Cinnín Óir agus na Trí Bhéar
("Goldilocks and the Three Bears")
Me daughters havin' expressed their feelin's about me tellin' stories about the Tuatha Dé, I thought it best to tell me grandkids stories of a different nature, somethin' their mothers would approve. Me daughters surely would not object to this popular children's story:
'There once were a wee lass named Cinnín Óir ("Goldilocks"). She were fair of complexion with a head full of golden curls. She had a knack for fallin' asleep most anywhere at anytime.'
'Sounds like cousin Beacha,' whispered Diolun to Darowva. She shushed him straight away.
Ignorin' this interruption, I continued...
'One day she were in the woods gatherin' kindlin' for her granda's fire. She were a helpful lass, always doin' her chores without complainin'.'
'Is the bit about chores supposed to be part of this story?' asked Daibhidh.
'Aye, it is when *I'm* tellin' it,' I says.
Daibhidh didn't like me answer, but, at least for the time bein', he made no further comment.
'Cinnín Óir were havin' a marvelous time in the woods. She listened to the birds singin' and the brook babbblin'. She enjoyed all the sights, sounds, and smells of the woods: the birds, the bees, the flowers, and the trees.'
Daibhidh rolled his eyes at me rhymin' but said nothin'.
'Not long after Cinnín Óir set out on her errand she became mighty peckish. However, when she began to start for home she weren't sure which direction to go. She were lost.'
'Pity she didn't leave breadcrumbs behind her,' Dooli said slyly.
'Wrong story,' whispered Darowva. She's Ériu's daughter, and the eldest of me two granddaughters.
'I know, I was makin' a joke,' explained Dooli, also in a whisper.
'Don't!' Darowva said crossly in loud whisper. Darowva can be a bit bossy.
Dooli grinned and held his hands up in mock surrender.
Ignorin' this exchange I continued...
'Seems luck were with Cinnín Óir. Before long she came upon a stone cottage. When she knocked on the door, however, no one answered. Tryin' the latch she found it were unlocked. She poked her head in the door and, seein' that no one were there, went in.
As soon as Cinnín Óir entered the cottage she became aware of an enticin' aroma comin' from the kitchen table. "Porridge,' she thought, 'that'll be just the thing!"
On the table lie three bowls: a very large bowl, a medium-sized bowl, and a small bowl.'
'She lifted a spoon from the table, scooped a portion of porridge from the large bowl then placed it in her mouth. The porridge nearly burnt her tongue. "That's too hot!" she thought to herself.
She then sampled the porridge in the medium-sized bowl. "That's too cold," she thought disappointedly.
Finally she sampled porridge from the small bowl. "That's just right!" she thought.
She ate all the porridge she could spoon from the small bowl then ran her finger around the rim to ensure she consumed every morsel. "That were just the thing," she thought as she stuck her finger in mouth, savourin' the porridge to the last.'
'Cinnín Óir sure likes her porridge!' remarked Daibhidh.
'Grand!' said Diolun. 'We should invite her the next time we have porridge. She can have all of mine, so long as she leaves me eggs and rashers.'
I silenced the lads with a look.
'Cinnín Óir yawned,' I continued. 'Seems she were knackered from all that walkin' and gatherin' in the woods.
In the next room there were three beds. Cinnín Óir closely examined each of 'em. Closest to her were a large bed, then a medium-sized bed. Furthest away next to the wall were a small bed.
She laid her hand on top of the large bed and gently pressed down upon it. It were very firm. She climbed upon the large bed, then, standin' upon it with both feet, began jumpin' up and down. There were no give at all. "Too hard," she thought.
Next she set her hand on top of the medium-sized bed. When she pressed down the bed near swallowed her arm up to the elbow. "If I dare lay upon this bed I might never escape it!" she thought. She passed it by.
Finally she came to the small bed next to the wall. When she set her hand upon the top of the bed it felt neither too hard nor too soft. Then she laid herself upon the small cosy bed. "This is just right," she thought before fallin' fast asleep.'
'Borin'!' interjected Daibhidh.
'Cinnín Óir is not the only one that's yawnin',' said Dooli with a smirk.
'Ye're right,' laughed Daibhidh. 'Beacha is already fast asleep!'
'Never mind them, Granda,' Darowva said sweetly, 'it's a lovely story.'
'You're only sayin' that 'cause you're a lass,' said Diolun, the youngest of me grandsons, to his slightly older sister. There's a fierce siblin' rivalry between the two.
'And what's wrong with that!' retorted Darowva.
I intervened before the row could become any worse, 'Now, now, me darlin's. Daidí Beag is tryin' to tell a story your mams would approve.'
'And that's why it's borin',' claimed Daibhidh. Dooli and Diolun laughed. Darowva did not.
'Why all the fuss?' asked me daughter Ériu, her arms folded sternly across her chest. She and her sisters had hurried from the kitchen when they heard the raised voices.
'What's wrong?' asked Banba, me middle daughter.
'Another bedtime story row?' asked Fódla, me third daughter.
'Aye,' I sighed.
'The story was borin' is all,' explained Daibhidh.
'Ye best listen quietly when Granda tells a story or ye won't be hearin' any stories at all!' threatened Ériu.
'Twas me fault,' I says. 'I'll do better at tellin' stories that the lads as well as the lasses will enjoy.'
'We're sorry, Granda,' says Dooli, the eldest of me five grandkids. 'We shouldn't be interruptin' ye so, even if the story *is* borin'.'
Darowva frowned, Daibhidh and Diolun giggled, while Beacha, who was curled up in a wee ball, continued sleepin' like a newborn kitten.
'All right, off to bed with ye!' I says.
'Yes, Granda,' they replied.
Darowva stayed behind while her brothers and cousins were bein' led off to bed. 'I hope ye'll finish the story sometime, Granda,' she says with a smile.
'I'll do so, me darlin', if only for ye,' I replied. She hugged me tight before bein' led away by Ériu her mother.
'He skipped the part where the wolf eats the granny,' I heard Daibhidh say from the next room.
'And the hunter kills the wolf, and out pops the granny!' says Dooli.
'Wrong story--again!' says the exasperated Darowva.
'No more classic bedtime stories for them,' I thought to meself. 'I suppose I'll have to invent me own stories
