Yard Sale Cauldron

Yesterday I talked about how hard it has been for me to write. Then, as I usually do on Tuesdays, I finished all of my trivia questions, because I host a trivia night at a local brewery. I host trivia every Tuesday and it's a lot of fun. Anyway, as I was sitting at the bar finishing my beer, I checked Twitter. I saw a post from Fairy Tale Fragments (@fairytaletext) on there. The post was, "There once lived a swan maiden who had a magic cauldron."

And I though, "Ooooh, I like that one." It made me think of a picture book called, "Thank you, Omu" which is sort of like what I think The Giving Tree was going for, message-wise, but with better boundaries. The concept of Thank You, Omu (which really is a lovely picture book) is that Omu is cooking her dinner. People keep stopping by and asking for food, because they're hungry. Omu feeds them. When it's time for her dinner, she finds her pot empty. She gave everything away. THEN, unlike the Giving Tree (look, I like Shel Silverstein poems a lot, but I've always deeply disliked this book), her neighbors all show up with a little something to make sure she also has enough to eat. It's a great book about community.

Anyway, I thought, "well, I have a minute and a beer to finish, so let's see where this goes." 

And then I quickly wrote a flash fiction (as it's only maybe 500 words, tops) story on twitter. It was a lot of fun. It was also a good reminder to me that writing is fun, that I need to remember how much I enjoy making stuff up and not get too bogged down in the rest of it, and to keep trying new things.

Twitter can be lovely, but it's also a total dumpster fire, and because I don't want to make any of you go on there, here is the story:

There once lived a swan maiden who had a magic cauldron.

And at first, she didn’t know what to do with it.

It was dusty.

Cracked.

Unused and unloved.

Her aunt had bought it at a yard sale. Two silver dollars and a duck’s feather. “What am I supposed to with it?” asked the swan maiden.

Her aunt just shrugged. “It’s useful. Made at a time when they really knew how to make things, you know? You’ll figure it out.”

The swan maiden set it on her counter by her crock pot. It was too big to put anywhere else. She would probably donate it anyway. So every morning, she poured her coffee, and looked at that old, chipped cauldron.

And every day, she put off getting rid of it for one more day.

Then one morning, after a particularly long night, with poor sleep and persistent nightmares, she sipped her coffee in her kitchen and stared at that cauldron. Maybe it was the quality of the morning light that day, but suddenly she saw potential.

So, she rolled up her sleeves, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and got to work.

She scrubbed.

She oiled.

She buffed with a cotton cloth.

And by the time she was done, it was still battered, still old, and yet it glowed. It had *potential*

And she saw it not just in the cauldron, but in her quiet, empty home. Everything shone with possibility.

So she went into her garden. She pulled the carrots the rabbits hadn’t eaten.

The spring onions. A few scraggly potatoes. The celery not quite ready. She snipped herbs. She gathered pepper from her cabinets and fancy salt sent by her dearest friend. (It was smoked salt of all things.)

All of it went into the cauldron.

She added water from her well. Butter from her neighbor, a bent old woman with a crooked smile. Rice from the young man down the block with the scraggly beard. Bay leaves gifted by her dearest neighbor who simply went by Lin. Just Lin.

Everything went into the cauldron.

When it was done, she asked Lin to help her heft it onto her porch. She let the breeze take the aroma where it was needed most. She gathered bowls. Spoons. Faded cotton napkins.

Then she waited.

Waited and hummed a song until neighbors peeked out their doors. Sniffed. Smiled. Hollered across streets and alleyways. Knocked on doors. Summoned anyone who needed a full bowl. Who needed sustenance.

Lin handed her bowls. The swan maiden smiled. She filled the one on top. Then the next. Ladled until her arm was sore, and yet the cauldron never emptied. People brought what they had—loaves of bread. Wedges of cheese. Fiddles and drums. A bottle of wine.

They ate until they were full. They danced until they were tired. They laughed until their sides hurt.

The swan maiden smiled, and thought it wasn’t too bad for two silver coins and a duck’s feather. And she wondered where her aunt got it anyway.

And wondered if they had anything else for sale.

That's it! Happy Wednesday!

-Lish