A Reaction to First Reactions

 

Reasons to watch First Reactions: 1) Re-familiarize yourself with movies you haven’t seen for a while, 2) See other people’s opinions of the movie, 3) See if there’s something about the movie you didn’t know or hadn’t thought about, 4) Feel superior to people who don’t ‘get’ the movie or make stupid assumptions about it, 5) Realize what modern attitudes make of classic films,  6) Actually try to find out something about a movie you haven’t seen, and 7) Realize you were probably that ignorant when you were that young, which leads to 8) Weeping about how much the present generation has to learn.  

A Picture of Tolkien I'd Never Seen Before

 

J. R. R. Tolkien outside of Buckingham Palace in 1972, having just received the distinction of being made a Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE) by Queen Elizabeth II, for services to English Literature. With him are John (his eldest) and Priscilla (his youngest). The honor is one step below knighthood. He looks younger than his son, doesn't he? 

Movies for a Weekend Afternoon

[Check out that voice acting talent!]

I have written before about how, when I was but a tiny child, I would watch old (well, they weren’t so old then) Japanese animated movies sometimes during the long weekend afternoons. They would, of course, be cut and dubbed for Western audiences, and thus lost some of their art and charm when adapted by the distributers to what they considered something more appealing (and understandable) to American kids. I may have only watched Alakazam the Great or Panda and the Magic Serpent once or twice, but they sank deep into my mind, emerging now and then as fugitive, brightly-colored memories. I was able eventually to track them down and obtain copies; copies, of course, of the edited and dubbed versions I had watched in the old days, Panda in a copy that showed considerable wear of the print they were using. Recently there have been restorations of the original films, and now they are on Youtube. I can finally watch these old classics in the form they were designed to be seen. This includes an introduction in a completely different animation style to Hakujaden (Panda and the White Serpent) that I have never seen before. I include a link to Magic Boy (The Boy Sarutobi Sasuke) which, though I only found out about it lately, I consider a natural partner to these movies, almost the third in a trilogy. I am glad I now have the patience for subtitles, or even (knowing the gist of the tale) following along with the story as the original Japanese flows like water over my head.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydgTTsBixh4  Alakazam the Great

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4ytPE0o28Q Saiyuki

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBa2RRGDCg0 Hakujaden; or, The White Snake Enchantress (Panda and the White Serpent)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwbOjyhFOSc  Magic Boy (Original)

Friday Fiction: Thrand Part Fourteen

 

After Thrand had gone to his chambers to stow away his new mourning cloak and change his smeared tunic, he took Kettle to the Communal Lavatory, where he introduced the young Morg to the hitherto unfamiliar mysteries of washing up. With scrubbed hands and face (and rags somewhat freshened with healthy doses of sweetgrass water), Kettle was now ready to appear in the Judicial Refectory. They entered the room, and a long speculative buzz went around the tables, only hushed when Thrand cast a stern eye around the eaters. The two grabbed plates and forks and got in line along the long rows of food-laden tables. Thrand, mindful of the Healer’s new injunctions, ended up with somewhat smaller portions than usual, but Kettle, who seemed to have decided to get while the getting was good, had an absolutely mountainous pile, including three different meats and at least five different desserts. They sat at Thrand’s private table, and a waiter brought them two mugs and a pitcher of small ale.

They tucked in with no further ceremony than “Shall we?” “Let’s!” The older Morg, though ravenous from the unusual exertions of the day, tried to slow himself down and really enjoy what short commons he had. This gave him time to observe with envy and astonishment Kettle’s truly amazing and heroic efforts to cram the mountain of food down in one setting, washed down with noisy gulps of waterish ale from an ever-refilled cup. When the young Morg finally seemed to be slowing down, and Thrand’s plate was already long empty, the old Morg thought it was at last time to get to business. He cleared his throat. Kettle cocked a wary eye up at him, like a cautious dog interrupted at his bone.

“You don’t have to stop eating,” the High Justice said. “But start listening to my offer. I’ve said I want you to be my page. I want you to know I’ve never had a page before. But not only am I facing a serious judicial crisis, I’ve just suffered a mild heart attack …”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.” Kettle interjected quickly.

“Thank you; but never mind that for now, child.” Thrand tugged his beard. “Just listen. So I need a helper, to take some of the load of ordinary chores off of me, but most of all, I need somebody to be my conscience.”

“Your conscience, boss?” The young Morg asked cheerfully, stuffing a huge wad of cake in. “Far as I can tell, Chief Justice, you’re the conscience of the whole city. What could you possibly need me for?”

“Not for the City, lad, but for me. I’m going to be busy thinking about the City, and I won’t have time to think about myself, see? I’ve got to lose weight and watch my health or I’m dead. I’m going to be under a lot of pressure, and no doubt I’ll try to take any opportunity to ‘forget’ my walks or eat more than I should. That’s why I want to hire you. You will keep me on track; that’ll be part of your job.”

“So I’m supposed to boss you around, boss? Go on with you then. And you’ll listen to me?”

“I’ll write it into your Articles, Kettle. That’ll make it legal, you see, and as Chief Justice, I wouldn’t dare to break the Law. It would be too shameful. Then you could actually sue me, and that would destroy my reputation.”

Kettle whistled at the thought.

