The Potter and the King

      The Potter and the King

                                     By Valerie L. Egar

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, a potter lived in a modest hut near the river. She used clay she found by the edge of the river to make bowls and jugs for oil and water. She decorated them with paintings of plants and animals. Everyone agreed that her pottery was beautiful, the finest in the kingdom.

            One spring day, as the potter sat painting pots and singing, a messenger on a white horse galloped up.  He handed the potter a letter, sealed with wax. She opened it and read, “You are commanded to appear before the Royal Court to make pottery decorated with paintings of the castle for Princess Sabra’s wedding.”

            “Hmm,” she thought. “An invitation would be much nicer, and what happened to the word ‘please’?” She looked at the messenger. “Tell His Majesty, thank you very much, but it’s time to plant my garden. Other potters will be pleased to make pottery for the princess, I’m sure.”

            The messenger’s eyes widened.  “The King commands you,” he said. “You aren’t allowed to say  ‘no’.”

           The potter resigned herself to going. She’d heard the King had beautiful gardens. She might see peacocks or fine horses. She gathered a supply of clay, paint and paintbrushes, fresh clothes, hitched her small donkey to a cart and followed the messenger to the castle.

  How beautiful the castle was from a distance! Set high on a hill overlooking the valley, its white marble gleamed in the sunlight. 

As the potter drove closer, she saw wide golden gates and beyond them, lush gardens thick with flowers. As the gates opened, the messenger turned to her,  “You can’t drive that rickety, old cart here! Go around back!” He galloped in, leaving her to find her own way.

            The potter’s trusty donkey labored up a dirt road that wound its way to the back of the castle. How different it looked from the front!  The windows were boarded, the yard full of rubbish and broken glass. A shack stood under a dead tree and a rough man pointed the potter towards it.  Damp and musty, thick with cobwebs, the shack was nothing like her happy cottage on the river.

            The potter woke the next morning and began working. Day after day she labored, and as each day passed, she grew more homesick. She longed for the song of the river that slipped past her door, for the whisper of the breeze through the forest, for the bright flowers that grew in her garden. She missed seeing blue birds in the

nearby field and dragonflies flying among the water lilies in her pond.  Everything around her was ugly and left her heart feeling heavy.

           After two months of steady work, she finished. Hundreds of plates, dozens of bowls and jugs of all sizes lined the shelves in the castle’s basement. Not once had the King come by to ask if the potter needed anything. Not once had the princess sent a sweet cake or a pot of hot tea to the potter as she worked.

The King and the Princess came to the basement to view the dishes. “They’re ugly!” the Princess screamed. Drab brown and grey, the paintings on each showed the back of the castle with its broken windows and rubbish filled yard.

            The King was furious. “I ordered paintings of the castle!” he yelled.

            “Yes,” said the potter, “and this is the castle I saw from where I stood.”

            The potter’s words pierced the King’s heart. He was ashamed. He paid the potter generously for her work, beautified the back of the castle, stopped using the word ‘command,’ and finally learned to say ‘please.’ Best of all, he threw open the front gates of the castle to all of his subjects, whether they were riding a fine horse or driving a donkey cart.

            The spoiled Princess thought her father had gone mad and moved with her Prince to another Kingdom.
             The honest potter returned to her modest cottage and joyfully made pots for the rest of her days, singing as she painted.

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Copyright 2017 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author.
Published March 5, 2015 in Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME).

Pixie Buys A Castle

Snicker. The blog is named after him.

                    By Valerie L. Egar

             Pixie Smith, (otherwise known as Regina Hatchmore Smith), began her acting career at the age of four, in a TV commercial for Silly Cereal saying, “It tastes like bananas, Mommy.” Then, she starred in a car commercial, pretending to drive a red pick-up truck while a chorus of chipmunks frolicked in the back singing, “Driving in the Rain.”

Movie roles quickly followed. Pixie was nominated for an Oscar for her portrayal of a saucy waif in A Slice of Bread for Sarah and again, the following year, for the sensitivity she brought to the role of mean girl Kristal in Charm School.  Shortly after, she wowed Broadway singing and dancing her way through Spider Baby.

           By the time she was nine, Pixie Smith was very rich and so famous, she decided she needed a castle far from Hollywood for some privacy.

She flew to London in her private jet with her white poodle, Doodles, and a suitcase full of peanut butter crackers. She did not want to be recognized, so she wore movie star sunglasses and a yellow dress, a color she never, ever wore in movies or on TV.

 “We don’t usually have children shopping for castles,” sniffed the mustachioed real estate agent, Buford Cash. “Castles are adult real estate, and rather expensive. Perhaps a small flat near a school would better serve your needs.”

Pixie sniffed in her sniffiest way and pulled her sunglasses down to look him in the eye. “If you have no castles to show me, just say so. Doodles and I will look elsewhere.”

        Pixie had a list of what she expected in a castle. Though it didn’t need a moat or a dungeon, she definitely expected a turret or two.

She wanted a library with lots of shelves, because she loved books. 

Most of all, she wanted the castle to have a ghost.  A ghost would be good company, perhaps even entertaining. Pixie thought an apparition that materialized on command might be handy when nosy gossip columnists hid in bushes.

        The first castle had turrets, but when Pixie climbed to the top, all she could see was the castle next door. Not private enough!

