched, and I will be in town…anyway, I thought maybe we could get coffee, or something…call me if you want.”
She called back within the hour: happy to hear from me, disappointed that she, too, would be at a wedding that weekend, out of town. When we established that our respective flights left no overlap time, she thought of something. “Wait! If your flight arrives after I leave, and you take off before I return, I could leave you my car at the airport…” Before I could protest, she continued, “You would save me finding a ride or taking a cab, and I would save you a rental car…I mean, unless you’re traveling with someone?” “No…” I replied, adding, “And you?” before I could think better of it. “Nope…This is perfect! Parking will hardly cost anything because our flights are close. I’ll just text you the car’s location after I park and you do the same!”
Over the next eight weeks we conversed regularly over Facebook, mainly idle chitchat about my running and her biking and inquiries about our families, and then confirmations that our plan was still a go. Now here I was, in the driver’s seat of her familiar car, turning the key and hearing the CD of a favorite chanteuse in her player. I peered around for evidence she’d changed irrevocably. She still drank Starbucks soy lattes; she still stored bike jerseys in her car.
The wedding events were a blur of reunions and hugs and how-have-you-beens, of helping bride and bridesmaids with hair and having reasonably interesting conversations with other solo guests once or twice removed from the bridal party.
She texted on Saturday to ask how the car and I were doing. “Still running!” I replied, and “Giving myself a dollar for every time someone asks if I am seeing someone.”
“Weddings,” she texted back. “So awkward.”
On Sunday I left the post-wedding brunch early to have her car detailed. At the gas station I popped open the fuel tank door to find a note taped inside: “Thanks for reaching out.”
As I put on my shoes at the end of the security area I realized that if I accidentally missed my flight, I could probably meet her at her gate.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
wow said mommy
Big Sister is still working on her novel I mentioned in February, The Grassland Secrets: The Princess and the Crystal Stairs.It's pretty darned cute, and I can't help transcribing it here for you (with Big Sis's permission as well as her own spellings and punctuation).
Chapter 1 the Stairs
One day Jessica was cleaning up in her bedroom. Then her friend Kiki came over. she came in Jessicas bedroom and accidentally fell on the new toy box. and then a flashing golden light appeared upon the box! the girls were exited they looked down into the box and saw crystal stairs!
the girls jumped into the box. Right when thay jumped into the box their friend Max showed up. He saw the girls looking around. Looking confused Max jumped in the box too.
Chapter 2 the princess
When they got down they all looked around then they shut the toy box and a princess appeared out of nowhere.
hi said the princess.
The children did not no what to say finelly Kiki said who are you?
I am the grass land princess she said my name is lily.
But I don't see any grass said Max.
I know I will take you to the grass she said I have a secret ship that takes us there said the princess.
Cool! said Max that sounds really cool!
Then come on! lily, Max, Kiki and Jessica raced to the ship. They got in and saw how cool the world was!
They zoomed fast and finilly stoped. They looked all around they saw only grass!
Um lily asked Kiki where is the butterflys, trees, and flowers?
I told you why.
But why asked Kiki
because it is called the grasslands!
Oh! They said.
They did cartwheels on the grass they played till dark.
Hey do you want to have a sleepover? lily asked.
well said Kiki I'd really like to!
O-K let's do it!
Right when they startd walking they heard a weird whooshing sound.
What is that? Asked Jessica.
Oh no said lily.
What? Asked Max. that is the black flying rug and the green goblins!
Oh no said Kiki!
the brown king of the goblins live in the southern woods in a small codenge. With liveing trees with branches that grab you!
Chapter 3 goblins
it is night now said Kiki.
Remember we are haveing a sleepover said Max!
But first said Jessica we need too ask My parents! We will come back in just a minute. We just need too ask My parents.
after Jessica had a big talk with her Mother she came back. She said it was OK!
good said Lily. I wanted too have a sleepover.
Chapter 4 Sunflower Medow
they played some more fineally they went to bed
were do we sleep? asked Jessica.
in my secret tree house.
ca'nt the goblins swoop down and get us? asked Max.
no said Lily. there is a code to get in and I only know the code.
cool said Max.
