Several years ago, when our oldest grand-daughter Olivia was born in America, I realised she might never see New Zealand or know about the things and places that were precious to me . . . unless I wrote about them for her to read when she was older.
Yesterday, I had a very precious experience with Olivia (7) and Harrison (5). Their dad, Jarom skyped me from Seattle, Washington, to say that the children were beginning to read "Coffin House Kids", the first children's novel that i wrote, and would I read with them. The children sat in front of the computer as I began to read the story. I have to confess it was a pretty emotional experience; not only was I able to connect with my grandchildren thousands of miles away but I was also connecting through my story that I had published for them (their names are in the front of the book).
When we had read a chapter, I stopped and told them about the REAL coffin house that was actually the little cottage that Papa and I had lived in when we got married and how after we moved out it REALLY was used to store coffins in. I could sense a completely different attitude to the story as it became more alive to them. the great part was also that I was sharing part of their family history without them even realising it.
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