“And you’d really do that to yourself?”

Thrand sighed.

“I really must, son. I know myself too well. I need it for a safeguard, a guarantee. I’d rather not die, you see. I’ve cared for myself for over a century now and look where it’s got me.”

Kettle grinned.

“And you want me to be your nursemaid, eh? Will I tan your hide if you don’t obey?” A candied plum was popped into the already grinding muzzle, juices pouring between the threshing teeth.

“Let’s hope it never comes to that,” Thrand chuckled. “Wipe your chin, lad; that’s what the napkin is for.” He took a swig of ale. “Now to further sweeten the deal. Your meals (good meals like this one, child) and clothes will be totally provided for, and you’ll get a silver mark every month to spend as you will, and a free day every two weeks to spend it in. Your own room next to mine. You’ll be doing a lot of basic work, of course, but as I said before, you’ll be around the Courts, and if you find any affinity for the work, I’ll put you on the legal track. And after a year, you can leave the contract and go your merry way. You can’t ask fairer than that.”

Notes

I have the Morgs drinking small ale, which is a type of ale with very low alcohol content. It was widely drunk during the Middle Ages as it had just enough alcohol to kill whatever bugs were constantly contaminating the water, and so was a safer drink than 'pure' water. Of course, neither the Middle Ages nor the Morgs had any real idea about germs.

After a quick glance at my notes, I was referring to Kettle as 'Kettil' half the time, which was my original spelling. I also found in doing rewrites that I have Kettle whistling. That was purely accidental. 

Here is the first paragraph I ever wrote about the character that would become Kettle (never used, as it turned out): Kettle woke with the early morning sun in his eyes. There was also the odor of nightly manure in his nose, a not unusual occurrence these days. The proximity of a nice steaming dunghill on a cold early spring morning had its comforts and its drawbacks. A layer of rank winter grass clippings and a spreading tarp helped accentuate the first and alleviate the second. There is an old Morg saying that ‘needs must’, and young Kettle was a Morg who had many needs. Right now, the need was getting a bit of breakfast. His stomach was already kicking him to get up.

Five Years Agone: 2019 Diary

The Hero of the Story

6/26/2019: Up at 5 AM, ready to start the day. A trip to DG is on the agenda later this morning.

Let me describe a typical summer morning right now. Whenever I get up (usually pretty early), the first thing is a trip to the bathroom. Then I take an aspirin with a gulp of tea. I might do a quick run through the TV channels, not to really watch anything  but to see if anything is on that will help me ‘float along’, carried by the force of its narrative and the awareness of time passing as its story unfolds. Or a quick run through my usual computer sites. After (or sometimes before, if there is nothing compelling on the air waves) I say my morning prayers, read 2 chapters in the Bible, and say a rosary if I feel up to it (I ‘tell my beads’ sometime later in the day, if not). I record any dreams that stick with me, then update my diary. I get dressed, after a night usually skinned down to my underwear. There is no set order to these activities (except the bathroom visit); they occur as I feel up to them.

At 9 AM when Susan leaves, I go in to get a cup of noodles and a pack of ramen and two slices of bread to make my morning meal. Usually, I’ve gone back in the house to boil my noodles when Kameron calls me to grass the dogs and make his breakfast, which can be scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes, or a combo of these elements. After I finish making his meal and cleaning up, I can continue with my own. It’s after 10 AM when I can finally do so.

In the morning hours, if I feel so inspired, I can get some writing done before I run out of ‘juice’ for the day. But more often I watch Boston Legal (when it’s on) or podcasts or just play Words With Friends or other time fillers, or even nap if I woke up particularly early. By 1 PM it’s time to make lunch (2 packs of ramen, sans bread), and if it’s a Monday make the weekly salad about 2 PM. At 4 PM it’s time to grass dogs again and start supper; by 5 PM take my share and come back to the guest house; by 8 PM go in, clear away supper, and wash dishes. I try to sneak in some writing past watchful dragons at various times of the day, more and more as the story progress. If it’s close to a Friday ‘payday’ I may pour on more serious sessions, in order to earn John’s much needed $20 for the weekend. Otherwise, if it’s right at the end of the story, I really give it all I’ve got, carried on by the momentum and the urge to cross the finish line. I typically do this last burst of effort in one day, that can last for up to 10 hours or more and can produce fifteen pages or so.

I lay down at 10 PM (and this is every day) and try to get to sleep, reading, or if there is something good on, watching TV. I get up during the night every two hours or so for urination, until sometime in the morning (4-6 AM) I decide I’m awake for the day, and the cycle starts all over again. Oh, and when I write down times in my diary, all times are general unless written down specifically.

Now, today I’m going to head for D(ollar) G(eneral) about 7:30 AM. I need soap and artificial sweetener for sure. I want to pick up a Texas Lotto at the convenience store. Most hold back $10 for Stewart family spaghetti dinner on Sunday. But I do feel I must get at least one indulgent item, if only to sellybrate the proofs going on.

Finished Bible, prayers, and rosary at 7 AM. Am now loaded up and ready to head for DG at 7:30 AM, and not a moment before, as I have no desire to have to wait around much for the store to open. Cloudy right now, with thunderstorms predicted for the afternoon.