So they went into the tree house they went to bed in sleeping bags Made of flowers.
the next morning they woke up and went exploreing
wow said Kiki. it is so beautiful!
I know said lily is'nt it amazing!
So, were are we going? asked Jessica,
you'll see said Lily
when they got there...
(to be continued)
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Going Batty (in Honor of Halloween)
Yesterday our kindergartener came home with a little book she made at school called "All About Bats." In lieu of reading the book to me (she was over homework by then), she gave us a synopsis, explaining that bats hang upside down and eat harmful insects.
I'll admit to having some Bat Fascination. I can immediately tell you where in my life bats and I have intersected.
From a literary standpoint, there's Stella Luna, which was read recently in kindergarten and served as the inspiration for daughter's handmade book; Bats at the Beach, which our two-year-old deemed "too scary" to read tonight; and one of my preteen favorites, There's a Bat in Bunk Five, which is set at summer camp, where the reported "bat" in Bunk Five is revealed to be of the baseball variety. (I loved that prank!)
There's a beautiful old bridge over a freeway in our city. We drove under it often when I was growing up; rumor had it there were bats galore beneath its arches. I would crane my neck each time we passed underneath that bridge, certain that the shadows I glimpsed were bats. Creepy, cool bats.
When I was living in Washington, D.C. after college, friends and I attended an outdoor concert on the Capitol grounds one summer night. Lying on my back on a blanket, I watched swarms of birds frenetically circling the Capitol building. Those were no birds, my friend smirked: bats! Bats, outside, flying around! Eating harmful insects! Fascinating stuff for a Southern California girl.
But my most intimate bat moment was in college. Senior Year, I was a Freshman Counselor for my dorm. And one quiet Friday night when I was in my room watching a movie, Freshman Gregg knocked on my door with an emergency.
"There's a bat in Entryway F."
"A what?"
"A bat."
Stumped, I called the campus police. "Um, I am sorry I am calling the emergency number for this, but you see...there's a bat in Wright Hall."
"You're kiddin'." Pause. "We'll send someone right over."
Gregg led me to the bat-infested entryway. The bat wasn't flying around, as I had anticipated. Where was it? Gregg walked slowly up the stairwell and suddenly yelped. "Okay!!! Yes! It's there! Yes, it is!"
I peered around the landing and my eyes settled on a little brown furry thing I would not have believed to be a bat had I not been told there was one Right Over There. It lurked on the tile floor, hardly moving. Gregg and I spent the next couple of minutes dashing in and out of the entryway, not really wanting to Hang Out with the bat, but not wanting anyone to descend the stairs and unwittingly send it flying again.
When the cop showed up he immediately informed us he was not prepared to deal with a bat. He suggested that we secure a blanket, throw it over the creature, and let it go outside. We thought he was a great candidate for that endeavor, but he looked at us and waited for a volunteer.
Gregg knocked on the door of his friend Franklin's room, right there on the first floor of the entryway.
"Hey, Franklin, do you have a blanket we could use?"
"For what?"
"To capture a bat."
"No way. Bats have Bat Lice. I don't want Bat Lice in my blanket. I suggest you get a gun and shoot it."
We looked pointedly at the policeman, who shook his head.
Franklin compromised and supplied us with an old towel.
Gregg crept up the stairs and weakly flung the towel at the bat. He missed. The startled bat came swooping down the entryway and we all ducked. Gregg brought his head down hard on the metal stair railing, giving himself a bloody nose and--thankfully--our only bat-induced injury of the evening.
The bat flew in confused circles and flapped into me. I shrieked, and it landed conveniently in a corner of the stairwell.
The policeman snatched the towel and made another attempt to apprehend the bat, who was making strange chirping sounds. The cop half-dragged, half-nudged the bat, wiggling beneath the blanket, down the stairs. I flinched at every maneuver and made weak bat jokes.
Our Batman made it to the entryway door, frightened bat in tow. When we burst that door wide open, the bat flew off into the starlit sky.
The policeman rubbed his hands together to signify a Job Well Done.
