According to the average person the tale of Rapunzel goes as follows (this story was found out BEFORE Disney played with this fairy tale).
Once upon a time there was a princess who was kidnapped and locked in a tower by an evil witch or stepmother (details may vary depending on who you ask) for no apparent reason. The princess had long hair and one day a prince rode by and called out "Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!". The princess lets down her hair, the prince climbs it, falls in love, and rescues her. The way the rescuing works is that there is some sort of dragon, if you are lucky enough to have a way for the princess to escape.
What has this society come to? My mother told me a good versions of fairy tales, when I was little. Let me tell you how the story of Rapunzel goes...
Once upon a time a couple was expecting a baby. They lived next to a witch, but she didn't cause them any trouble. One day the future mother was stricken with a craving for cabbage. She begged and pleaded with her husband to bring her some, but he wouldn't dare for the only cabbage to be had was in the garden of their neighbor, the witch. Finally his wife made her self ill, fretting over her want of cabbage, and the young man climbed over the fence to gather cabbage. Unfortunately for him, the witch flew out of her backdoor in a rage. Hoping for impunity, the soon to be father explained why he was stealing her cabbage. Much to his surprise, the witch told him to go ahead and take the cabbage. As in most fairy tales, this was not without a price. When the baby was born the witch would take her. Considering that the alternative was most likely worse than death, the young man agreed and took the cabbage to his wife.
Not long after, a baby girl was born. The witch appeared almost immediately and pulled the child from her mother. Before she left the little house, she named the baby Rapunzel (which is a type of cabbage for those of you who don't know). Using her magic, the witch created a tower that stood above the trees and the entrance to which was only a window. The witch (we'll call her Prune), kept the baby in this tower. When Rapunzel was little, Prune flew in through the window on her broom stick, but as she grew, so did her hair, until Prune was able to climb up it. Every morning and evening, the old witch would stand at the base of the tower and call out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair." Rapunzel was obedient and Prune was sort of kind. Prune would bring her food and brush her long hair. (No, it has nothing to do with magic flowers.)However, Prune would yank the brush though Rapunzel's hair in such a fashion that it caused great pain.
One day, a prince, while he was on his daily ride through the forest, heard the most beautiful sound. He followed it to the source and found a tower with a single window. Whoever sang so beautifully, he knew, must live in that tower. Day after day, the prince would ride to the tower to listen to the marvelous song. After a time he arrived to see Prune say the words that sent Rapunzel's hair tumbling down the side of the tower. Our prince (How about naming him Gregory?)waited until the scary witch left, ran to the base of the tower, and called out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"
Obviously Rapunzel was confused about "Prune" wanting back up so quickly, and even more confused about finding a stranger in her tower. (Remember the only human she remembers having ever seen is Prune.) Eventually Gregory calmed her down, chatted with her and brushed her hair very gently. Every day after that, Rapunzel would let her prince into the tower. Unfortunately, one day as Prune brushed Rapunzel's hair, Rapunzel shrieked in pain,"Ouch! My prince would never brush this hard!" Needless to say, Prune flew into a rage and took out her anger on the cause.
That day Gregory climbed up the tower to find his lady love missing and a fairly scary, ugly witch in her stead. In shock, he stumbled backwards and fell out the window. (Which tells us exactly how ugly Prune was.) The prince landed in the thorn bushes that ringed the base of the tower and was blinded.
Now Rapunzel had had her first haircut and was banished to a desert.It was there that she later came across a blind man that looked remarkably like her prince. Oh wait! It was her prince! Sadly, he could not see her face. In sorrow, she wept, tears landing on his eyes. Remarkably his eyesight healed and her took her off to his castle to be his bride. THE END.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Can You See Me
Can you see me?
Or just a mask?
Everything important tucked away
tucked away
from prying eyes.
When people look at me,
sometimes they see my sister.
They see her mirrored talents
and interests.
I am not my sister.
When people look at me,
sometimes they see my mother.
They see her features
and poetry.
I am not my mother.
When people look at me,
sometimes they see and adult.
They see serious
and intelligent.
I am far from grown.
When people look at me,
they don't see me.
I don't know if anyone can.
I am a little sister,
a daughter,
and a friend.
I am a fairy child,
a dreamer,
and an artist.