        The next castle was all moats and dungeons, perfect for a metal band, but not for Pixie.

The last castle had turrets that looked out upon fields of sheep and a library with leaded glass windows and shelves so high, you needed a ladder to reach some of the books. Best of all, Pixie noticed the ghost of a butler wandering the halls.

When Mr. Cash walked by the ghost he shivered, but didn’t see him. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?” he said.

Pixie wondered whether if the ghost would measure up. “Show me what you can do,” she whispered.

The ghost bowed. He raised his ghostly hands and all of a sudden, windows and doors opened and closed in time to music blasting from the radio.

Mr. Cash looked surprised, but smiled. “As you can see, this castle has automatic windows and doors.” He looked around. “Radio controlled.” Pixie laughed.  

“Do something else, please?” she asked the ghost.

As they walked through the library, the ghost drifted to the top shelves near the ceiling, and a book floated to a near-by table.

“Anne of Green Gables, my favorite!”

“Yes, this castle has an invisible book retrieval system. I’m not sure how it works, but it’s very expensive,” said Mr. Cash.

“Actually, there’s a ghost.”

“No such thing!” said Mr. Cash. “You’re old enough to know better.” With that, the ghost screamed and a mighty wind blew through the house, scattering papers everywhere.  Mr. Cash shivered. “It is a bit drafty, though, even for a castle.”

Pixie winked at the ghost. “I expect a significant discount for drafty.”

With that, Mr. Cash agreed and Pixie ended up with a castle that had two turrets, a library full of books and a ghost who was sure to become a good friend.

Published December 11, 2016 in The Sunday Journal Tribune (Biddeford, Maine). Copyright  2016 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author. 
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Pixie Buys a Castle

Snicker. The blog is named after him.

                By Valerie L. Egar

Pixie Smith, (otherwise known as Regina Hatchmore Cullen Smith), began her acting career at the age of four, in a TV commercial for Silly Cereal saying, “It tastes like bananas, Mommy.” Then, she starred in a car commercial, pretending to drive a red pick-up truck while a chorus of chipmunks frolicked in the back singing, “Driving in the Rain.”

Movie roles quickly followed. Pixie was nominated for an Oscar for her portrayal of a saucy waif in A Slice of Bread for Sarah and again, the following year, for the sensitivity she brought to the role of mean girl Kristal in Charm School.  Shortly after, she wowed Broadway singing and dancing her way through Spider Baby.

            By the time she was nine, Pixie Smith was very rich and so famous, she decided she needed a castle far from Hollywood for some privacy.

She flew to London in her private jet with her white poodle, Doodles, and a suitcase full of peanut butter crackers. She did not want to be recognized, so she wore movie star sunglasses and a yellow dress, a color she never, ever wore in movies or on TV.

 “We don’t usually have children shopping for castles,” sniffed the mustachioed real estate agent, Buford Cash. “Castles are adult real estate, and rather expensive. Perhaps a small flat near a school would better serve your needs.”

Pixie sniffed back in her sniffiest way and pulled her sunglasses down to look him in the eye. “If you have no castles to show me, just say so. Doodles and I will look elsewhere.”

            Pixie had a list of what she expected in a castle. Though it didn’t need a moat or a dungeon, she definitely expected a turret or two.

She wanted a library with lots of shelves, because she loved books. 

Most of all, she wanted the castle to have a ghost.  A ghost would be good company, perhaps even entertaining, Pixie thought an apparition that materialized on command might be handy when nosy gossip columnists hid in bushes.

            The first castle had turrets, but when Pixie climbed to the top, all she could see was the castle next door. Not private enough!

            The next castle was all moats and dungeons, perfect for a metal band, but not for Pixie.

The last castle had turrets that looked out upon fields of sheep and a library with leaded glass windows and shelves so high, you needed a ladder to reach some of the books. Best of all, Pixie noticed the ghost of a butler wandering the halls.

 When Mr. Cash walked by the ghost he shivered, but didn’t see him. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?” he said.

Pixie wondered whether the ghost would measure up. “Show me what you can do,” she said.

The ghost bowed. He raised his ghostly hands and all of a sudden, windows and doors opened and closed in time to music blasting from the radio.

Mr. Cash looked surprised, but smiled. “As you can see, this castle has automatic windows and doors.” He looked around. “Radio controlled.” Pixie laughed.  

“Do something else, please?” she whispered to the ghost.

As they walked through the library, the ghost drifted to the top shelves near the ceiling, and a book floated to a near-by table.

“Anne of Green Gables, my favorite!”

“Yes, this castle has an invisible book retrieval system. I’m not sure how it works, but it’s very expensive,” said Mr. Cash.

“Actually, there’s a ghost.”

“No such thing!” said Mr. Cash.  “You’re old enough to know better.” With that, the ghost screamed and a mighty wind blew through the house, scattering papers everywhere.  Mr. Cash shivered. “It is a bit drafty, though, even for a castle.”

Pixie winked at the ghost. “I’d expect a significant discount for drafty.”

With that, Mr. Cash agreed and Pixie ended up with a castle that had two turrets, a library full of books and a ghost who was sure to become a good friend.

Copyright 2016 by Valerie L. Egar. Cannot be reproduced or distributed without permission from the author.  Like the story? Please follow Valerie L. Egar  on Facebook by liking the page. New stories come out once a week.