Gregg ran off to ice his bruised nose. I returned to my room, blood still pumping but triumphant, to finish my movie.
I'll admit to having some Bat Fascination. I can immediately tell you where in my life bats and I have intersected.
From a literary standpoint, there's Stella Luna, which was read recently in kindergarten and served as the inspiration for daughter's handmade book; Bats at the Beach, which our two-year-old deemed "too scary" to read tonight; and one of my preteen favorites, There's a Bat in Bunk Five, which is set at summer camp, where the reported "bat" in Bunk Five is revealed to be of the baseball variety. (I loved that prank!)
There's a beautiful old bridge over a freeway in our city. We drove under it often when I was growing up; rumor had it there were bats galore beneath its arches. I would crane my neck each time we passed underneath that bridge, certain that the shadows I glimpsed were bats. Creepy, cool bats.
When I was living in Washington, D.C. after college, friends and I attended an outdoor concert on the Capitol grounds one summer night. Lying on my back on a blanket, I watched swarms of birds frenetically circling the Capitol building. Those were no birds, my friend smirked: bats! Bats, outside, flying around! Eating harmful insects! Fascinating stuff for a Southern California girl.
But my most intimate bat moment was in college. Senior Year, I was a Freshman Counselor for my dorm. And one quiet Friday night when I was in my room watching a movie, Freshman Gregg knocked on my door with an emergency.
"There's a bat in Entryway F."
"A what?"
"A bat."
Stumped, I called the campus police. "Um, I am sorry I am calling the emergency number for this, but you see...there's a bat in Wright Hall."
"You're kiddin'." Pause. "We'll send someone right over."
Gregg led me to the bat-infested entryway. The bat wasn't flying around, as I had anticipated. Where was it? Gregg walked slowly up the stairwell and suddenly yelped. "Okay!!! Yes! It's there! Yes, it is!"
I peered around the landing and my eyes settled on a little brown furry thing I would not have believed to be a bat had I not been told there was one Right Over There. It lurked on the tile floor, hardly moving. Gregg and I spent the next couple of minutes dashing in and out of the entryway, not really wanting to Hang Out with the bat, but not wanting anyone to descend the stairs and unwittingly send it flying again.
When the cop showed up he immediately informed us he was not prepared to deal with a bat. He suggested that we secure a blanket, throw it over the creature, and let it go outside. We thought he was a great candidate for that endeavor, but he looked at us and waited for a volunteer.
Gregg knocked on the door of his friend Franklin's room, right there on the first floor of the entryway.
"Hey, Franklin, do you have a blanket we could use?"
"For what?"
"To capture a bat."
"No way. Bats have Bat Lice. I don't want Bat Lice in my blanket. I suggest you get a gun and shoot it."
We looked pointedly at the policeman, who shook his head.
Franklin compromised and supplied us with an old towel.
Gregg crept up the stairs and weakly flung the towel at the bat. He missed. The startled bat came swooping down the entryway and we all ducked. Gregg brought his head down hard on the metal stair railing, giving himself a bloody nose and--thankfully--our only bat-induced injury of the evening.
The bat flew in confused circles and flapped into me. I shrieked, and it landed conveniently in a corner of the stairwell.
The policeman snatched the towel and made another attempt to apprehend the bat, who was making strange chirping sounds. The cop half-dragged, half-nudged the bat, wiggling beneath the blanket, down the stairs. I flinched at every maneuver and made weak bat jokes.
Our Batman made it to the entryway door, frightened bat in tow. When we burst that door wide open, the bat flew off into the starlit sky.
The policeman rubbed his hands together to signify a Job Well Done.
Gregg ran off to ice his bruised nose. I returned to my room, blood still pumping but triumphant, to finish my movie.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Princess Sparklemist and The SandWitch
(Note: About two years ago, my daughter asked me to make up a story. Together, we invented characters and the first Sparklemist Story was born. Now, whenever we are in the car, she begs for a new Sparklemist tale. The sagas, by request, always have to be scary, so Sparklemist has battled various foes, including pirates, dragons, smelly monsters and terrible storms. This story is my personal fave.)