Many see shapes or colors,
but they can't see
the picture.
The painting that is me.
They can't see
the centerpiece.
I don't want
for you to look at me.
I want you
to see me.
In my heart
I hold hope and power.
I hold my lord,
my king, and sovereign.
There.
Can you see me?
Or just a mask?
Everything important tucked away
tucked away
from prying eyes.
When people look at me,
sometimes they see my sister.
They see her mirrored talents
and interests.
I am not my sister.
When people look at me,
sometimes they see my mother.
They see her features
and poetry.
I am not my mother.
When people look at me,
sometimes they see and adult.
They see serious
and intelligent.
I am far from grown.
When people look at me,
they don't see me.
I don't know if anyone can.
I am a little sister,
a daughter,
and a friend.
I am a fairy child,
a dreamer,
and an artist.
Many see shapes or colors,
but they can't see
the picture.
The painting that is me.
They can't see
the centerpiece.
I don't want
for you to look at me.
I want you
to see me.
In my heart
I hold hope and power.
I hold my lord,
my king, and sovereign.
There.
Can you see me?
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Lil-Bit Of Fluff
Setting: My mother and I were sitting on the couch with Lil-Bit lounging on my mother's arm.
Me: She's so cute!
My Mother: Indeed she is, the insolent piece of fluff!
Me: She's so cute!
My Mother: Indeed she is, the insolent piece of fluff!
The Complete Story Hansel and Gretel, Retold and Revised
Once upon a time there were two children. The older was a young boy named Hansel and the younger was his sister, Gretel. They had a stepmother that loved them, but because she was a stepmother the children were inclined to hate her. One day Hansel decided to wake up early and walk in the woods, as usual he dragged his little sister behind him. She was not quite right in the head and he believed anything she told him. This was, indeed, a recipe for disaster.
As the two children skipped along the path the smell of freshly baked bread reached their little noses. The greedy little boogers turned from the path and ran towards the source of the sent. Eventually, a small cottage came into view. It was a charming little abode, with flower boxes beneath the windows and trim around the edge of the roof. The occupant of this cottage was a little old lady that sold herbs at the county fair. Gretel took one look at the house and squealed.
"Oh, Hans! Look Hans! Look! It's a ginormous gingerbread house!" The little girl could barely contain herself and rushed to the door, where she proceeded to gnaw upon the doorknob. Hansel, never to be left out on something, started licking the window sill.
"Are you hungry?" A little old lady had walked around the house with dirt on her blouse and a basket of vegetables in her arms.
"Yes, Ma'am. Very," Hansel pulled his little sister away from the door as he spoke. The old crone didn't need to know that they had been eating her house if she was going to feed them.
"Well, my name is Lillian Rain," the old lady crooned as she opened her door, showing no signs of noticing the drool on the doorknob, "What would your names be?"
"Hansel and Gretal Anderson."
"Well aren't those lovely names! Do come inside."
Once inside Ms. Rain fed the children till they were bursting and taught Gretal how to cook a few dishes. Consequentially Hansel ate more food than he should have, and gained nearly twenty pounds. Sadly Gretel was terrified of the large oven in the kitchen and told Hansel that Ms. Rain was a witch that planned to eat them. Ever willing to be a hero, Hansel shoved poor Ms. Rain into her own oven, closed the oven's door, and padlocked it. The screams were heard over a mile away.
It was those screams that brought Mr. Anderson to Ms. Rain's abode. When he arrived he found Gretel gnawing on the doorknob and Hansel crying (he had eaten so much he couldn't walk). In order to keep his children form being thrown down a volcano, he told the public that his wife had taken the children into the woods in order to be rid of them, where the children met a witch that attempted to eat them. Thanks to Hansel the world was now free of one more witch. He threw in the part about his wife (the children's stepmother), because she was starting to cost too much. She couldn't not buy shoes.
THE END
As the two children skipped along the path the smell of freshly baked bread reached their little noses. The greedy little boogers turned from the path and ran towards the source of the sent. Eventually, a small cottage came into view. It was a charming little abode, with flower boxes beneath the windows and trim around the edge of the roof. The occupant of this cottage was a little old lady that sold herbs at the county fair. Gretel took one look at the house and squealed.
