LITMIR.BIZ

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      Dedication

      To me, when I was a little girl.

      Thank you for searching for the Star, Lou.

      And for showing me that it’s never too late. Never.

      A Word from the Author

      A bedtime storybook for the child in you

      I believe that no adult should ever miss out on a good bedtime story. The kind of story that makes you feel something. One that both nudges and nourishes you before you slip into slumber.

      You might say that this is a memoir with a twist.

      How so? you might wonder.

      This book is a collection of happy stories from my childhood, compiled into a bedtime storybook for the child in you.

      And what’s a bedtime storybook without pictures? With that in mind, I have included my own illustrations and photos as well.

      I answer questions on Quora, a question-and-answer website. Many of the stories you are about to read are based on answers I have written.

      No matter how old we might be, it’s never too late to read a bedtime story and celebrate the wonders of childhood once again.

      Night, night, dear reader. Happy reading!

      Above all things, I delight in listening to stories, and sometimes in telling them. ~ George MacDonald, Adela Cathcart

      A Map of My Childhood World

      I once believed the whole world lived right beside the train tracks.

      Story #1: Wake-Up Call

      “Hello, Louise,” replied fifty voices.

      At one time, I could only remember the painful memories of my childhood. My emotions were either of anger or sadness. And then, one day, a friend shared about a support group that was helping her sort out stuff from her past.

      I called her up and asked, “Tell me more about this group. Is it a Bible study?”

      “It’s a twelve-step recovery group, Lou. And it has made such a difference in my life.” I thought long and hard and decided to check it out.

      I will never forget walking into that hall. Fifty people sat in a circle. I spied an empty seat and sat down. I prayed no one would single me out.

      The meeting began, and one by one, people told their stories. When my turn came to speak, I said, “Hi. I’m Louise.”

      “Hello, Louise,” replied fifty voices.

      I glanced about the room, their warmth reaching within me. Smiling faces greeted me hello. They were ready to hear me speak. For the first time in my life, I felt safe among people.

      My recovery began that day. The day someone listened to my story.

      I brought home the intro packet and read every word. It was as if someone asked all the questions I had wondered about throughout my life. By week three, I had found a sponsor, and I began to work the steps.

      On that day in May 1998, I began to recall and celebrate the good memories of my childhood.

      When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer.

       ~ Corrie ten Boom

      Story #2: It’s Never Too Late

      Then I discovered the “Dear Abby” column.

      It all began when I discovered how fun the daily newspaper could be. First, it was the comics. Snoopy was always my favourite character. Why was that?

      He is his own man. He can be serious and silly, all at the same time. And talk about the power of concentration. Snoopy has it in spades. I like that.

      Then I discovered the “Dear Abby” column. And that’s when I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Someone who answers questions.

      The problem was, I had questions of my own. Lots of questions.

      Life happened, and I learned how to search out answers.

      Fast forward to a few years ago.

      When I fell ill with a skin condition that made my skin burn (like the kind of burning of putting your hand on a hot burner), I knew I needed something to distract me from the pain.

      And that’s when I remembered my childhood dream. To answer questions.

      So I googled the phrase, “question-and-answer website.” Enter Quora, a question-and-answer website that attracts millions of readers each month.

      When I answered my first question on February 7, 2018, I did so with fear and trembling. What if no one liked what I wrote? What if I was laughed off the forum? What if?

      Well, the what-ifs stopped when I saw the results. Positive results in the number of views and encouraging comments.

      Am I like “Dear Abby?” No, I am not as witty as she.

      However, in keeping with my cultural heritage of French Canadian, Irish, and Algonquin, I am a storyteller. I share stories as a way of answering questions.

      Which is something I can do on Quora. Without penalty. Sweet.

      So what was my dream job as a kid? And if I could be anything, what would I dare to be?

      You might say, I am still growing up. Still learning. Still quivering in my boots when I try something new.

      And still asking loads of questions. And answering them from time to time. Just like I always dreamed.

       I have a dream.

       ~ Martin Luther King Jr.

      Story #3: Pearls of Wisdom

      I never got bored at Aunt Violet’s.

      My great Aunt Violet lived in a small log cabin in the woods where she carved out a life for herself and her adopted son. Aunt Violet knew how to grow the biggest radishes ever. On top of that, she could fix a screen door, build a shed, keep a wood stove burning, and roll a perfectly shaped unfiltered cigarette.

      She also knew how to keep an eight-year-old kid happily occupied. I never got bored at Aunt Violet’s. Hours would go by, and she always found a way to keep me busy.

      One of my jobs was to play school with my cousin, Barney, her forty-two-year-old son. You see, Barney had the mind of an eight-year-old. One eventful day, many years before, he had made the mistake of walking behind a horse. A big horse that easily startled.

      One kick resulted in permanent brain damage and a steel plate for a forehead. Barney’s brain never developed past the age of eight. I felt so grown-up when I hung out with him. My job was to make sure he did not wander off the property.

      I also felt really grown up when I joined Aunt Violet and Barney for morning coffee. At the age of eight, I was chugging back cups of the hot brew like nobody’s business.

      Years

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