Stories
Where would
you like to go now?
Money There was
a man who worked all of his life and saved all of his money. He was a real
miser when it came to his money. He loved money more than just about anything,
and just before he died, he said to his wife, "Now listen, when I die, I want
you to take all my money and place it in the casket with me. I wanna take
my money to the afterlife."
So he got his wife to promise him with all her heart that when
he died, she would put all the money in the casket with him. Well, one day
he died. He was stretched out in the casket, the wife was sitting there in
black next to her closest friend. When they finished the ceremony, just before
the undertakers got ready to close the casket, the wife said "Wait just a
minute!" She had a shoe box with her, she came over with the box and placed
it in the casket. Then the undertakers locked the casket down and rolled it
away.
Her friend said, "I hope you weren't crazy enough to put all that money
in the casket." "Yes," the wife said, "I promised. I'm a good Christian, I
can't lie. I promised him that I was going to put that money in that casket
with him." "You mean to tell me you put every cent of his money in the casket
with him?" "I sure did. I got it all together, put it into my account and
I wrote him a check."
The
Achievement of the Cat
In the political history of nations
it is no uncommon experience to find States and peoples which but a short
time since were in bitter conflict and animosity with each other, settled
down comfortably on terms of mutual goodwill and even alliance. The natural
history of the social developments of species affords a similar instance in
the coming-together of two once warring elements, now represented by civilised
man and the domestic cat.
The fiercely waged struggle which went on between humans and
felines in those far-off days when sabre-toothed tiger and cave lion contended
with primeval man, has long ago been decided in favour of the most fitly equipped
combatant—the Thing with a Thumb—and the descendants of the dispossessed family
are relegated today, for the most part, to the waste lands of jungle and veld,
where an existence of self-effacement is the only alternative to extermination.
But the felis catus, or whatever species was the ancestor of the modern domestic
cat (a vexed question at present), by a master-stroke of adaptation avoided
the ruin of its race, and ‘captured’ a place in the very keystone of the conqueror’s
organization. For not as a bond-servant or dependent has this proudest of
mammals entered the human fraternity; not as a slave like the beasts of burden,
or a humble camp follower like the dog.
The cat is domestic only as far as suits its own ends;
it will not be kennelled or harnessed nor suffer any dictation as to its goings
out or comings in. Long contact with the human race has developed in it the
art of diplomacy, and no Roman Cardinal of mediæval days knew better how to
ingratiate himself with his surroundings than a cat with a saucer of cream
on its mental horizon. But the social smoothness, the purring innocence, the
softness of the velvet paw may be laid aside at a moment’s notice, and the
sinuous feline may disappear, in deliberate aloofness, to a world of roofs
and chimney-stacks, where the human element is distanced and disregarded.
Or the innate savage spirit that helped its survival in the bygone days of
tooth and claw may be summoned forth from beneath the sleek exterior, and
the torture-instinct (common alone to human and feline) may find free play
in the death-throes of some luckless bird or rodent. It is, indeed, no small
triumph to have combined the untrammelled liberty of primeval savagery with
the luxury which only a highly developed civilization can command; to be lapped
in the soft stuffs that commerce has gathered from the far ends of the world,
to bask in the warmth that labour and industry have dragged from the bowels
of the earth; to banquet on the dainties that wealth has bespoken for its
table, and withal to be a free son of nature, a mighty hunter, a spiller of
life-blood.
This is the victory of the cat. But besides the credit of success
the cat has other qualities which compel recognition. The animal which the
Egyptians worshipped as divine, which the Romans venerated as a symbol of
liberty, which Europeans in the ignorant Middle Ages anathematised as an agent
of demonology, has displayed to all ages two closely blended characteristics, courage
and self-respect. No matter how unfavourable the circumstances, both qualities
are always to the fore.
Confront a child, a puppy, and a kitten with a sudden
danger; the child will turn instinctively for assistance, the puppy will grovel
in abject submission to the impending visitation, the kitten will brace its
tiny body for a frantic resistance. And disassociate the luxury-loving cat
from the atmosphere of social comfort in which it usually contrives to move,
and observe it critically under the adverse conditions of civilisation — that
civilisation which can impel a man to the degradation of clothing himself
in tawdry ribald garments and capering mountebank dances in the streets for
the earning of the few coins that keep him on the respectable, or non-criminal,
side of society.
The cat of the slums and alleys, starved, outcast, harried,
still keeps amid the prowlings of its adversity the bold, free, panther-tread
with which it paced of yore the temple courts of Thebes, still displays the
self-reliant watchfulness which man has never taught it to lay aside. And
when its shifts and clever managings have not sufficed to stave off inexorable
fate, when its enemies have proved too strong or too many for its defensive
powers, it dies fighting to the last, quivering with the choking rage or mastered
resistance, and voicing in its death-yell that agony of bitter remonstrance
which human animals, too, have flung at the powers that may be; the last protest
against a destiny that might have made them happy—and has not.
A Marriage Proposal
by Phil Groce
Marriage is supposed
to be forever, and it commonly has a religious factor involved, which adds guilt
if the marriage dissolves. Still, divorce is common. And I see from the pages
of the BDN 4-10-08 that the Christian Civic League still fights the idea of
same sex marriage.
There is no reason, that I can see, to monkey around with traditional marriage.
There’s a big place for it with all the religion and commitment trappings anyone wants. But allow me
to introduce a different marriage proposal, and see what you think.
Consider state sanctioned time limited marriage (TLM). You choose a time limit for the
marriage, and at the end of the time, the marriage expires. No divorce. The marriage EXPIRES. If desired,
there exists the option that the marriage can be extended for how many years desired. Implicit in TLM
would be a prenuptial contract signed at the beginning which would include common property. It could be a
state sanctioned blanket contract, or the couple could make up their own with legal help. When the
marriage expires, the contract goes into effect unless the marriage is renewed.
If a child arrives, either through pregnancy within the partnership or through adoption,
then the TLM automatically expires. Only the route of traditional marriage is then open to the couple, which
would require getting married, if desired. For couples with pre-existing families, either TLM or traditional
marriage would be possible.
TLM allows guilt-free flexibility to marriage. In addition, it would allow for the
flexibility to include same sex couples. It puts marriage more in the form of a contract, which is something
that people understand. Are not successful marriages more like a contract? Compromise makes for success.
In evaluating this marriage proposal, just don’t forget to take into consideration the
state of the marriage/divorce problem that we already face. Consider whether having the option of TLM would
help any of the problems, or would it cause even more? I believe the former, even though, for myself, I like
traditional marriage. I think TLM should be discussed in our state.
“Water All Around” Coming
to Waldoboro
Curtesy of the Free Press Online.
Water All
Around, a free community water education festival for children and families
is happening on Saturday, April 26, from 1 to 4 p.m. at the VFW Hall beside
the Medomak River on Mill Street in Waldoboro (look for the signs on Route 1).
Many indoor and outdoor hands-on activities are planned for the day. Here are
just a few questions one can find the answers to at the festival: Have you ever
wondered about the lives of salmon, alewives and other diadromous fish? Visitors
can find out at “My Gracious Migrations!” led by Peter Steenstra of Craig Brook
Hatchery, U.S. Fish and Wildlife.
What is a watershed?
Amanda Rudy of Knox-Lincoln Soil and Water Conservation District
will once again be on hand to help explore the popular Enviroscape Model.
What’s in the water?
Stephen Peats of Aqua Maine will demonstrate how to test for
certain elements in water (bring a water sample in a clean quart bag or bottle).
What creatures live in a vernal pool and what is a vernal pool?
Leah Trommer of Tanglewood 4-H Camp and Learning Center will be
on hand to help find out.
Can one touch that fish?
