... She Wrote

In Readiness for Excellence ... or similar

(prompt: 'up' July 16, 2021)

"Here's the page!" Goosey Goosey Gander tapped the book in my hands as he peeked over my shoulder. "The one where the stories begin; those stories I told you about; the ones that special Sandman, Ole Lukøje, told to the little boy, Hjalmar... but NOT until he was tucked in bed, warm and comfy under his dyne. THEN — Ole always said — the sleep dust could roll out its magic; along with the dreamiest stories from that master story-teller, Hans Christian Andersen. Hjalmar stood no chance of wakefulness. No chance at all." Glancing back at G.G., I almost dropped the precious tome as I laughed out loud at the droll picture he posed, rolling his head around one way and his eyes the other. And then I began to read...

Ole Lukøje was a most determined little man, though dressed in finery that suggested otherwise. His silken coat was a most impossible colour, changing through every hue of the rainbow as he turned and the light caught different sections. Some say he wore a white satin night-cap, while others would swear on a stack of Bibles it was a bright and shiny, red satin top-hat.

To gather the totality of Hjalmar's attention (as if it could possibly stray when Ole was near), the clever little man first re-decorated the little boy's bedroom. With a flourish of one hand, Ole turned the flowers in pots into trees stretching their lush foliage — loaded with fabulous fruits and sweet-scented flowers — all over the walls, and even the ceiling. Had Hjalmar chosen to sample one of the many glittering fruits, he'd have found they tasted sweeter than the most precious jam or honey.

Momentarily, Hjalmar's eyes widened... until the next magical happening, when he hid under his dyne in an effort to escape the unbelievable sound coming from the drawer of his desk... his schoolbooks were moaning! What?!? he thought, and dared a disbelieving peek. Is that my slate? Or my copy book? Or both! Aarrgh?!? A muffled, groany kind of gasp escaped his lips. Hjalmar surely knew his work wasn't good enough. His dear Mum had proven that when she wiped his first efforts clear off his gruffiest practice slate, demanding it be done again, "BEFORE you blot your copy book," she'd said in her best, no-nonsense, 'take no prisoners' kind of voice.

At the time, Hjalmar thought he'd tried his absolute best, but a tiny voice deep inside disagreed. And now, to his great dismay, he must accept it was his puny efforts causing both to express their pain. Wistfully, all but begging, he looked up at Ole Lukøje, hoping against hope it was all but a case of imagined blather like a bubbly-jock. Ole's eyes glinted with an ominous but unmissable shade of disappointment. His brow furrowed like a freshly ploughed paddock as he said through slightly gritted teeth and a most tightish grimace, "Alas and alack, I fear the worst!"

To be continued...

Pronunciation of Names (and explanations of maybe unknown olde days words):

Ole Lukøje — Ole (like cola) Luk (like Luke) øje (like destroyer)

Hjalmar — Hj (like Y in yellow) al (like pal) mar (exactly as written)

dyne - pronounced doona, and it means an eiderdown, or quilt, or comforter.

slate - a double-sided, square piece of slate (approx.7"x10", or 17.5cm x 25cm) set in a smooth timber frame, used for homework in faraway times and places. One side for writing practice, and the other for the most basic maths (or arithmetic), mostly written on with a piece  of soap-stone or softer slate.

copy book - a lined school book with rows of perfectly formed letters (starting with capitals, as all important words should and each having the small letter alongside), interspersed with blank lines for students to copy the exact slant and formation... over and over and over! (The bestiest possible handwriting was highly regarded in those long ago days... *sigh*)

blather like a bubbly-jock (**don't ask... just imagine, OK?**)

Author's Note: Sorry (NOT) for the 'to be continued...' AGAIN! Would have wandered (or more likely tripped and fallen flat on my stoopid face), well and truly over the limit of statuations (or similar), or in other words, wobbled off-line—but I beg special dispensation as I'm trying to atone for the missed and messed 'up' week!

And further... like Hjalmar's dear old Mum and the age-old adage she lived by,

'Good, better, best...

Never let it rest...

Until your good is better,

And your better is best' —

I agree (although not convinced THIS is its correct home, but... I love it; taking any excuse to use it. So sue me!)

PS: Just squished in another 276 words! *snort, snowk, chuckle* Owzat?!?