Song to Scheherazade

My Mother is not the most open or affectionate person in the world but when she compliments you, when she shows admiration she means it. That's why I'm sharing this here. It's not a marked stop on the Silk Road but it's one I've taken and I'd like to share it with you


I showed my Mother the Caravanserai pages because she has a deep love and affection for the stories Scheherazade told in her 1001 Nights.

My Mother's history as I've said before is tied to the Silk Road and her taste for stories and sense of adventure was born of that Road.

But isn't it a shame, I told my Mom a few nights ago when I was visiting, that Scheherazade wasn't real. That there wasn't really a woman who once upon a time told tale after tale night after night of wonderful, clever magical stories?

My Mother looked offended by my words..."It’s very obvious Anita you don't know what you're talking about” that look said to me.

Then my Mom told me about a girl who use to sit under a Cherry Tree and spin her own tales about ghosts and witches and talking wolves for her brother and sister and cousins and friends. Mom said she enjoyed those stories so much she use to keep the kitchen window open so she could listen to the little girl tell them as she drank her coffee in the morning and that sometimes her friends would join her and listen in as well.

Then my Mom reached down to a red notebook on her desk and flipped it open. It was full of stories she had collected over the years from school notebooks, school newspapers, some are written in pencil, hand written in faded blue and black ink others are typed and the most recent have come from her computer.

As she turned the pages for me she slammed her small brown hand on each title page bearing the name:

Anita Marie Godfrey
others read
Anita Marie Moscoso

"That is my Scheherazade and she is real" my Mother insisted.

I felt very small when she said that, very small.

Your شهرزاد