The answer is yes. Participants can even make a fish print
from one of the species shown and discussed by Jeffry Chase and Tim Rowell from
Herring Gut Learning Center.
What did that loon swallow?
See an X-ray of a loon and find out about a new project from
Laura Suomi-Lecker of the Natural Resources Conservation Service.
How do alewives jump past the Medomak Falls?
Katie Renwick of Medomak Valley Land Trust offers a game to play
to find out. Hopefully the alewives will be running by April 26 and visitors
can see them jump.
Where does the water in a fire truck come from?
The Waldoboro Fire Department will be on hand with a fire
truck to answer all related questions. Weather permitting, a rousing game of
bucket brigade will also be played.
How does one drill a well?
Hatch Well Drillers will answer questions and will have one
of their trucks on hand.
A performance by Matt Loosigian of Earth Jams will be presented
at 3 p.m. Audience members can dance, clap and sing along as they learn about
the most important building block of life — water. With songs like “Stormdrain,”
“Way Down” and “Sailing Up, Sailing Down,” participants will learn about water
conservation, rivers, aquifers and what they can do to protect the water. The
community event is designed to encourage young people to learn about the water
all around and to become involved in caring for one of Maine’s most valuable
resources. Water All Around is being planned by the University of Maine Cooperative
Extension Knox-Lincoln 4-H program, along with the Knox-Lincoln Soil and Water
Conservation District, Medomak Valley Land Trust and the Waldoboro Recreation
Department. For more information, contact Ellie Libby at University of Maine
Cooperative Extension at 832-0343 or e-mail
elibby@umext.maine.edu.
Never, under any circumstances, take
a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved,
and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be "meetings."
There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."
People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you
to share yours with them.
You should not confuse your career with your life.
Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
Never lick a steak knife.
The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.
You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why
we observe daylight savings time.
You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you
think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at
that moment.
There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big
deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.
The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion,
economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe
that we are above-average drivers.
A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.
Thought for the day: Never be afraid to try something new.
Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark. A large group of professionals built
the Titanic.
April Holidays & Celebrations
APRIL IS ...
Holocaust Month:
National Poetry Month:
Jazz Appreciation Month:
Be Vigilante Against Child Abuse Month:
April 1st: April Fool's Day
April 13, 1836: Thomas Jefferson's Birthday
April 22: Earth Day
April 30: Arbor Day (last day in April)
About Earth Day
Network
Founded by the organizers of the first Earth Day in 1970, Earth Day Network (EDN) promotes
environmental citizenship and year round progressive action worldwide.
Earth Day Network is a driving force steering environmental
awareness around the world. Through Earth Day Network, activists connect, interact, and
have an impact on their communities, and create positive change in local, national, and
global policies. EDN's international network reaches over 17,000 organizations in 174
countries, while the domestic program engages 5,000 groups and over 25,000 educators
coordinating millions of community development and environmental protection activities
throughout the year. Earth Day is the only event celebrated simultaneously around the
globe by people of all backgrounds, faiths and nationalities. More than a half billion
people participate in our campaigns every year.
Our mission is to grow and diversify the environmental
movement worldwide, and to mobilize it as the most effective vehicle for promoting
a healthy, sustainable planet. We pursue our mission through education, politics,
events, and consumer activism.
Earth
Day Network’s Mission Statement
EDN seeks to grow
and diversify the environmental movement worldwide, and to mobilize it as the
most effective vehicle for promoting a healthy, sustainable planet. We pursue
these goals through education, politics, events, and consumer activism.
Earth Day Network’s programs and activities are guided by the following goals:
Promote Civic Engagement — EDN
works with partner organizations to provide opportunities for all citizens to
become active at the local, state, national and global levels.
Broaden the Meaning of "Environment"
— EDN is committed to expanding the definition of "environment" to include all
issues that affect our health, our communities and our environment, such as
air and water pollution, deteriorating schools, public transportation and access
to jobs, rising rates of asthma and cancer, and lack of funding for parks and
recreation. We have included all of these issues in a unique and comprehensive
research document, the Urban Environment Report, which ranks the health of 72
U.S. cities by more than 200 environmental, health and quality of life indicators.
Mobilize Communities — EDN and
our Campaign for Communities (C4C)
partners successfully educated and motivated new and infrequent voters in eight
states to pass strong environmental laws during the 2006 election. We are continuing
this effort for the 2008 election with the goal of creating reliable and consistent
environmental citizens among low-income and minority communities. All this follows
our success during the 2004 presidential election when EDN and our C4C partners
registered and turned out one million voters. In 2006 and 2007, EDN helped create
a solid environmental platform for the National
Latino Congreso. The 2007 Congreso established a long-term environmental
agenda for Latino leaders that includes EDN’s
call for a moratorium on coal-fired power plants and a substantial
increase in funding and support for renewable energy and green schools.
Groundbreaking Environmental Education
Programs — Earth Day Network’s new GREEN Schools
Campaign will seek to green all of America’s k-12 schools within a generation.
EDN uses innovative education tools to promote civic participation and to develop
a sense of environmental responsibility among all citizens. Our programs and
activities inform and inspire young people and people of color to become environmental
leaders. In its pilot 2005-2006 school year, the National
Civic Education Project empowered students in Cincinnati to push their
school board to adopt green building practices. This powerful program continues
to grow, providing young people with the skills, pride and passion they need
to address environmental health issues affecting their communities.
Support Earth Day Events and Actions around
the World — From greening schools in post-Katrina New Orleans to improving
water and sanitation services in a refugee community in Ghana, EDN supports
and coordinates thousands of Earth Day events worldwide each year. Earth
Day, April 22, is the largest secular holiday in the world, now celebrated
by more than one billion people.
Our
Membership in Earth Share means you can donate at work:
Earth Share, a nationwide
network of America's leading non-profit environmental and conservation organizations,
works to promote environmental education and charitable giving through workplace
giving campaigns. Earth Share is an opportunity for environmentally conscious
employees and workplaces to support hundreds of environmental groups at once
through a charitable giving drive.
Since Earth Share's founding in 1988, thousands
of employees across the nation have generously pledged their financial support
for the important work of Earth Share's member organizations. As more and more
businesses are opting to offer environmental giving options alongside other
approved charities, Earth Share now participates in campaigns at hundreds of
public and privates sector workplaces, including the federal government's Combined
Federal Campaign (CFC); American Airlines; Dell; American Express; Hewlett Packard;
Aveda; Sears; and many more.
The Swiss Spaghetti Harvest
In 1957 the respected BBC news show Panorama announced that thanks to a very mild
winter and the virtual elimination of the dreaded spaghetti weevil, Swiss farmers
were enjoying a bumper spaghetti crop. It accompanied this announcement with footage
of Swiss peasants pulling strands of spaghetti down from trees. Huge numbers of
viewers were taken in. Many called the BBC wanting to know how they could grow their
own spaghetti tree. To this the BBC diplomatically replied that they should "place
a sprig of spaghetti in a tin of tomato sauce and hope for the best."
Sidd Finch
Sidd Finch Sidd Finch In its April
1985 edition, Sports Illustrated published a story about a new rookie pitcher
who planned to play for the Mets. His name was Sidd Finch, and he could reportedly
throw a baseball at 168 mph with pinpoint accuracy. This was 65 mph faster than
the previous record. Surprisingly, Sidd Finch had never even played the game before.
Instead, he had mastered the "art of the pitch" in a Tibetan monastery under the
guidance of the "great poet-saint Lama Milaraspa." Mets fans celebrated their
teams' amazing luck at having found such a gifted player, and Sports Illustrated
was flooded with requests for more information. But in reality this legendary
player only existed in the imagination of the author of the article, George Plimpton.