Once upon a time, Princess Sparklemist and her two friends Rocky* (a giraffe) and Lily (a crocodile) set out for a hike in the desert. It was a beautiful sunny day. The cacti were in bloom and the sand dunes sparkled in the sunshine. It was hot but not too hot, and our explorers brought water and a picnic with them on their adventure.
Right before the trio planned to stop for lunch, they came upon a huge dune. As they walked around it they discovered a hole in the side, which seemed to lead deep, deep down into the sand. Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily all stood at the edge and peered down into the dark.
All of a sudden, a green lizard popped his head out, startling our friends.
"Hello!" he greeted them. "You are at the entrance to the House of The SandWitch!"
"The SandWitch!" they exclaimed. "Who is she?"
"The SandWitch is a lovely desert dweller," replied the lizard. "She would like to invite you to tea."
Sparklemist looked at Rocky and Lily and shrugged. "What do you think, guys?" Sparklemist was a polite princess who did not like to turn down polite invitations.
"I don't know..." murmured Rocky, peering skeptically down into the dark hole. "How will we get out of there?"
"No problem!" muttered the lizard. "No need to worry about that..." He turned to the mouth of the House of The SandWitch and declared, "Follow me!" The lizard, whose name was Louie, sat on his bum at the edge of the sand tunnel and began sliding down. Rocky went next, followed by Sparklemist and Lily.
It was a long, dark, smooth and sandy ride to the inside of The SandWitch's house. When they reached the bottom, their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the sand cavern, where the SandWitch greeted them lustily.
"Ahhhhhhhhh, yes, you've come for tea, have you?" rasped The SandWitch, whose sand-colored hair was matted and knotty and whose skin was white from lack of sun. She wore loose clothes made of rough brown fabric like burlap and her calloused feet were bare.
Sparklemist stepped forward, introducing herself and her friends. "Thank you so much for inviting us. Your house is very interesting!"
Louie had taken his place on a sand shelf on one side of the cavern, and as Rocky and Lily looked around, they noticed that two more lizards, these ones brown and warty, were blocking the way out.
"Yes...well, let us have tea. And then we'll have lunch!" The SandWitch rubbed her hands together. Louie came down from his perch to grab a kettle off a small fire in the corner. Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily all drank tea made of cactus flower petals and talked about their hike in the desert.
When they finished their sweet drinks, Sparklemist offered to share the lunch they had brought with Louie, the SandWitch, and the two rather scary lizards by the exit.
Louie and The SandWitch looked at each other. Louie cleared his throat.
"You see, well, ahem...actually, you are the lunch," he mumbled.
Rocky put a hoof behind his ear. "Huh? What did you say?"
"Ummm...well...The SandWitch will be eating YOU for lunch." He turned his head toward The SandWitch, who nodded and grinned.
"Yes, that's right! And you certainly look delicious! Especially her." The SandWitch gestured toward Sparklemist. "Though I have never had giraffe, come to think of it..."
Sparklemist was aghast. "Eat us! For lunch? You invite us to tea and then you eat us for lunch? Why, that's the rudest thing I have ever heard of!" Sparklemist put her (trembling) hands on her hips. The lizards behind her inched closer.
"Darling, that's what I do," answered the SandWitch resolutely. "I invite visitors to tea, and then I eat them for lunch. Prepare the pot, Louie."
Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily looked at one another and back at the two guard lizards in horror. But Sparklemist quickly pulled herself together and began problem solving.
"Ms. SandWitch, aren't there other things you like to eat for lunch? Haven't you ever tried a sandwich?"
The SandWitch whirled around on her bare heel. "A SandWitch? Why, I would never eat another SandWitch!"
"Well, maybe you just had the wrong kind, like a yucky sandwich? Sometimes my mom makes those...Have you ever tried peanut butter and..." Sparklemist was interrupted by her angry hostess.
"Young lady, you think I am rude, and you are suggesting I eat SandWitches? My goodness. I would never! There are so few of us left in the desert I can't imagine eating..."