I left about 7:40 AM, and met Andy on his way in. Said he'd been mouthed by a raccoon this morning (didn’t break the skin) but they’re getting so bold they’ll have to be trapped and removed. Walked to town and there was a homeless man sitting to the side of DG when I went to get a lottery ticket at Lone Star. Then, even though it was past 8 AM, had to wait a few minutes for them to open DG. Did my shopping (still no corn chips!); got 4 boxes of pasta salad mix, a bottle of DG Ranch, 5-pack of ramen, artificial sweetener, soap, two cans of cheese Pringles, and an apple pie. When I left and went to sit and repack at my usual seat the beggar passed me again on his way into town. Although he took another way, we crossed paths in the park. Three times is fate, so I gave him a dollar for Jesus’ sake and went on home.

Once home I ate the pie and started on the chips. Then Kam called me, and it was grass dogs [let them out to relieve themselves] and make French toast AND a pancake. We hung out together and watched the last half of Diabolik MST3K, and D(ragon)Q(uest)8 Longplay. He went in when S&A were here for lunch at noon. I took a nap until about 3 PM. Grassed dogs and started supper at 4 PM. Salmon patties and couscous. I took my couscous and added a ramen (I hadn’t had a formal lunch, because I had eaten both tubes of Pringles as well as the pie and ramen!). John was hinting at the dedication, what I’d already settled on for him, but I teased him about it a bit.

Didn’t do a darn thing all evening but watch DQ8.Went in at 8 PM to clear up; Andy hadn’t eaten because he was hauling cars all evening, but Susan put his food on a plate in the microwave. Checked TX Lotto at 11:30 PM, but no go again. Didn’t rain much either; nothing like the promised thunderstorms in the weather report. Tried to settle me down, but here it is 1:30 AM and I’m still awake. Listening to TV music channels to stun my mind to sleep.

 

6/27/2019: It was just a typical day. Calculated that if I got all the books and DVDs on my wish list it would cost about $12,000, and that’s not counting shipping (and about $2000 of that was for rare out of print volumes). I did tell Susan about the spaghetti dinner on Sunday, and she’s seeing if Fred might spring for that for 4 plates or so. Rosary at 10 PM. Late evening started to watch the English Dragon Quest 11 Longplay.

 

6/28/2019: A typical Friday, but with a few chips and some deer sausage and a cheese sandwich for lunch, which was a bit of a departure. Having freed myself from watching DQ8, I now enslaved myself to watching DQ11, which now has an English version. Bible and prayers in the morning, rosary at 19 PM, brought S’s latest packages in in the morning, Kam joined me most of the day. He fell asleep at 4 PM and wouldn’t get up till 7 PM, and then went in the house when I went out to throw the old cabbage away. Not a jot of writing done all day and no e-mail from John yesterday or today. It unexpectedly rained in the evening, with thunder, after a clear blue day all day. Went to bed about midnight.

 

6/29/2019: Got up 5:30 AM after interesting dreams and morning thoughts that vanished away as I got up. I should really visit my mind someday; it must be a fascinating place. What I call me appears to be a little skittering spot that during my waking hours runs from room to room, not really looking around itself but trying to get business done; or like a drop of water dashing around on top of a hot skillet. During the day, the mind seems kind of hypnotized by the world around it; at night while it dreams it seems just as accepting as what it’s presented there. Perhaps the trick while awake as well as when you’re asleep is to keep being aware of your own power and free will instead of slumping into acceptance and going with the flow. Not to say that it is magical (like Laura Ridings believed) and can affect reality other than yourself, but closer to what Colin Wilson has speculated about the more integrated alert self. The difference between hoping the elves will come in the night and straighten up or that you’ll win the lottery, and actually doing something that will help bring the hoped for change about. I say this under the influence of my renewed morning dose of “brain juice”, the rejuvenated creative and thinking power that flows most freely in the morning, though not only in the morning; I only seem to have so much of it in a day to use, and a lot of non-creative stuff can fritter it away. How will I use it today?

Andy brought over $20 for spaghetti plates tomorrow and some leftover taco salad with chicken about 5:30 PM. I did manage to write a page of JABS at 10:30 PM. I must try to get to bed not too long after midnight now, but I feel dreadfully awake.

 

6/30/2019: Last day of June. Some rain and thunder last night, and possibly throughout the day; just when I’m walking later in the morning, for once! Woke up about 5:30 AM. Showered, dressed, prayed, Bible, rosary. Connectivity poor as I try to look at my usual sites. I did manage to write one page: Bazz meets Stella. I’m going to leave about 9:20 AM, weather permitting; that’s kind of early for a 10:15 Mass but it’ll give me some leeway in walking time and time to sit and pray, not to mention good pew pickings!