Instant Color TV
In 1962 there was only one tv channel
in Sweden, and it broadcast in black and white. The station's technical expert,
Kjell Stensson, appeared on the news to announce that, thanks to a new technology,
viewers could convert their existing sets to display color reception. All they
had to do was pull a nylon stocking over their tv screen. Stensson proceeded to
demonstrate the process. Thousands of people were taken in. Regular color broadcasts
only commenced in Sweden on April 1, 1970.
The Taco Liberty Bell
In 1996 the Taco Bell Corporation announced that it had bought the Liberty Bell
and was renaming it the Taco Liberty Bell. Hundreds of outraged citizens called
the National Historic Park in Philadelphia where the bell was housed to express
their anger. Their nerves were only calmed when Taco Bell revealed, a few hours
later, that it was all a practical joke. The best line of the day came when White
House press secretary Mike McCurry was asked about the sale. Thinking on his feet,
he responded that the Lincoln Memorial had also been sold. It would now be known
as the Ford Lincoln Mercury Memorial.
San Serriffe
In 1977 the British newspaper
The Guardian published a special seven-page supplement devoted to San Serriffe, a small
republic located in the Indian Ocean consisting of several semi-colon-shaped islands. A
series of articles affectionately described the geography and culture of this obscure
nation. Its two main islands were named Upper Caisse and Lower Caisse. Its capital was
Bodoni, and its leader was General Pica. The Guardian's phones rang all day as readers
sought more information about the idyllic holiday spot. Few noticed that everything
about the island was named after printer's terminology. The success of this hoax is
widely credited with launching the enthusiasm for April Foolery that gripped the British
tabloids in subsequent decades.
Nixon for President
In 1992 National Public Radio's Talk of the Nation program announced that Richard
Nixon, in a surprise move, was running for President again. His new campaign slogan
was, "I didn't do anything wrong, and I won't do it again." Accompanying this
announcement were audio clips of Nixon delivering his candidacy speech. Listeners
responded viscerally to the announcement, flooding the show with calls expressing
shock and outrage. Only during the second half of the show did the host John
Hockenberry reveal that the announcement was a practical joke. Nixon's voice was
impersonated by comedian Rich Little.
Alabama Changes the Value
of Pi
The April 1998 issue of the New
Mexicans for Science and Reason newsletter contained an article claiming that the
Alabama state legislature had voted to change the value of the mathematical constant
pi from 3.14159 to the 'Biblical value' of 3.0. Before long the article had made its
way onto the internet, and then it rapidly made its way around the world, forwarded
by people in their email. It only became apparent how far the article had spread when
the Alabama legislature began receiving hundreds of calls from people protesting the
legislation. The original article, which was intended as a parody of legislative
attempts to circumscribe the teaching of evolution, was written by a physicist named
Mark Boslough.
The Left-Handed Whopper
In 1998 Burger King published
a full page advertisement in USA Today announcing the introduction of a new item to
their menu: a "Left-Handed Whopper" specially designed for the 32 million left-handed
Americans. According to the advertisement, the new whopper included the same ingredients
as the original Whopper (lettuce, tomato, hamburger patty, etc.), but all the condiments
were rotated 180 degrees for the benefit of their left-handed customers. The following
day Burger King issued a follow-up release revealing that although the Left-Handed Whopper
was a hoax, thousands of customers had gone into restaurants to request the new sandwich.
Simultaneously, according to the press release, "many others requested their own 'right
handed' version."
Hotheaded Naked Ice Borers
In its April 1995 issue
Discover Magazine announced that the highly respected wildlife biologist Dr.
Aprile Pazzo had discovered a new species in Antarctica: the hotheaded naked
ice borer. These fascinating creatures had bony plates on their heads that,
fed by numerous blood vessels, could become burning hot, allowing the animals
to bore through ice at high speeds. They used this ability to hunt penguins,
melting the ice beneath the penguins and causing them to sink downwards into
the resulting slush where the hotheads consumed them. After much research,
Dr. Pazzo theorized that the hotheads might have been responsible for the
mysterious disappearance of noted Antarctic explorer Philippe Poisson in 1837.
"To the ice borers, he would have looked like a penguin," the article quoted
her as saying. Discover received more mail in response to this article than
they had received for any other article in their history.
Planetary Alignment Decreases
Gravity
In 1976 the British astronomer
Patrick Moore announced on BBC Radio 2 that at 9:47 AM a once-in-a-lifetime astronomical
event was going to occur that listeners could experience in their very own homes. The
planet Pluto would pass behind Jupiter, temporarily causing a gravitational alignment
that would counteract and lessen the Earth's own gravity. Moore told his listeners that
if they jumped in the air at the exact moment that this planetary alignment occurred,
they would experience a strange floating sensation. When 9:47 AM arrived, BBC2 began to
receive hundreds of phone calls from listeners claiming to have felt the sensation. One
woman even reported that she and her eleven friends had risen from their chairs and
floated around the room.
King Robert of Sicily
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Adapted)
King Robert
was ruler of all Sicily. Many lands and beautiful castles were his, and he
had many servants, who obeyed his every word; but they obeyed not because
they loved him, but because they feared him. He was a proud king, and haughty
- that is, he would look over his lands, and he would say, "Surely, this is
a great kingdom, and I am a great king!"
One Easter Sunday morning, King Robert went to church. He wore
his finest robes, and riding with him were all of his lords and ladies. The morning
was beautiful, and everything seemed to bear a message of love and joy. The grass and
flowers that grew by the roadside, the trees that waved their branches above, and the
blue sky, all seemed to bear the same message.
But King Robert saw nothing beautiful. He was thinking only of himself.
They reached the church, and the sunlight came through the beautiful windows, seeming to
speak of God above. The pure white lilies on the altar whispered to each other, "On this
day Christ was risen!" The music from the organ seemed to reach every heart, but King Robert
sat unmoved in his pew. When the minister spoke, the king heard nothing of the sermon until
certain words caught his ear. The minister was saying these words, "The Lord can exalt the humble
and can bring down the proud and mighty from their seats." The choir chanted the words again and
again.
As the king heard, he threw back his head and said, "Why do they teach such words
as these? There is no power on earth or in heaven above that could take my throne."
By and by the king fell asleep in his pew. He must have slept a long
time, for when he awoke the great church was dark and the moonlight was streaming through
the great glass windows. The king sprang to his feet in alarm, and said, "How dare they
go away and leave me alone?" He rushed quickly to the door, but it was locked. He called
loudly and knocked upon the door, and finally the old sexton, asleep on the outside, heard
the noise and shouted, "Who is there?" And the king answered, "It is I - the king. Open the door!"
The old sexton shook his head and murmured to himself, "It must be some
madman locked in the church," but he unlocked the door, and the king rushed wildly out -
on out in the street, where the moonlight fell upon him. Then suddenly he stopped and gazed
at his clothes in amazement, for instead of wearing his royal robes he wore nothing but rags.
His crown was gone, and he seemed a beggar, and he cried out, "How can these things be? Some
one has robbed me while I have slept, and left me these rags."
Then he rushed on to the great castle, and at the gate he again called,
"Open! I, the king, am here." The great gate swung open and the king rushed on through the
great castle halls, never pausing until he reached the throne room, and there he stopped
and stood looking in surprise and amazement, for there on his throne sat another king,
wearing his crown and wearing his robes, and holding in his hand his scepter. King Robert
looked at the new king and cried, "Why do you sit on my throne, wearing my robes and my
crown and my scepter?"
The new king only smiled and said, "I am the king, and who art thou?"
King Robert threw back his head haughtily and answered, "I am the king.
You have no right on my throne."
At these words the strange king smiled sadly, and replied, "I am the king,
and thou shalt be my servant. Yes, thou shalt be the servant of all my servants, for thou
shalt be court jester, and wear the cap and bells, and have for your companion the ugly ape."