"Oh, Hans! Look Hans! Look! It's a ginormous gingerbread house!" The little girl could barely contain herself and rushed to the door, where she proceeded to gnaw upon the doorknob. Hansel, never to be left out on something, started licking the window sill.
"Are you hungry?" A little old lady had walked around the house with dirt on her blouse and a basket of vegetables in her arms.
"Yes, Ma'am. Very," Hansel pulled his little sister away from the door as he spoke. The old crone didn't need to know that they had been eating her house if she was going to feed them.
"Well, my name is Lillian Rain," the old lady crooned as she opened her door, showing no signs of noticing the drool on the doorknob, "What would your names be?"
"Hansel and Gretal Anderson."
"Well aren't those lovely names! Do come inside."
Once inside Ms. Rain fed the children till they were bursting and taught Gretal how to cook a few dishes. Consequentially Hansel ate more food than he should have, and gained nearly twenty pounds. Sadly Gretel was terrified of the large oven in the kitchen and told Hansel that Ms. Rain was a witch that planned to eat them. Ever willing to be a hero, Hansel shoved poor Ms. Rain into her own oven, closed the oven's door, and padlocked it. The screams were heard over a mile away.
It was those screams that brought Mr. Anderson to Ms. Rain's abode. When he arrived he found Gretel gnawing on the doorknob and Hansel crying (he had eaten so much he couldn't walk). In order to keep his children form being thrown down a volcano, he told the public that his wife had taken the children into the woods in order to be rid of them, where the children met a witch that attempted to eat them. Thanks to Hansel the world was now free of one more witch. He threw in the part about his wife (the children's stepmother), because she was starting to cost too much. She couldn't not buy shoes.
THE END
Saturday, December 3, 2011
A Late Update On Goings On
Technically this post is not late. We are currently in a time referred to as the Holidays. Holidays. Plural. Thanksgiving is a part of that. I made deviled eggs with my mother, before visiting my grandparents, that were very tasty. The Sunday after Thanksgiving I made deviled eggs entirely on my own. They did not turn out as planned. There was too much vinegar. My father didn't mind. Black Friday was spent at home with my brother, avoiding the Black (Friday) Plague.
We have two new additions in our household collection of felines. A black male kitten named Insta-Purr and a calico female kitten called Lil-Bit. The Lady of Shed-Lots is not pleased with the kittens and hisses anytime an encounter occurs.
We have two new additions in our household collection of felines. A black male kitten named Insta-Purr and a calico female kitten called Lil-Bit. The Lady of Shed-Lots is not pleased with the kittens and hisses anytime an encounter occurs.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
And This is Good for Me?
We had vaccinations at work. A needle slid into my upper left arm and out fairly quickly, I didn't panic like many coworkers said they would have either (I'm not really afraid of needles), but I don't think it went very well. I am in pain. It feels like someone gave me a good whack with a hammer. A simple touch is more than similar to being slapped on a big bad bruise. I don't have a bruise, but my nerves must think I do. Pain really makes you think about things and come up with some good questions, including:
How can something be good for me if it hurts? That makes as much sense as a lobotomy.
Why the upper left arm?
I never knew how much my upper left arm comes into contact with objects.
Shouldn't I be able to feel less pain each year with these shots? Muscles build throughout time and repair themselves. Logically I shouldn't be able to feel shots anymore.
Will things ever STOP touching my arm?!?!
I really notice pain when it's things like shots, but I don't feel much after the numbing stuff, that is injected into me before the dermatologist removes some of my flesh, wears off. Weird.
How can something be good for me if it hurts? That makes as much sense as a lobotomy.
Why the upper left arm?
I never knew how much my upper left arm comes into contact with objects.
Shouldn't I be able to feel less pain each year with these shots? Muscles build throughout time and repair themselves. Logically I shouldn't be able to feel shots anymore.
Will things ever STOP touching my arm?!?!