Sparklemist began digging through their backpack. "Here! Look! This is Rocky's favorite kind of sandwich...salami and havarti! And Lily, well, she just loves peanut butter and banana! As for me..." Sparklemist triumphantly held aloft a girled cheese.
"Eh? What's that you've got there, girl?" Suddenly our SandWitch was curious and twitching her nose. The lizards, too, were moving closer, and this time not so menacingly.
"They're sandwiches--and not like you are a SandWitch, silly!" exclaimed Lily, as she took a satisfying bite from her peanut butter and banana. "Here, have some!" Lily passed the sandwich around, and soon, Sparklemist was divvying up the remaining picnic.
The SandWitch, having sampled some of each type of sandwich, sniffed and admitted, "Well. Those are certainly scrumptious little lunch options. And their name is certainly nice sounding..."
Sparklemist looked straight into the SandWitch's eyes. "You see, Ms. SandWitch, doesn't it feel better to invite people to lunch and share with them, instead of eating them? I'm sure Louie could help you make some sandwiches to go with your tea...and perhaps we could come back and bring some...
"Meatball subs!" offered Rocky.
"Roast beef and gorgonzola!" shouted Lily.
"Cool lettuce wraps with flies and spiders!" cheered the lizards from the doorway of the cave.
"Sure!" smiled Sparklemist. "Now, we've really got to be going. My mother will be very worried if we don't get home soon. Thank you so much for bringing us to your house, Ms. SandWitch. Nice to meet you, Louie, and, err...lizards. I hope we visit you again soon!"
The SandWitch was already busy making up new kinds of sandwiches to share with future visitors. She happily waved to our friends as Louie showed them how to get out of the sand cave by pulling themselves up a rope anchored at the opening of The SandWitch's House.
Before long, Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily emerged into the sunlight, squinting and relieved that they had made new friends and avoided becoming The SandWitch's lunch.
"Whew," sighed Sparklemist, "It's fun to share, but...I'm HUNGRY!" She rubbed her tummy and began marching homeward. "C'mon, you guys! Let's go get some...burritos!"
*Rocky has since been renamed "Michelle"
Once upon a time, Princess Sparklemist and her two friends Rocky* (a giraffe) and Lily (a crocodile) set out for a hike in the desert. It was a beautiful sunny day. The cacti were in bloom and the sand dunes sparkled in the sunshine. It was hot but not too hot, and our explorers brought water and a picnic with them on their adventure.
Right before the trio planned to stop for lunch, they came upon a huge dune. As they walked around it they discovered a hole in the side, which seemed to lead deep, deep down into the sand. Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily all stood at the edge and peered down into the dark.
All of a sudden, a green lizard popped his head out, startling our friends.
"Hello!" he greeted them. "You are at the entrance to the House of The SandWitch!"
"The SandWitch!" they exclaimed. "Who is she?"
"The SandWitch is a lovely desert dweller," replied the lizard. "She would like to invite you to tea."
Sparklemist looked at Rocky and Lily and shrugged. "What do you think, guys?" Sparklemist was a polite princess who did not like to turn down polite invitations.
"I don't know..." murmured Rocky, peering skeptically down into the dark hole. "How will we get out of there?"
"No problem!" muttered the lizard. "No need to worry about that..." He turned to the mouth of the House of The SandWitch and declared, "Follow me!" The lizard, whose name was Louie, sat on his bum at the edge of the sand tunnel and began sliding down. Rocky went next, followed by Sparklemist and Lily.
It was a long, dark, smooth and sandy ride to the inside of The SandWitch's house. When they reached the bottom, their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the sand cavern, where the SandWitch greeted them lustily.
"Ahhhhhhhhh, yes, you've come for tea, have you?" rasped The SandWitch, whose sand-colored hair was matted and knotty and whose skin was white from lack of sun. She wore loose clothes made of rough brown fabric like burlap and her calloused feet were bare.
Sparklemist stepped forward, introducing herself and her friends. "Thank you so much for inviting us. Your house is very interesting!"
Louie had taken his place on a sand shelf on one side of the cavern, and as Rocky and Lily looked around, they noticed that two more lizards, these ones brown and warty, were blocking the way out.