Before King Robert could say more, the servants came and hurried him
through the castle halls, down to a little room, cold and bare, with nothing but a pile
of straw in a corner, and there they left him alone, save for the ugly ape, which sat
in the corner grinning at him. As King Robert looked down on the rough pile of straw he
said, "It must surely be a dream, and I will awaken in the morning and find myself the king."
The morning came, but when he awoke he heard the rustle of the straw
beneath him, and there in the corner still sat the ugly ape. That day the new king
called him to the throne, and, looking at him, said, "Art thou the king?" And King
Robert proudly threw back his head as before and answered, "I am the king."
And each day the new king sent for him and asked him the same question,
and each day King Robert gave the same proud and haughty answer. One day there came a
summons to the court - King Robert's brother, the Emperor of Rome, sent word for King
Robert and all of his court to visit him at Easter-time, and great preparations were
made for the journey. When the train was ready it formed a beautiful procession. The new
king rode at its head, in his splendor, and all the beautiful ladies and the brave knights
came riding behind in their gorgeous robes. At the last of this splendid train rode King
Robert on a queer old mule. He had on the cap and bells, and behind him sat the ugly ape,
and, as they passed along the street, the boys laughed and jeered; but King Robert said to
himself, "They will not laugh long," because his heart was glad now, for they were going
to Rome, where his own brother ruled, and now surely he would be restored to his rights,
for his brother would see and know that the new king was an impostor. Thus the splendid
train rode to Rome, and the emperor was there to meet them.
When the emperor saw the strange king he went to him and embraced
him and called him "brother." At this, King Robert rushed forward and cried out, "I
am the king, thy brother. This man is an impostor. Do you not know me? I am the king."
But the emperor only looked at him strangely, and, turning to the strange king, he said,
"Why do you keep this madman at your court?" The new king only smiled, and made no answer.
The visit ended, and again the splendid train passed back to Sicily, and King
Robert still rode behind. His heart was very sad, because he thought, "If my own brother knows
me not, what hope can there be?"
When the new king came back to Sicily he changed many of the cruel laws,
and the whole land was made glad and happy, as it had never been before. King Robert noticed
the change and wondered at it.
It was Easter-time again, and King Robert said in his heart, "I will go
to church again this morning." Behind all the procession he rode, as usual, and took his
seat in the back of the church, so that no one might see him. Everything was beautiful at
this Easter-time. The church, the flowers, the music, all bore the Easter message. When
the music began it crept into King Robert's heart, and as he listened the tears rolled
down his cheek, and he bowed his head in prayer. The first words that he heard were the old,
familiar ones, "The Lord can exalt the humble and bring down the proud and mighty from their
seats." As poor King Robert listened he humbly bowed his head and said, "Ah, surely that
is true; the Lord in heaven is mightiest of all. He is the king."
When the king and his court had reached home again that day, the
new king called King Robert immediately to his throne room, and upon his face there
seemed to be a glorious light shining forth, and, looking at King Robert with a wondrous
smile, he asked the old, old question, "Art thou the king?" But King Robert only bowed
his head and said, "I know not who I am. I only know that I am the most humble and most
unworthy of all men to be the king." To these words the new king replied, "Thou art
indeed the king, and I - I am an angel sent from Heaven to help thee for a little while."
When King Robert raised his head, behold! he was alone. The angel had
gone. He again had on his own robes, his own crown, and was bearing his own scepter.
That day, when the courtiers came to wait upon the king,
they found him kneeling beside his throne in prayer.
HAPPY EASTER !!!
The Rules of Chocolate
If you get melted
chocolate all over your hands, you're eating it too slowly.
Chocolate covered raisins, cherries, orange slices and strawberries
all count as fruit, so eat as many as you want.
The problem: How to get two pounds of chocolate
home from the store in a hot car?
The solution: Eat it in the parking lot.
Diet tip: Eat a chocolate bar before each
meal. It'll take the edge off your appetite and you'll eat less.
A nice box of chocolates can provide your total daily intake of calories in one place. Isn't that handy?
If you can't eat all your chocolate, it will keep in the freezer.
But if you can't eat all your chocolate, what's wrong with you?
If calories are an issue, store your chocolate on top of the fridge.
Calories are afraid of heights, and they will jump out of the chocolate to protect themselves.
Money talks. Chocolate sings.
Chocolate has many preservatives. Preservatives make you look younger.
Why is there no such organization as Chocoholics Anonymous?
Because no one wants to quit.
Put "eat chocolate" at the top of your list of things to do today. That way, at least you'll get one thing done.
Chocolate is a health food. Chocolate is derived from cacao beans.
Bean = vegetable. Sugar is derived either from sugar beets or cane, both vegetables.
And, of course, the milk/cream is dairy. So eat more chocolate to meet the dietary
requirements for daily vegetable and dairy intake.
Away from the chocolate bunnies
and the egg hunts, a group of devout Christians in the Philippines commemorates
Easter season in the other extreme. They are putting themselves through some
of the pain that Jesus Christ went through, whipping their bare backs, even
nailing themselves to crosses.
In Mexico, people from all over the country converge on the town of Taxco to
witness an elaborate "Stations of the Cross Ceremony," when 100 men carry more than one hundred
pounds of blackberry bush branches over their shoulders.
In the streets of Jerusalem, pilgrims retrace the route which tradition says
Christ walked as he carried the cross on Good Friday, the day of his execution.
At the Vatican, Pope Benedict XVI presided over the symbolic re-creation of Christ's Passion.
Last year, the then cardinal led the Good Friday prayers, but the festivities were
overshadowed by Pope John Paul II's deteriorating health. He made his last public appearance on Easter
Sunday and died a week later.
In Britain, the Easter story is depicted with a contemporary twist. The Manchester
Passion will re-tell the last days of Jesus' life using music from popular Manchester rock bands.
Click on any image for a
larger picture.
(curtesy of Walt Disney Enterprises)
Snow, Glass, Apples:
The Story of Snow
White
by Terri Windling
Illustration
by Arthur Rackham
To most people today, the name
Snow White evokes visions of dwarfs whistling as they work, and a wide–eyed,
fluttery princess singing, "Some day my prince will come." (A friend of mine
claims this song is responsible for the problems of a whole generation of American
women.) Yet the Snow White theme is one of the darkest and strangest to be found
in the fairy tale canon — a chilling tale of murderous rivalry, adolescent sexual
ripening, poisoned gifts, blood on snow, witchcraft, and ritual cannibalism.
. .in short, not a tale originally intended for children's tender ears.
Disney's well–known film version of the story, released in 1937,
was ostensibly based on the German tale popularized by the Brothers Grimm. Originally
titled "Snow–drop" and published in Kinder–und Hausmarchen in 1812, the Grimms'
"Snow White" is a darker, chillier story than the musical Disney cartoon, yet
it too had been cleaned up for publication, edited to emphasize the good Protestant
values held by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. Although legend has them roaming the
countryside collecting stories from stout German peasants, in truth the Grimm
brothers acquired most of their tales from a middle–class circle of friends,
who in turn were recounting tales learned from nurses, governesses, and servants,
not all of them German. Thus the "German folk tales" published by the Grimms
included those from the oral folk traditions of other countries, and were also
influenced by the literary fairy tales of writers like Straparola, Basile, D'Aulnoy,
and Perrault in Italy and France.