The weather was very good: cool, cloudy. On my walk over I passed several old friends: a bat that’s been drying up on the sidewalk next to the Wells-Fargo Bank since before my baptism and some full cartridges in the old cable car tracks between that bank and Starcke’s furniture. Today Ginger led the rosary and I saw many of my old RCIA mates, including the other Amy and the other Mike and his Wife and the older lady [Joanna] – my goodness, I’m forgetting their names already. After mass went over and picked up the spaghetti dinners; saw Mike Stewart and family. I had luckily supplied myself with a bag to carry S&A’s plates home, as they didn’t have any there. I ate mine on site. Walked home, put plates in fridge. I had forgotten to turn my phone up again, though, and A came out at about 1 PM to check on me; apparently Kam had been trying to call me all morning. Did nothing all day but watched DQ11 on YouTube until 11:30 PM. Tomorrow it’s July, with all that entails; I must really work on buckling down and progressing, as I was doing with cleaning the house. If I do nothing, I’m going backwards; tomorrow I must apply myself to projects. Remember stupid joke I told Fr. Greg. [What was it? – 2024]

 

7/1/2019: The first day of July, the long month of heat and birthdays. Woke up at about 5:30 AM, almost the first thing I did was start a project of 25 Haiku, autobiographical in nature, one a day leading up to my birthday, in which I hope to encapsulate my life experience so far. After I finish BAPS [which I never have] I really must take a break over the rest of July and take the time to really work on thinking combined with some real organization. Projects: Scrapbook my scraps, at least in some order; organize my papers, both writing and drawing; maybe organize the Family Files of photos, etc.; get the ‘attic’ sorted out; see about new clothes, shoes, belt. Always much to do, not all of it necessary or compelling, but it would be nice to have it done. Watched some of “For the Love of Spock” on Netflix. On to Bible, prayers, and Rosary. Think about how I present myself. Be upbeat or be beat up.

By 11:10 AM I had finished my morning devotions, made Kam French toast, started my wash, grassed the dogs, got in the daily cookie jar packages from the mailman,  listened to GGACP[Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast], changed the wash, and written a page on JABS and four haiku. Feeling a little sleepy but will make Kam lunch and prepare broccoli salad at 1 PM.

All right! A&S came by early, and between 12 noon and 1:30 PM I managed to write another haiku [Never did manage 25; what I did has now been posted here on Niche of Time], make Kam biscuits, prepare the broccoli salad, and finish my wash. The big projects of the day are fulfilled. Everything else done is gravy.

Went in and grassed dogs and started supper at 4 PM. Went in at 5 PM. Washed dishes at 8 PM and Susan cautioned me about the frying smells from the French toast. Outside, it’s getting cloudy again; we have rain scheduled for tomorrow. Watched documentaries on C. S. Lewis and Pamela Travers. Played much WWF. At 9:40 PM got this Messenger message from Kris Jerome:

The e-book [of A Grave on Deacon's Peak] is finished, and the print files are at the printer. Once they sign off on the formatting proofs will get sent out.

(I wrote: Oh, my. I’m started to get excited again!)

I’m excited too! Once I have proofs in hand, I’ll send pictures (and then the physical copies). If everything goes well it will be out by your birthday!

Sorry it’s been such a long process. Next time it will go faster.

I wrote back: Well, NOW how I supposed to get to sleep? With many smiley face icons.

Called John and told him the news. They are on vacation to Carlsbad Caverns.

Wideo Wednesday: Odd and Old Cartoons

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AobrKFsvznY Greedy Humpty Dumpty

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbD1RoGvscE The Fresh Vegetable Mystery

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1QUUmShhMM Tulips Shall Grow

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZZNi9vypyI The Sleeping Princess

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LNiFGvIwag The Chinese Nightingale

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2frLZ9VLZg The Calico Dragon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSwz-aoZJLw The Field Mouse

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sj17GeJYXZY The Little Mole

A batch of old cartoons that are not often (if ever) played on TV these days, but which haunted my childhood. They seem to come from the Thirties and Forties, and veer from the sentimental to the nightmarish, often in the same picture. They also tend to be a little longer than later theatrical cartoons. And now you can be traumatized, too. The already posted 'To Spring' should really be listed with these.

The Shadow Library: The Picture Bible

This 'graphic adaptation' of the Bible has been around since I was a kid; I seem to remember it being in our old family doctor's waiting room. I finally got a paperback edition years later, but apparently the time had passed when I might have really enjoyed it. The style was a little cramped. I think I gave it to one of my nieces or nephews, though I couldn't say which one.

The Point About The Story

 

The Lord of the Rings: The Choices of Master Samwise (Part One)

 

The Tale

Frodo is already lying on the ground, bound in Shelob’s webs from shoulder to foot, face up, his elven blade Sting dropped useless by his side. Shelob is already starting to drag him away. She is so busy with her prey she doesn’t even notice Sam until he’s almost on her.

‘Sam did not wait to wonder what was to be done, or whether he was brave, or loyal, or filled with rage.’ He jumps forward with a yell and scoops up Sting in his left hand and charges. ‘No onslaught more fierce was ever seen in the savage world of beasts, where some desperate small creature armed with little teeth alone, will spring upon a tower of horn and hide that stands above its fallen mate.’

Disturbed out her gloating over Frodo, Shelob turns her malicious stare to Samwise, but before she knows it the hobbit shears away a claw from one of her feet and getting under the arches of her legs, stabs upward, putting out one of her eyes.

Now right under her and out of the reach of her ‘sting’ and her claws, Sam stands under her putrid, stinking stomach. He slashes at her underbelly, but his strength cannot penetrate to anything vital underneath her ‘knobbed and pitted hide.’ No blade could, ‘not though Elf or Dwarf should forge the steel or the hand of Beren or of Turin wielded it.’ Poison froths from the wound and the stench makes Sam dizzy. Shelob splays her legs, raising up, ready to crush Sam under her huge bulk. But Sam is still standing.

