Once upon a time

Do you tell each other stories at bedtime? Do you tell your children stories?

Here’s my answer: we READ stories. It is generally fairy tales from our native countries.  I sneak in my favourites – myths deep-rooted in Romanian culture and traditions, mystical fairy tales with meanings crossing centuries and habits.

Our children prefer the new stuff; they also have a partiality for Swedish storytelling – straight to the point, subtly funny, naughty in places. I submit to this.

We do not make stories up. Not anymore, anyway. And when Nahnes asked me the question… my answer surprised me. Because once upon a time we did…

I come from a long tradition of storytellers. Grandma told stories until the day she died. Mostly about real people, but reality was interlaced with imagination in the most elusive way.

My paternal grandfather told us stories underneath the mulberry tree. It was hot and steamy outside and our faces were painted purple with mulberries. Grandpa’s tales of war, Siberian camps and train escapes are engrained on my palate by sweet and sour mulberries.

And then there are my parents.

1980s’ Communist Romania brought the austerity policy. Food, heating and electricity shortages. While I will always associate basic food and heating needs with unpleasant, yet caricature-like memories (as this director superbly documents it), the power-cuts feel nostalgic.

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In 1980s Bucharest, with stark consistency, we experienced pitch black winter nights with no artificial light.

Life standing still for hours. Until the light ‘came back’.

I am unsure how it must have felt for those actually dependent on the electrical light. How about  nurses, doctors, people getting ready for work?

The main change for us children was that we had to pause our homework.  We would cuddle on the sofa with mum and dad and get ready to listen to the same three stories, told and retold.

One was an educational tale. We learned about how electricity was discovered; all I remember from this one is something about Benjamin Franklin’s cat. The second was a fable; I do not remember anything at all, but I believe it all focused on the meaning of life.

I remember the third one. It always started with ‘once upon the time in the woods’ and it always featured my whole family going for a walk. You can imagine the adventures this family of four got up to. Sometimes they would last three hours, sometimes only two.

Then with a bolt the light was back, and doing homework, resumed.

Once upon a time, in Romania, I listened to stories told by candlelight.