Variants of Snow White were popular around the world long
before the Grimms claimed it for Germany, but their version of the story (along
with Walt Disney's) is the one that most people know today. Elements from the
story can be traced back to the oldest oral tales of antiquity, but the earliest
known written version was published in Italy in 1634. This version was called
The Young Slave, published in Giambattista Basile's Il Pentamerone, and is believed
to have influenced subsequent retellings — including a German text published
by J. K. Musaus in 1784 and the Grimms' text in 1812. In Basile's story, a baron's
unmarried sister swallows a rose leaf and finds herself pregnant. She secretly
gives birth to a beautiful baby girl, and names her Lisa. Fairies are summoned
to bless the child, but the last one stumbles in her haste and utters an unfortunate
curse instead. As a result, Lisa dies at the age of seven while her mother is
combing her hair. The grieving mother has the body encased in seven caskets
made of crystal, hidden in a distant room of the palace under lock and key.
Illustration by A. H. Watson
Some
years later, lying on her deathbed, she hands the key to her brother, the baron,
but makes him promise that he will never open the little locked door. More years
pass, and the baron takes a wife. One day he is called to a hunting party, so
he gives the key to his wife with strict instructions not to use it. Impelled
by suspicion and jealousy, she heads immediately for the locked room; there
she discovers a beautiful young maiden who seems to be fast asleep. (Basile
explains that Lisa has grown and matured in her enchanted state.) The baroness
seizes Lisa by the hair — dislodging the comb and waking her. Thinking she's
found her husband's secret mistress, the jealous baroness cuts off Lisa's hair,
dresses her in rags, and beats her black and blue. The baron returns and inquires
after the ill–used young woman cowering in the shadows. His wife tells him that
the girl is a kitchen slave, sent by her aunt. One day the baron sets off for
a fair, having promised everyone in the household a gift, including even the
cats and the slave. Lisa requests that he bring back a doll, a knife, and a
pumice stone. After various troubles, he procures these things and gives them
to the young slave. Alone by the hearth, Lisa talks to the doll as she sharpens
the knife to kill herself — but the baron overhears her sad tale, and learns
she's his own sister's child. The girl is then restored to beauty, health, wealth,
and heritage — while the cruel baroness is cast away, sent back to her parents.
The Young Slave contains motifs we recognize not only from
Snow White but also Sleeping Beauty (the fairy's curse), Bluebeard (the locked
room), Beauty and the Beast (the troublesome gift), and other tales. An aunt–by–marriage
plays the villain here — but a scheming stepmother is front and center in another
peculiar Italian tale, titled The Crystal Casket. In this second Snow White
variant, a lovely young girl is persuaded to introduce her teacher to her widowed
father. Marriage ensues, but instead of gratitude, the teacher treats her stepdaughter
cruelly. An eagle helps the girl to escape and hides her in a palace of fairies.
The stepmother hires a witch, who takes a basket of poisoned sweetmeats to the
girl. She eats one and dies. The fairies revive her. The witch strikes again,
disguised as a tailoress with a beautiful dress to sell. When the dress is laced
up, the girl falls down dead, and this time the fairies will not revive her.
(They're miffed that she keeps ignoring their warnings.) They place her body
in a gem–encrusted casket, rope the casket to the back of a horse, and send
it off to the city.
Illustration by
W. C. Drupsteen
Horse and casket are found by a prince, who falls in love
with the beautiful "doll" and takes her home. "But my son, she's dead!" protests
the queen. The prince will not be parted from his treasure; he locks himself
away in a tower with the girl, "consumed by love." Soon he is called away to
battle, leaving the doll in the care of his mother. His mother ignores the macabre
creature — until a letter arrives warning her of the prince's impending return.
Quickly she calls for her chambermaids and commands them to clean the neglected
corpse. They do so, spilling water in their haste, badly staining the maiden's
dress. The queen thinks quickly. "Take off the dress! We'll have another one
made, and my son will never know." As they loosen the laces, the maiden returns
to life, confused and alarmed.
The queen hears her story with sympathy, dresses the girl
in her own royal clothes, and then, oddly, hides the girl behind lock and key
when the prince comes home. He immediately asks to see his "wife." (What on
earth was he doing in that locked room?) "My son," says the Queen, "that girl
was dead. She smelled so badly that we buried her." He rages and weeps. The
queen relents. The girl is summoned, her story is told, and the two are now
properly wed.
Illustration by Jennie Harbour
In a third Italian version of the tale, it's the girl's own
mother who wishes her ill — an innkeeper named Bella Venezia who cannot stand
a rival in beauty. First she imprisons her blossoming child in a lonely hut
by the sea; then she seduces a kitchen boy and demands that he murder the girl.
"Bring back her eyes and a bottle of her blood," she says, "and I'll marry you."
The servant abandons the girl in the woods, returning with the eyes and blood
of a lamb. The girl wanders through the forest and soon finds a cave where twelve
robbers live. She keeps house for the burly men, who love her and deck her in
jewels every night — but her mother eventually gets wind of this, and is now
more jealous than ever. Disguised as an old peddler woman, she sells her daughter
a poisoned hair broach. When the robbers return, they find the girl dead, so
they bury her in a hollow tree. At length, the fair corpse is discovered by
a prince, who takes it home and fawns over it. The queen is appalled, but the
prince insists upon marrying the beautiful maiden. Her body is bathed and dressed
for a wedding. The royal hairdresser is summoned. As the girl's hair is combed,
the broach is discovered, removed, and she comes back to life.
Illustration by
Bess Livings
In a Scottish version of
the story, a trout in a well takes the role we now associate with a magical
mirror. Each day a queen asks, "Am I not the loveliest woman in the world?"
The trout assures the queen that she is. . .until her daughter comes of
age, surpassing the mother in beauty. The queen falls ill with envy, summons
the king, and demands the death of their daughter. He pretends to comply,
but sends the girl off to marry a foreign king. Eventually the trout informs
the queen that the princess is still alive — so she crosses the sea to her
daughter's kingdom, and kills her with a poisoned needle. The young king,
grieving, locks his beloved's corpse away in a high tower. Eventually he
takes another wife, who notes that he always seems sad. "What gift," she
asks, "could I give to you, husband, so that you would know joy and laughter
again?" He tells her that nothing can bring him joy but his first wife restored
to life. She sends her husband up to the tower, where he find his beloved
alive and well — for his second wife had discovered the girl, and removed
the poisoned needle from her finger. The lovers thus reunited, the good–hearted
second wife offers to go away. "Oh! indeed you shall not go away," says
the king, "but I shall have both of you now." They live happily together
until (blast that trout!) the jealous queen gets wind of the fact that her
daughter has come back to life. She crosses the ocean once again, bearing
a poisoned drink this time. The clever second wife takes matters in hand.
She greets the wicked queen on the shore, and tricks the woman into drinking
from the poisoned cup herself. After this, the young king and his two wives
enjoy a long, peaceful life. (I've always particularly liked this rendition,
contrasting the toxic mother–daughter relationship with the envy–free bond
forged between the two wives.)
Illustration by Bess
Livings
The Grimms' version starts,
like so many fairy stories, with a barren queen who longs for a child. It's
a winter's tale in this northern clime, set in a landscape of vast, icy
forests. The queen stands sewing by an open window. She pricks her finger.
Blood falls on the snow. "Would that I had a child," she sighs, "as white
as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the window– frame."
Her wish is granted, but the gentle queen expires as soon as her baby is
born. . .or so most readers now believe. Yet the death of the queen, the
"good mother," was a plot twist introduced by the Grimms. In their earliest
versions of the tale (the manuscript of 1810, and the first edition of 1812),
it is Snow White's natural mother whose jealousy takes a murderous bent.
She was turned into an evil stepmother in editions from 1819 onward. Jacob
and Wilhelm Grimm collected their version of Snow White from Jeannette and
Amalie Hassenpflug, family friends in the town of Cassel. (Ludwig Grimm,
their brother, was engaged to marry a third Hassenpflug sister.) The Hassenpflug's
tale contains several elements from the earlier Italian stories, combined
with imagery distinct to the lore of northern Europe. Dwarfs do not appear
in the Italian variants, for instance, as dwarfs play little part in the
Italian folk tradition. The Nordic and Germanic traditions, by contrast,
contain a wealth of magical lore about burly little men who toil under the
earth, associated with gems, iron ore, alchemy, and the blacksmith's craft.