He drops his barrow-blade and holding Sting in both hands pointing upward, he braces himself to ‘fend off that ghastly roof.’  Shelob ‘with the driving force of her own cruel will, with strength greater than any warrior’s hand,’ impales herself upon Sam’s upthrust blade, even as her bulk starts to crush him to the ground.

‘[I]n all her long world of wickedness’ Shelob has never known such pain and none of her victims, human warrior or Orc, has ever lasted so long against her attack. She heaves herself up and springs away from ‘the bitter spike.’ She stands a few paces away, green ooze dripping from her damaged eye, and contemplates her attacker.

Sam has fallen on his knees next to Frodo, head reeling with the foul stench, and tries to focus. Just a few paces from him his enemy crouches, ‘beak dribbling a spittle of venom,’ gathering for another leap, ‘this time to crush and sting to death.’ Sam sees his death in that gaze. He has little strength left for another defense.

But a thought comes to Sam, ‘as if some remote voice had spoken,’ and he reaches in and pulls out the Phial of Galadriel with his left hand. He murmurs ‘Galadriel!’, and then he remembers Elvish singing under the stars in his own beloved Shire and in the halls of Rivendell, calling to Elbereth. ‘And then his tongue was loosed and his voice cried in a language he did not know:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel

A menel palan-diriel,

Le nallon si di’nguruthos!

A tiro nin, Fanuilos!

And with that he staggered to his feet and was Samwise the hobbit, Hamfast’s son, again.’

With renewed spirit Sam yells at Shelob, calling her filth, and saying that they’re going on, but not before settling with her first. ‘Come on, and taste it again!’ ‘As if his indomitable spirit had set its potency in motion, the glass blazed suddenly like a white torch in his hand.’

It is too much for Shelob. The light enters her shattered eyes like lighting, filling the head of the beast of darkness with blasting fire. She has never known such pain, such an attack of light. She falls back, uselessly beating the air with her forelegs, turning her head and beginning to crawl away, back to her dark hole.

Sam follows, ‘reeling like a drunken man’ from dizziness, but Shelob is finally cowed. She flees jerking and quivering from Sam’s attack. As she finally slips her oozing, wounded belly back into her lair, Sam cuts a last stroke at her retreating legs.

‘Shelob was gone, and whether she lay long in her lair, nursing her malice and her misery, and in slow years of darkness healed herself from within, rebuilding her clustered eyes, until with hunger like death she spun once more her dreadful snares in the glens of the Mountains of Shadow, this tale does not tell.’

Bits and Bobs

I had hoped to cover this entire chapter this week, but that ain’t happening. Though I still hope to conclude it before June is over, perhaps posting on it more frequently in this last week. But again, we shall see.

Sam is likened, in a rather Homeric simile (“The typical Homeric simile makes a comparison to some kind of event, in the form "like a ____ when it ______."), in his ferocity to an animal defending its mate. This is a gift to the ‘shippers’ who want to make ‘Frodo+Sam’ a romantic item, but the phrase simply conveys to them (in their biased ignorance) the wrong cultural interpretation.

Beren and Turin are the two human heroes par excellence of The Silmarillion, tales of the First Age of Middle-earth. Beren faced many evil creatures of Morgoth, the first Dark Lord, as well as spiders akin to Shelob. Turin killed a dragon, Glaurung. It is noted that Shelob has no ‘vulnerable spot’ like a dragon; even these two heroes could not have penetrated her hide with the best of weapons. Again, ‘oft does hatred hurt itself.’

Shelob’s ‘beak’ is likely a reference to her mandibles, ‘commonly referred to as "jaws", chelicerae may be shaped as either articulated fangs, or as a type of pincers.’ – Wikipedia. In common British parlance ‘beak’ can refer to any beaklike protuberance from the face. The fact that it’s frothing with poison suggests the ‘fangs’ interpretation. My brother John pointed out to me that many of these illustrations do show Shelob's horns, after I said that many don't.

As Tolkien notes in The Road Goes Ever On: A Song Cycle, Sam’s inspired invocation in Sindarin Elvish can be translated thusly:

O! Queen who kindled star on star

White-robed from heaven gazing far,

Here overwhelmed in dread of Death

I cry: O guard me, Elbereth!

The words are strange to him. Inspired by those memories of Elvish singing? Given to him by one of the Valar, perhaps Elbereth herself? Who can say? Sam apparently didn’t know. To emphasize the descent from this exalted state he is called Samwise (‘half-wise’) son of Hamfast (‘home-fast’ or ‘stay-at-home’) the next minute. But (in universe) he must have remembered the words and had someone translate them for him.

And of course ‘in universe’ nobody can say whether Shelob died of her wounds or lived to weave another day. Although later Sam, his senses enhanced by wearing the Ring, hears her ‘bubbling in her misery’ somewhere far away in her lair.

Birthday Wishes

 BIRTHDAY WISHES

For Kameron, On His Seventeenth

 

Since I have no cash to give away,

Some wishes for your birthday day:

Made with all my hope and power,

Such as it is at this late hour:

 

No rain or lightning harm you!

No bee or wasp will swarm you!

No troll or ogre grind you!

No witch or wizard find you!