"Yes...well, let us have tea. And then we'll have lunch!" The SandWitch rubbed her hands together. Louie came down from his perch to grab a kettle off a small fire in the corner. Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily all drank tea made of cactus flower petals and talked about their hike in the desert.
When they finished their sweet drinks, Sparklemist offered to share the lunch they had brought with Louie, the SandWitch, and the two rather scary lizards by the exit.
Louie and The SandWitch looked at each other. Louie cleared his throat.
"You see, well, ahem...actually, you are the lunch," he mumbled.
Rocky put a hoof behind his ear. "Huh? What did you say?"
"Ummm...well...The SandWitch will be eating YOU for lunch." He turned his head toward The SandWitch, who nodded and grinned.
"Yes, that's right! And you certainly look delicious! Especially her." The SandWitch gestured toward Sparklemist. "Though I have never had giraffe, come to think of it..."
Sparklemist was aghast. "Eat us! For lunch? You invite us to tea and then you eat us for lunch? Why, that's the rudest thing I have ever heard of!" Sparklemist put her (trembling) hands on her hips. The lizards behind her inched closer.
"Darling, that's what I do," answered the SandWitch resolutely. "I invite visitors to tea, and then I eat them for lunch. Prepare the pot, Louie."
Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily looked at one another and back at the two guard lizards in horror. But Sparklemist quickly pulled herself together and began problem solving.
"Ms. SandWitch, aren't there other things you like to eat for lunch? Haven't you ever tried a sandwich?"
The SandWitch whirled around on her bare heel. "A SandWitch? Why, I would never eat another SandWitch!"
"Well, maybe you just had the wrong kind, like a yucky sandwich? Sometimes my mom makes those...Have you ever tried peanut butter and..." Sparklemist was interrupted by her angry hostess.
"Young lady, you think I am rude, and you are suggesting I eat SandWitches? My goodness. I would never! There are so few of us left in the desert I can't imagine eating..."
Sparklemist began digging through their backpack. "Here! Look! This is Rocky's favorite kind of sandwich...salami and havarti! And Lily, well, she just loves peanut butter and banana! As for me..." Sparklemist triumphantly held aloft a girled cheese.
"Eh? What's that you've got there, girl?" Suddenly our SandWitch was curious and twitching her nose. The lizards, too, were moving closer, and this time not so menacingly.
"They're sandwiches--and not like you are a SandWitch, silly!" exclaimed Lily, as she took a satisfying bite from her peanut butter and banana. "Here, have some!" Lily passed the sandwich around, and soon, Sparklemist was divvying up the remaining picnic.
The SandWitch, having sampled some of each type of sandwich, sniffed and admitted, "Well. Those are certainly scrumptious little lunch options. And their name is certainly nice sounding..."
Sparklemist looked straight into the SandWitch's eyes. "You see, Ms. SandWitch, doesn't it feel better to invite people to lunch and share with them, instead of eating them? I'm sure Louie could help you make some sandwiches to go with your tea...and perhaps we could come back and bring some...
"Meatball subs!" offered Rocky.
"Roast beef and gorgonzola!" shouted Lily.
"Cool lettuce wraps with flies and spiders!" cheered the lizards from the doorway of the cave.
"Sure!" smiled Sparklemist. "Now, we've really got to be going. My mother will be very worried if we don't get home soon. Thank you so much for bringing us to your house, Ms. SandWitch. Nice to meet you, Louie, and, err...lizards. I hope we visit you again soon!"
The SandWitch was already busy making up new kinds of sandwiches to share with future visitors. She happily waved to our friends as Louie showed them how to get out of the sand cave by pulling themselves up a rope anchored at the opening of The SandWitch's House.
Before long, Sparklemist, Rocky, and Lily emerged into the sunlight, squinting and relieved that they had made new friends and avoided becoming The SandWitch's lunch.
"Whew," sighed Sparklemist, "It's fun to share, but...I'm HUNGRY!" She rubbed her tummy and began marching homeward. "C'mon, you guys! Let's go get some...burritos!"
*Rocky has since been renamed "Michelle"
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