"The Grimm Brothers worked on the Kinder–und Hausmarchen
in draft after draft after the first edition of 1812," Marina Warner explains
(in her excellent fairy tale study, From the Beast to the Blonde), "Wilhelm
in particular infusing the new editions with his Christian fervor, emboldening
the moral strokes of the plot, meting out penalties to the wicked and rewards
to the just to conform with prevailing Christian and social values. They
also softened the harshness — especially in family dramas. They could not
make it disappear altogether, but in Hansel and Gretel, for instance, they
added the father's miserable reluctance to an earlier version in which both
parents had proposed the abandonment of their children, and turned the mother
into a wicked stepmother. On the whole, they tended toward sparing the father's
villainy, and substituting another wife for the natural mother, who had
figured as the villain in versions they were told. . . .For them, the bad
mother had to disappear in order for the ideal to survive and allow Mother
to flourish as symbol of the eternal feminine, the motherland, and the family
itself as the highest social desideratum."
Illustration by William
Batten
It should also be noted
that early Grimms' fairy tales were not published with children in mind
— they were published for scholars, in editions replete with footnotes and
annotations. It was later, as the tales became popular with lay readers,
families, and children, that the brothers took more care to delete material
they deemed inappropriate, editing, revising, and sometimes rewriting the
tales altogether.
Whether mother or stepmother, the murderous
queen remains one of the most vivid villains in folkloric history. She orders
the death of an innocent girl, demands her heart (or liver, or tongue), then
boils, salts, and eats the tender organ with a gourmand's pleasure. "The term
'narcissism' seems altogether too slippery to be the only one we want here,"
writes Roger Sale (in Fairy Tales and After). "There is, for instance, no suggestion
that the queen's absorption in her beauty ever gives her pleasure, or that the
desire for power through sexual attractiveness is itself a sexual feeling. What
is stressed is the anger and fear that attend the queen's realization that as
she and Snow White both get older, she must lose. That is why the major feeling
invoked is not jealousy but envy: to make beauty that important is to reduce
the world to one in which only two people count.
Snow White's father, the king, is notable
only by his absence, his apparent indifference, and his failure to protect
his own child. Yet, as Angela Carter once pointed out in a comment about
Cinderella's father, the king in Snow White is also "the unmoved mover,
the unseen organizing principle. Without the absent father, there would
have been no story because there would have been no conflict."
The queen's actions are attributed to vanity–run–amok,
but perhaps also fear and self–preservation. She's a woman whose power is
derived from her beauty; it is this, the tale implies, that provides her
place in the castle's hierarchy. If the king's attention turns from his
wife to another (or even his daughter, as it does in stories like Allerleirauh),
what power is left to an aging woman? Witchcraft, the tale answers. Potions,
poisons, and self–protection. In the Grimms' tale, an enchanted mirror serves
not only as a clever plot device and a useful agent of information, but
as a symbolic representation of the queen's insecurity, solipsism, and growing
madness. Snow White, too, is a mirror — a reversed mirror of the queen,
reflecting all she is not. Each day she becomes more lovely, more good —
as the queen becomes the opposite.
Illustration
by Walter Crane
Blood
is a recurrent image in this story, warm red blood against virgin white snow.
Three drops of blood symbolize Snow White's conception. And the death of the
(good) mother in childbirth. And menstruation: the beginning of both sexual
maturation and the (bad) mother's hatred. The queen demands blood on the knife
of the hunter as proof that her daughter is dead, as instructed. The bloody
meal she then makes of the heart carries the echo of ancient pagan beliefs
in which ingesting an enemy's flesh is a method of claiming their strength
and their magic. Fairy tale writer Carrie Miner reflects that as children
come forth from a mother's womb, "it seems as though some women feel they
'own' their child — that it's nothing but an extension of them. This theme
is beautifully wrought in Toni Morrison's novel Beloved. The consumption of
the apple by Snow White seems to mirror the stepmother's desire to consume
her daughter — to take Snow White's very essence into herself."
The queen in Anne Sexton's poem "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs"
(from her brilliant collection Transformations) cries: "'Bring me her heart...and
I will salt it and eat it.' The hunter, however, let his prisoner go and brought a
boar's heart back to the castle. The queen chewed it up like a cube steak. 'Now I am
the fairest,' she said, lapping her slim white fingers."
"The Cooked 'Heart'"
in Mjallhvít (Icelandic Snow White)
Driven out of her home,
out of her past, away from all that is harsh but familiar, Snow White
makes her way through the wilderness to an unknown destination. This,
as novelist Midori Snyder has pointed out, is often the fate of heroines
in the arc of traditional folk narratives. Unlike sons who set off to
win their fortune, who are journeying toward adventure, the daughters
are outcasts, running away. The princes usually return at the end of
the story, bringing treasure and magical brides. Princesses do not return;
they must forge new lives, new alliances. Snow White's journey begins
with the huntsman — who is the queen's henchman, in Grimms, and
the queen's lover in other versions of the tale. He defies his mistress
and does not slay the girl, but he is no true ally, merely a coward.
He declares that Snow White is too beautiful to kill, but note that
he does not lead her to safety; he abandons her in the forest, aware
that wolves will soon finish his job.
"Schneewittchen"
by Franz Jüttner
Yet even here, the
girl's blossoming beauty, the agent of all of her troubles at home,
begins to assert itself as a form of power in the world of men. Beauty
aids her once again when she finds the house of the dwarfs and falls
asleep in one of their little beds. Anger toward the unknown intruder
turns to wonder as they watch her sleep; enchanted by physical perfection,
the dwarfs decide she may stay with them. This was later revised by
the Grimms, and Snow White must consent to a long list of household
duties before they'll agree to let her stay. (The Disney version takes
this one step further, and Snow White does the work unasked.) The change
not only emphasizes the virtues of a proper work ethic, but it leads
attention away from the sheer peculiarity of a ripe young girl keeping
house with seven burly, earthy, and clearly unmarried men. Bruno Bettelheim,
author of The Uses of Enchantment,
who looked at fairy tales through a Freudian lens, claimed the dwarfs
"were not men in any sexual sense — their way of life, their interest
in material goods to the exclusion of love, suggest a pre–oedipal existence."
This reading of the tale ignores the fact that the dwarfs take the place
of robbers or human miners found in older renditions of the story. Some
of the older narratives assure us that the robbers "loved the girl as
they would a sister," while others are mute on the subject, or else
intriguingly ambiguous.
Soon, the queen learns that Snow White still lives. She determines
to kill her young rival herself. Here the queen stands revealed as a full–fledged
witch, sorceress, or alchemist, creating potions in a "secret, lonely room where no
one ever came." Disguised as an old peddler woman, she sells the girl poisoned bodice
laces, then combs her hair with a poisoned comb. After each of her visits, the dwarfs
return home to find their young housekeeper dead. "Why couldn't she heed our warnings?"
asked "The Seventh Dwarf" in a poem by Gwen Strauss (from Trail of Stones). "Time and
again we told her to stay inside the house, to do her tasks away from the door. We urged
her daily, but she was a flitting butterfly. . . .She was driven by something."
Illustration by Margaret
Tarrant
In imagery old as Adam and Eve, the disguised queen comes one
last time to tempt Snow White with a crisp, red apple. "Do you think I did not
know her? . . ." writes Delia Sherman, explaining the princess's point of view in
her heart–breaking poem "Snow White to the Prince." "Of course I took her poisoned
gifts. I wanted to feel her hands coming out of my hair, to let her lace me up, to
take an apple from her hand, a smile from her lips, as when I was a child." In
Sherman's poem, Snow White is every abused child who ever longed for a parent's
love.