No thief or thug will beat you!

No beast will ever eat you!

No evil ghost will haunt you!

No on-line bully taunt you!

No flood will overtake you!

No cyber scammer fake you!

 

Please hear my words and grant my wish,

You genie, well, or magic fish!

Give all that I hope and pray

To Kameron on his birthday day!

 

--Love, Uncle BB

From a Golden Time

 

Finding Sparrow in the Treetop the other day sent me down a side quest: to find the other yellow Golden Record 78’s we had from Mom’s childhood. These came out in 1953 with the release of Walt Disney’s Peter Pan. Mom must have been around 11. The only one I couldn’t find on YouTube was with the flipside You Can Fly of the Peter Pan Theme Song (“The Second Star on the Right”). Mom also had a red record Peter Pan (the record company, not the movie) 78 with The Blue Tail Fly and Skip to My Lou on it. I’m putting two links to that; one is more complete than the other. More childhood memories recovered and noted.

Anne Lloyd & Dan Ocko - Second Star to the Right - YouTube

Anne Lloyd & Dan Ocko - Your Mother and Mine - YouTube

Anne Lloyd, Dan Ocko and David Anderson - March of the Lost Boys - YouTube

Anne Lloyd, Dan Ocko and David Anderson - What Made the Red Man Red - YouTube

Peter Pan 2246-B - Blue Tail Fly – Skip To My Lou – Clementine – Mexican Hat Dance - Jack Arthur - YouTube

Blue Tail Fly / Skip To My Lou - YouTube

Friday Fiction: Thrand (Continued. Part Thirteen)

[What Has Gone Before: Chief Justice Thrand of Morg City has been summoned to the palace to bear witness to the passing of the human King Taryn. On the way back to the Courts of Justice he has been rescued from a couple of street toughs by the small but wily Kettle.]

High Secretary Gawnich kept vigil near the private entrance at the rear of the Halls of Justice.  Thrand should have returned; it was nearly lunchtime, and the Tower wasn’t that far away. He could only imagine that the Chief Justice had been delayed by petitioners. They would have started thronging him by now, surely. The thought gnawed at the skinny Morg. After all, he had a candidate that he meant to put forward, a client who would be sure to pay him back for such a favor, and he didn’t need anyone influencing Thrand before he could. That just wouldn’t be fair.

Suddenly a black-robed figure broke away from the river of similarly clad traffic passing by the Halls' back gates, and Gawnich immediately recognized the twisted walking stick and protruding paunch. He hastened to meet Thrand with relief.

“Chief Justice! Thank goodness you’re back!” He laid a solicitous hand on Thrand’s shoulder and looked searchingly into his hooded face. “Are you well? What took you so long? The Crownhelm was delivered an hour ago already; I locked it up safely in your apartments.” He started to draw the older Morg forward as if to herd him safely back into the fold. “Do you want to check on it?”

Thrand shrugged the patronizing claw off his shoulder.

“No, I don’t want to check on the Crownhelm; I am sure it is perfectly safe. I am perfectly fine myself, thank you, and what I mean to do first is to go get me some lunch.”

“Of course, of course, Chief Justice.”  The skinny Morg hastily and humbly drew himself away and fell back a step behind Thrand, who began striding to the entrance with exaggerated vigor. “Dinner is almost ready. I …” He looked down. “Here, what are you up to?” he asked sharply. “You’re not needed here. Go on, hop it!”

Kettle, who had been following discreetly and cautiously in Thrand’s shadow as they approached the imposing building, flinched at Gawnich’s upraised bony hand, but the older Morg stopped the Secretary with a sharp bark.

“Here now! That’s no way to treat a lad that just saved me from a thrashing! Young Kettle here is my guest for lunch today. In fact…,” he looked down sideways at the grubby child. “Maybe longer than that.”

“High Secretary, I’m considering getting myself a page. If he wants the job. I thought we’d discuss it over a meal.” Thrand turned and looked the surprised Kettle in the face. “Would you like to be a page, eh? And maybe even an apprentice, if you show an aptitude for the work. Page work isn’t the most exciting, but there’s a future to it, which is more than I can say for guttersniping. And I really could use some help right now.”

The young Morg’s brow furrowed a moment in thought, cracking dirty cheeks screwed up in thought. Kettle looked up at last and smiled.

“I tell you what, chief. Let’s have lunch like you said and talk about it a bit first.”

“Very wise.” The old Morg was solemn. “That’s a good way to start the job.” He turned to Gawnich briskly. “Have an Articles of Employ drawn up for me right away. Leave the usual spaces and enough room for three or four special clauses.” He reached down and took Kettle’s hand and headed for the door to the Courthouse.

‘But … but, Lord Thrand!” Gawnich spluttered. “Do you really think this is wise? You can know nothing of this child!”

“I know enough.” Thrand grinned reassuringly down at Kettle. “And, yes, I do think it is wise. You’ve been saying yourself for years that I should have a page, if only to take some of the pressure off of you. Well, the time has come. Things are going to be pretty busy around here for a while.” He looked up again, muzzle in the air, breathing in deeply as if to scent the future from afar. “Ah-h-h. I hope we have fried pork today.”

