(Simone dictated this story to Beth for my birthday. They then illustrated it and gave it to me. A great gift. I haven’t been posting much; I’ve been writing writing writing—and having knee surgery—like a person possessed.)
My great-grandmother’s journey
My great-grandmother is 98. She wanted to go to Africa, but all the people who built the boats died. She heard that something really good happened; they built a gigantic, humongous bridge across the Atlantic Ocean. She decided to walk to Africa with her imaginary stroller. She walked and walked and walked until she got so red that she couldn’t walk anymore. When she stopped in Scotland, she saw flowers and leaves.
She was so surprised to see this exciting news because she came from a tiny town in the desert where no flowers grow. Then she had to take a little journey to go to Africa. Just a tiny little journey. She took a Hawaiian boat to get there, and the captain was a beautiful woman.
She finally got to Africa, and she couldn’t believe how many flowers there were. And she couldn’t believe how many leaves there were. And she couldn’t believe how fancy her house was. She decided to stay there, and she began to be happy.