Illustrated by Jim Fowler
It was a foggy, drizzly, day. I was at the piano, playing a song I'd written which begins, "Fog creeping down the mountain..." My daughter Micaela, who was 4 at the time, asked me to come tell her a story. I sat beside her on the couch and said, "What shall I tell a story about?" "Fog," she answered.
And so I began spinning a tale in which the grandmother (major figures in our family, the grandmothers) tells the family that the fog wants something from them. "Does the fog want us to clean? bathe the dog? fix the drip?" I found it easy to spin out ideas of what the fog hadn't come for -- but I was stumped on what the fog would have wanted from the family. Finally, I said to Micaela, "Well, what DID the fog come for?" And without missing a beat, she said, "Music! The fog came for music!"
And that was it. The rest of the story told itself -- and, and I could hardly wait to write it down.
This was the first book my husband Jim and I did together. The children, the dog, the cluttered living room with piano, guitar, and other instruments, are our house. We do not, however, have mice in our pantry.
I've always felt I should have credited my daughter with co-authorship on this one!
Out of print.