The bewildered Gawnich watched the two disappear into the shadows of the portico, then gathered his wits about him and headed towards the corner for the Scriptorium, the proper forms for the Articles of Employ already dancing in his head with all the possible outcomes of this latest whim of the Chief Justice’s.  Had Thrand’s latest attack addled his brains? It was quite a left turn, and totally out of the High Secretary’s expectations. Gawnich liked to know where things were headed. He took a left turn and was gone around the corner.

Notes

Here we are back at last with Thrand, the first new entry since the end of October 2023. How did half a year go by so quickly? This section is graced, you will notice, with a little rough sketch I have done of Kettle. I'm afraid I don't do a lot of drawing these days, and this is the first new picture I have drawn of a Morg (and a 'new' Morg at that) for quite a while. The first new picture in a while, period. I don't know why I don't draw more, except I seldom have pencil and paper at hand, and the height of my desk does not lend itself to such activity. You can see that half the lines on the left look lighter; that's because the silvery pencil lines are lit up by my desk lamp. 

Time Past: The Fascinating World of June 2019

 

6/15/2019: Woke up at 4:30 AM and decided, yep, I’m awake. Decided what I needed to do was take some phone picture of my new arrangements, and so I did [lost now, on my old phone], then went online, looked at my sites, and caught up diary; ‘tis now 5:40. Relented about tossing my red British literature textbooks but still determined to dispose of Nanny’s Webster’s dictionary; but how? The easiest would be to toss it in the recycling bin, but part of me wants to lug it to the library or the park and abandon it on a bench for the next finder, with a note saying, “Free to a Good Home”. Shall I write today? Can I write today? Well, yes, technically, but one lets temperament decide all too often. Relenting on those tatty books is a bad sign, I think, showing I’m wavering in determination; I’ve already decided to keep the McKillip books. The longer I have to have ‘garage sale stuff’ hanging around, the more complacent I become about it. Grr. Say prayers, read Bible, and have breakfast.

Did so, then from 10 AM to 11:30 AM laid down in a doze. Got up and parsed through PoB [Power of Babel] looking at the lists of my old books to find titles I no longer have; then remembered my old fancy of “Dead Ready” back in September 2015, before I even had my toe/TIA trouble, in which I hoped to be ready by 2019 (this year!) to pass away with least trouble. Now I’ve joined the Church, written a book due for publication, and just recently finished another purge of the house, so I guess in many ways (except for the most practical ways) I am Dead Ready, and it is 2019! Shall I prove prophet? Or am I just ready for a new life? The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey on right now; started at noon. Until about 2:30 PM worked on a new project: extracting biographical detail from PoB and putting it into year-by-year files; finished 2008. Taking a break. Haven’t heard from anybody on any media today.

Worked on PoB up until 2012. It’s now 7:44 PM. Still heard from no-one.

Said Rosary at about 11 PM. Worked on getting the extracts until 1 AM. Went to bed.

 

6/16/2019: Father’s Day. Woke up at 6 AM. Made one document out of extracts. Took shower, dressed.  Ready to head on out.

Got to church in time to say Rosary with others. A Father’s Day sermon, as well as Holy Trinity Sunday. But when it came time for the Eucharist, Father Greg had to excuse himself; he was feeling poorly. A rather subdued and improvised conclusion.   Got home. Finished up Extract and e-mailed it to myself and put it on Finder’s Keep.

In the afternoon I heard from Tom on Messenger and the book drop goes ahead. Messaged Kenny and everything’s set. About 5 PM took some garbage out and noticed that the gate was open; checked in with S&A to make sure the Rotts were inside. Told Susan about the pick-up tomorrow, so now everything is really set up. Now what to do with that #@%$& dictionary? This evening John and Amy came over to listen to the symphony in the park and the kids are swimming.

We looked through the ape-box with the old nostalgia (Morgandy was with us) and afterwards went in to look at the new batch of Muppet figures (like our old ones; M is on kind of a Muppet kick).

John suggests I donate the dictionary to an area at Half-Price rather than toss it. But when will we go? They left a little before 10 PM after a good visit, and I went in and looked up analogs for Omi’s old felt donkey and cow figures that we had been talking about. Finally went to bed.

Woke up sometime in the night to a thunderstorm – not the worst kind, but still, - and unplugged the computer and the AC. Hard getting back to sleep in the quiet and warmth, so after a hard night I ...

 

6/17/2019: Got up about 6 AM, got dressed, and opened the house up. The skies seem quiet and clear, but there’s a new batch of mud, of course, to get that heavy bin of books to the front porch through, and dirty up me shoes. Will start at 7:15 AM, though. Meanwhiles, Bible and prayers.

So I trudged out, pausing at the driveway, because an 18 gallon tub of books is no light load and my trollish strength is gone. Sat on the porch from about 7:20 AM to a little after 8:30 AM, when Tom came and picked up the books.

About 8 PM go in to clean up and Susan tells me about the exterminators coming tomorrow and that they found another scorpion. Apparently, Amy was talking to her about my offering books on Facebook and I explained to her that it was not particularly a quest for money as a way of clearing stuff out with first offer to friends and family. Told her the joke (I have been eagerly waiting to tell somebody) that I had wanted to offer Kaitlyn Nanny’s Bible; as it was Nanny’s, I could pretty much guarantee it was barely used. I invited her and Andy out and she looked through the sale bins and got out a few things for Kameron; I showed her where there is a cookie jar for sale on Seguin sales on Facebook. Reading some Robertson Davies.