"Don't curse me, Mother," echoes Olga Broumas in her poem
"Snow White" (in Beginning With O).
". . .No salve, no ointment in a doctor's tube, no brew in a witch's kettle,
no lover's mouth, no friend or god could heal me if your heart turned in
anathema, grew stone against me."
In other versions of the story, taking on local coloration as it travels
around the world, the princess is slain through poisoned flowers, cake, wine, pomegranate
seeds, a golden ring, a corset, shoes, coins, or the ink of a letter. The dwarfs (robbers,
miners, or monks) can revive her once, and even twice; but with the third act of poisoning,
she seems indisputably dead. Her body (too beautiful to bury, and strangely incorruptible)
is then carefully, almost fetishistically displayed in a clear glass casket — or else on a
woodland bier, or a four–poster bed, or a shrine surrounded by candles. (In other variants,
she is thrown into the sea, abandoned on a doorstep or windowsill, sent to the fairies, stolen
by gypsies, even carried on a reindeer's antlers.)
Illustration by Marianne
Stokese
There are various ways Snow White's
spell of death/sleep is broken, but generally not with a kiss. (That seems
to be a modern addition.) The poisoned item must be removed, usually by pure
accident. In the chaste Grimms' version of the tale, where the necrophiliac
imagery is strictly toned down, Snow White's body is handed over to a prince
who happens to be passing by. Struck, as all men in this tale are struck,
by the girl's extraordinary beauty, he swears he can't live without her. The
dwarfs consent. (He's a prince, after all.) "I will prize her as my dearest
possession," the prince promises the sad little men. As his servants bear
the casket away, one stumbles and the fatal piece of poisoned apple flies
from her mouth. "Oh heavens, where am I?" she cries as she wakes. "You're
with me," he quickly assures the girl. (He is, remember, a stranger to her.
Only in the Disney film do they meet at the onset of the tale.) He declares
his love, offers marriage, and promptly spirits the beautiful maiden away.
One dwarf protests this end to the story in Gerald Locklin's
poem "The Dwarf" (in Disenchantments):
"She went away from us upon a snow–white steed, the forest virgin scented
with the rain of evergreen, to while the mythic hours in a prince's castle.
Was it right of her to take away her apple innocence from seven dappled dwarfs,
to arbitrarily absent us from felicity?"
Even Snow White protests in Delia Sherman's Snow
White to the Prince, " saying: ". . .you woke me, or your
horses did, stumbling as they bore me down the path, shaking the poisoned
apple from my throat. And now you say you love me, and would wed me for my
beauty's sake. My cursed beauty. Will you hear now why I curse it? It should
have been my mother's — it had been, until I took it from her."
"Schneewittchen"
by Franz Jüttner
The prince
responds to her in Polly Peterson's poem "The
Prince to Snow White": "Did you think that I found you by chance,
Maiden? Did you believe I was drawn to your crystal casket, like a hummingbird
to its nectar, by the allure of ruby lips, the gaze of azure eyes? . . .You
are beautiful, sublime, yet not so lovely as our daughter will be: your mother's
daughter's child — her immortality."
In the final scene of the Grimms' version, the queen is invited
to Snow White's wedding, then forced to dance in red–hot shoes. "First your
toes will smoke," writes Anne Sexton (in Transformations),
"and then your heels will turn black and you will fry upward like a frog, she
was told. And so she danced until she was dead, a subterranean figure, her tongue
flicking in and out like a gas jet." It's a scene left out of the Disney film
and most modern children's renditions.
Illustration by Gustaf
Tenggren
Walt Disney made several other significant changes to the Grimms'
fairy tale when he chose Snow White as the subject of his very first full–length animated
film. At the time, no one knew whether audiences would actually sit through an eighty–
four minute cartoon, and the film was called "Disney's folly" as he poured more and more
time and money into it. Walt Disney was fond of fairy tales, but he was not shy of
reshaping them to suit his needs, turning them into the simple, comedic tales he believed
that his audiences wanted (a generation marked by economic depression and two world wars).
He emphasized the dwarfs, giving them names, distinct personalities, and a cozy cottage in
a sun–dappled wood full of bluebirds, bunnies, and flowers, not snow. The role of the prince
is greatly expanded, and the square–jawed fellow becomes pivotal to the story. His love for
Snow White, demonstrated at the very beginning of the Disney film, becomes the spark that sets
off the powder keg of the stepmother's rage.
In this singing, dancing, whistling version, only the queen retains
some of the real power of the traditional tale. She's a genuinely frightening figure,
and far more compelling than little Snow White (despite early notes in the making of
the film in which, it's suggested, the queen should be a "vain–batty–self–satisfied,
comedy type" and "verging on the ridiculous"). Snow White (who was drawn as a blonde
at one point) is wide–eyed, giddy, and childish, wearing rags (Cinderella–style) at the
start of the film, down–trodden but plucky. This gives Disney's rendition of the tale
its peculiarly American flavor, implying that what we are watching is a Horatio–Alger–type
"rags to riches" story. (In fact, it's a story of "riches to rags to riches," in which
privilege is lost then restored. Snow White's pedigree beauty and class origins assure her
salvation, not her housekeeping skills.)
Although the film was a commercial triumph, and has been beloved by
generations of children, critics through the years have protested the sweeping changes
Disney Studios made, and continues to make, when retelling such tales. Walt himself
responded, "It's just that people now don't want fairy stories the way they were written.
They were too rough. In the end they'll probably remember the story the way we film it
anyway."
"Snow White
Swallows the Poisoned Apple"
by Paula Rego
Regrettably, time has proved him right. Through films, books, toys,
and merchandise recognized all around the world, Disney became the major disseminator
of fairy tales in his century. "Disney's vision," writes Marina Warner, "has affected
everybody's idea of fairy tales themselves: until writers and anthologists began
looking again, passive hapless heroines and vigorous wicked older women seemed generic.
Disney selected certain stories and stressed certain sides to them; the wise children,
the cunning little vixens, the teeming populations of the stories were drastically purged.
The disequilibrium between good and evil in these films has influenced contemporary
perceptions of fairy tale, as a form where sinister and gruesome forces are magnified and
prevail throughout — until the very last moment where, ex machina, right and goodness
overcome them."
Fortunately, writers and anthologists have been looking again at Snow
White and other fairy tales, finding that there is much more to the old material than
Disney would have us believe. In the late 20th century (prompted by pioneering writers
like Anne Sexton and Angela Carter), fairy tales found their way into many novels, stories,
and poems for adult readers, reclaiming the tales from Disney cartoons and shelves marked
"children only." For modern renditions of Snow White's story that restore the dark magic
and power of the original tale, see the recommendations that follow.
Illustration by Walter Crane
The Measure of Time
By Jean Sheldon Published: 11/6/2007
Nicky watched the sand slide through
her fingers and wondered how anyone could have imagined using it to measure
time. How had a person known that the tiny grains could represent moments, passing
cool and detached through the narrow opening of the hourglass?
She grabbed another handful and studied the three streams
as they escaped her grip. That was easier to understand. She'd watched her life
slip away, seeping from the top to the bottom, noiselessly and barely noticed.
The last grains trickled through her fingers and she became
aware that the sun had begun to set. Sliding downward into the ocean it made
its exit more slowly than the sand. The sun, a grain of sand in the vast universe
would leave as quietly as Nicky thought the years had done.
She was a very young girl the first time she came to the beach.