 

6/18/2019: Got up about 6 AM. While looking at JABS [Junior Agent, Bureau of Shadows], I groaned and said to myself aloud, “Action, thy name is not Brer!” and I suddenly realized that I seldom refer to myself as Brer, either in my head or just to myself.

Went in and made toasted cheese and a jelly sandwich for lunch, saw that they HAD gotten the Mr. Peanut cookie jar. Read in more Davies and then in the Verlyn Flieger-augmented Smith of Wootton Major, and I realized that my problem was not just summer doldrums but the need to fill up my ‘reservoir’ for writing again. Once I finish JABS [which I never did] I’m taking a break until my birthday at the latest.

Kenny messaged me about 8:30 PM that they had the books. He said:  We drove out to the place they are staying in Kissimmee and met them as they were coming back from Walmart. Tom was super nice, and his family was as well. They seem to really adore you as well and told me they call you Balrog.

6/20/2019: Woke up about 6 AM from dreams and sat thinking about stuff. A bit about Haff and the Haunting [future elements for JABS] occurred to me. Got up and wrote stuff down.

 

6/19/2019: Up about 5 AM; more writing, bringing it up to ten more pages; need to do 10 more this week. A dab of writing. My left big toe keeps stabbing me with pain: a pox on this gout! To quote Falstaff.

 

6/20/2019: Woke up 6 AM. Bible, prayers. Knocked down wasp nest at back door. Writing on and off all day. Reading Davies on and off all day, mainly letters.

E-mail to John: Not a lot to say, just that writing progresses. I've been reading a lot of Robertson Davies the last few days; I had been reading "The Possessed" (or The Devils, or however you translate it), but it seems to have got to a point where it’s just too crazily Russian subtle for me at the moment, so I've laid it down for now. With feelings of some guilt, knocked down a little wasp nest high up off the back door where it was doing no harm except for making Kameron nervous about going in and out. Wasps are bastards, all right, but should be tolerated and respected for the minute 'good' they do if they're not completely in your face.

 

6/21/2019: Up at 5:30 AM and decided to get moving and really do something, after laying around a bit with ‘what-if past fantasies.’ Bible, prayers, and rosary. Swept up. Got dressed. Cleaned up cat barf down the wall [Socks still alive at this point]. Washed dishes. Decks all cleared to write and bring tally up to 40 pages. We shall see.

By 11 AM I had reached the 40-page mark and brought Bazzell to the steps of Billy’s Place.

No word from John; I had thought he was bringing $20 today, but maybe when we gather tomorrow for Kameron’s birthday? No message on e-mail, either. Got a huge load of Trollope on Kindle. Read more Davies and a pinch of ‘The Possessed’. What a weird experience, rambling around the old neighborhood [of Loop Drive] in fictional form today!

 

6/22/2019: Woke up about 5:30 AM from a dream that gave me the idea for a story called GOLLUM’S BOOK, being his tale told from his point of view, rather like John Gardner’s GRENDEL. Everybody misunderstands him, even Gandalf, whom he talks about like the wizard was his psychiatrist. He was actually happy to get rid of the Ring and left the Misty Mountains to start a new life, but everybody (Sauron, Gandalf, Frodo) kept pulling him back in and tempting him, if only in the form of making him remember and think about it. He actually liked Bilbo and had a kind of crush on him and comes to be grateful to him for taking the Ring; Frodo reminds him of Bilbo, which is why he agrees to help him. He wants to free Frodo from Ring-addiction, which is why he’s always trying to take the Ring away. This would be exactly the kind of book I hate, but the exercise of writing it seems fascinating. Last words: “Some people you just can’t help.”

Sparrow in the Treetop: An Extra Song

 

(9) Sandpipers & Anne Lloyd - Sparrow in the Treetop - YouTube

(9) Andrews Sisters & Bing Crosby ::: Sparrow In The Treetop. - YouTube

You never know what you might come across by pure chance. Today I was just looking through Youtube when I found this song and was flabbergasted. This record was exactly one Mom had when I was very little. Not only had I not heard it for decades, I had completely forgotten it! Researching a little further I found that was actually an adaptation for children of a popular song that had a slightly more adult version (which is the second one here). I am so happy to recover this memory that I must put it here.

Wideo Wednesday: The Lord is My Shepherd

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtZ8pFCwMn4  He is Jehovah, Bill and Gloria Gaither

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8txqw-u4V78  El Shaddai, Amy Grant

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nt3Ggo1CE3g  Shepherd Me Oh God; Marty Haugen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHPewvg7ZqI  Johnny Kay, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

He is Jehovah has nothing to do with the Jehovah's Witnesses; Jehovah was a rather poorly transliterated name for God centuries before they were a thing and latched onto it. El Shaddai is another song making use of other ancient titles and names of God. The important thing is that they are both working on the Christian understanding of the Old Testament. Shepherd Me Oh God is basically an adaptation of Psalm 23 (The Lord is My Shepherd). I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day was originally a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, written during our other time of Civil War. It was a sustaining note during my own period of an eclipse of faith; this line still gives me goosebumps: "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep." Amen, and amen.