She remembered the same sand, sun, and water, but she remembered a sense of
hope, a promise of life and accomplishments. Tomorrow she would turn sixty and
that was her sole accomplishment—she had survived.
"Hi, can I sit with you?" The girl's voice startled her and
she climbed to her knees. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. Do you
want me to go away?"
"No, please don't, I'm afraid I was lost in thought.
Go ahead and sit down. What's your name?" Nicky looked around the beach
but didn't see anyone else. "Are you here alone?"
The girl looked confused. "I'm here with you."
"Yes, but I mean…" the girl seemed capable enough,
and she probably lived nearby. "My name is Nicole, but most people call
me Nicky. What's your name?"
She shrugged as if the question wasn't relevant.
"You can call me, Sissy, if you like. What are you doing out here by yourself?"
"Just thinking about things, life, I guess. Take my advice,
Sissy, and do everything you want to do. At least give it a
try, or your life will be over and you'll have done nothing."
"What are you going to do with your life?"
"Me?" Nicky said, incredulously. "It's too late for me to
do anything. I'm going to be sixty tomorrow."
"What if you live to be ninety? Will you go the next thirty
years without doing what you want? I'm ten, but what if I was going to die at
fifteen, should I just sit around for the next five years pouting?"
"You're not going to die at fifteen." Nicky was shocked at
what the child said. She was also surprised at the wisdom in such a young girl.
"That doesn't matter, Nicky. None of us know when we're going to
die, so how can we decide when it's time to stop living? What did you want to do
when you were my age?"
Nicky looked at her and smiled. She'd asked herself that question many times.
"I wanted to write books. I wanted to make up stories about people and places and make them
real for others to share." Nicky saw Sissy open her mouth and held up her hand. "I know what
you're going to ask. I didn't do it because stuff came up that I had to take care of and
there wasn't time to follow my dream. There wasn't money, either."
"How much does it cost to write?" Sissy was sincere.
"Well, writing doesn't cost anything, but to publish something,
unless you can find a publisher to pay for it." Nicky shrugged and thought about
Sissy's comments. She was right. She had come up with excuses for not following
her dream. Was she afraid to fail? "You caught me, Sissy. I always had reasons
not to start." She looked out and saw the last of the sun dipping into the ocean.
She'd not even noticed that the darkness began to overtake them. "Sissy, you
better go home. Your parents will wonder where you are."
Sissy had folded her bare feet under her when she sat,
but now she stretched out her long thin legs. "How will you celebrate your
birthday tomorrow?"
"I hadn't thought about it. Maybe I'll stay here a few minutes
and reflect. Thanks for your advice, Sissy." She watched the girl hold up a
handful of sand. The streams seemed impossibly thin and as slow and thick as molasses.
The sight mesmerized Nicky and she watched until her hand emptied. "Who are you, Sissy?"
Again, she shrugged at the irrelevancy. "It's who you are that
matters, Nicky. The sand will always be here for you to measure the length of
your life, but it can’t measure the quality."
Nicky lay back and put her arm over her eyes to think about
what the child had said. She knew she had only a short time to walk back to
her car before it became completely dark, but she needed a minute.
"Hey, Lady." A voice sounded above her. "You can't sleep
here all night. Do you have somewhere to go?"
Nicky looked up a young police officer. She realized she must have
fallen asleep and climbed to her feet, brushing the sand off her clothes. "Oh, yes,
I do officer. I live nearby. I must have dozed off. Where did Sissy go? The blond girl?"
"I didn't see any kids. Is she yours?"
"No, I thought…." She looked around and didn't see any lights
on neighboring houses. "Her parents must have come for her. I'll be fine officer,
but could you walk me back to my car please?" As they followed the beam of his
flashlight, Nicky saw a set of smaller footprints along the edge of the ocean.
She shook her head and wondered if it had been a dream.
"You sure you're going to be okay?" He pushed her car door shut.
"Yes, I'm sure. Tomorrow is my sixtieth birthday and I plan to have
one hell of a being born celebration. Thanks officer." She turned to the beach and saw
someone waving. "Thanks, Sissy." She waved back and avoided the officer's look as she
drove off. With one last glance at the beach, she merged onto the highway. "What a
birthday present. She not only gave me the incentive, but she gave me my first short
story. Thanks, Sissy."
The Ides of March
Just one of a dozen Ides that occur every month of the year
by Borgna Brunner The soothsayer's
warning to Julius Caesar, "Beware the Ides of March," has forever imbued that
date with a sense of foreboding. But in Roman times the expression "Ides of
March" did not necessarily evoke a dark mood—it was simply the standard way
of saying "March 15." Surely such a fanciful expression must signify something
more than merely another day of the year? Not so. Even in Shakespeare's time,
sixteen centuries later, audiences attending his play Julius Caesar wouldn't
have blinked twice upon hearing the date called the Ides.
The term Ides comes from the earliest Roman calendar, which
is said to have been devised by Romulus, the mythical founder of Rome. Whether
it was Romulus or not, the inventor of this calendar had a penchant for complexity.
The Roman calendar organized its months around three days, each of which served
as a reference point for counting the other days:
* Kalends (1st day of the month)
* Nones (the 7th day in March, May, July, and October; the 5th in the other
months)
* Ides (the 15th day in March, May, July, and October; the 13th in the other
months)
The remaining, unnamed days of the month were identified by
counting backwards from the Kalends, Nones, or the Ides. For example, March
3 would be V Nones—5 days before the Nones (the Roman method of counting days
was inclusive; in other words, the Nones would be counted as one of the 5 days).
Days in March
March 1: Kalends;
March 2: VI Nones;
March 3: V Nones;
March 4: IV Nones;
March 5: III Nones;
March 6: Pridie Nones (Latin for "on the day before");
March 7: Nones; March 15: Ides
Used in the first Roman calendar as well as in the Julian calendar
(established by Julius Caesar in 45 B.C.E.) the confusing system of Kalends, Nones, and Ides
continued to be used to varying degrees throughout the Middle Ages and into
the Renaissance.
So, the Ides of March is just one of a dozen Ides that occur every month of the year.
Kalends, the word from which calendar is derived, is another exotic-sounding term with
a mundane meaning. Kalendrium means account book in Latin: Kalend, the first of the
month, was in Roman times as it is now, the date on which bills are due.
Death By Scrabble
or
Tile M For Murder
by Charlie Fish
It's a hot day and I hate my wife.
We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering
hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.
I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think
I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning
I spoke to the milkman.
My letters are crap.
I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two
points.
I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack,
clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting
right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest
Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper
called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.
She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating
me already. Maybe I should kill her.
If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would
be permission.
I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed.
I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.
As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters
will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything,
I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.
My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn.
The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing
insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when
he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees,
they fly into my wife's throat.
She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 the kettle and
turn on the air conditioning.
It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This
is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static
shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.
She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her point bonus.
If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now.
I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought
crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the
D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another
22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.
She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.
She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill letters again.
Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner
poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips
I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor,
and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.
The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating.
I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my
chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.
She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a
cup of tea. No I do not want one.
I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back
a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her
cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING,
using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm
beating her now.
She asks me if I cheated.
I really, really hate her.
She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her,
155 to me.
The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous
words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.
My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbours
had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with
all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the
next day from lack of sleep.
If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.
I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points.
That'll show her.
As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning
unit fails.
My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it -
but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word
EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before,
I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric
shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The
whole game is - JINXED.
My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.
I have to test this.
I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove
that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave
me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.
I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes,
waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.
Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the
Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves
nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.
I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted.
Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.
My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.
My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters,
and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick
out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.
Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.
I play QUAKE for 19 points.
I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points
it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding
fate. I am manipulating destiny.
My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.
I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets
lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat
swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.
I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.
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