I really notice pain when it's things like shots, but I don't feel much after the numbing stuff, that is injected into me before the dermatologist removes some of my flesh, wears off. Weird.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
A Blog Post About Bloging That Includes A Short Story About A Werewolf
This is me, being a terrible person. I feel really really guilty that I haven't posted since September 12th, and I have had people view this blog fairly regularly. Well, unless of course the "stats" that Blogger is providing me with aren't mine... if that is the case, I feel really sorry for whoever would end up with my "stats". Seriously though, for those of you that do read my writing, I appreciate it. To look at the "stats" and see that almost everyday one or two people have looked at my blog makes me incredibly happy. It's really easy to get depressed when I see that people haven't commented, but at least I know you're there even if you are invisible. I am not someone who comments on other blogs either, but just this once, even if you decide to never again read my blog, comment. Writers NEED to be told how we are doing. If I have terrible grammar or use the wrong "there" (or "their" or "they're") tell me. It helps out a lot. If I'm doing well tell me. Sometimes I need a little encouragement.
Now, to today's true purpose. Tomorrow is Halloween. Almost everyone has dressed up, or told a scary story around this time of year. Today's goal for me is to tell you a possibly scary story. What should it be about? Radio active kittens? Street prowling grannies that beat innocent trick-or-treating children up in allies with big purses? Spiders that can control people's minds? Narcoleptic zombies? None of those. At least not this time. Maybe next year. This year is the year of the pyromaniac 18 year old werewolf named Steve, that happens to be germaphobic when in his wolf state. He lives in 21st century London, England. It may not turn out to be scary, but we'll see where it takes us.
Steve glanced out his window. The moon would soon rise over the tall buildings, living in a tall city helped keep the wolf a bay a little longer. He flipped his lighter open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. A pointed pain began to eat at his side. It was as if a small sharp toothed animal were trying to eat its way out. He shook his head, tossing dark curls a little to the side. Groaning, Steve stood up and walked into the cellar and locked the door. The only way out now was the slightly large doggy door that lead outside. He had learned from experience that letting the wolf into his house was not a good idea. It only resulted in torn up furniture and missing house shoes. The wolf preferred to be outside where the streets were (some of them) unexplored and the meat was fresh. Speaking of the wolf, the change finished rather quickly once Steve let himself go limp on the floor. I will not describe it, as the change churns the stomach of even the most experienced individual. The wolf scrambled to its feet and shook its glossy black fur.
The wolf was a dignified member of The Committee of the Werewolves of London (C.W.L.). He liked to be called Unferth. The only thing that he had in common with Steve was black fur, in Steve's case hair, and a love of fire (the human part of any wolf was completely unaware of the C.W.L.). He also liked long walks in the park and quiet midnights with a fresh bone to gnaw upon.
Unferth padded over to the bowl of Germ-Ex that Steve had thoughtfully placed near the doggy door and dipped his paws in. Not only is fire beautiful, but it also cleanses of germs even if only temporarily, Unferth thought to himself. What he wanted was to stay inside, away from germs, but Steve had become very careful to lock the door, so indoors was not an option. Bravely he pushed through the doggy door into the germ filled place that is London.
Approximately eight hours later half of London was on fire, multiple people had been ripped to shreds, all the cats that had been outside were up trees, and it was to be blamed on the C.W.L., well most of it was. The fire was completely Unferth's fault.
THE END
Now, to today's true purpose. Tomorrow is Halloween. Almost everyone has dressed up, or told a scary story around this time of year. Today's goal for me is to tell you a possibly scary story. What should it be about? Radio active kittens? Street prowling grannies that beat innocent trick-or-treating children up in allies with big purses? Spiders that can control people's minds? Narcoleptic zombies? None of those. At least not this time. Maybe next year. This year is the year of the pyromaniac 18 year old werewolf named Steve, that happens to be germaphobic when in his wolf state. He lives in 21st century London, England. It may not turn out to be scary, but we'll see where it takes us.
Steve glanced out his window. The moon would soon rise over the tall buildings, living in a tall city helped keep the wolf a bay a little longer. He flipped his lighter open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. A pointed pain began to eat at his side. It was as if a small sharp toothed animal were trying to eat its way out. He shook his head, tossing dark curls a little to the side. Groaning, Steve stood up and walked into the cellar and locked the door. The only way out now was the slightly large doggy door that lead outside. He had learned from experience that letting the wolf into his house was not a good idea. It only resulted in torn up furniture and missing house shoes. The wolf preferred to be outside where the streets were (some of them) unexplored and the meat was fresh. Speaking of the wolf, the change finished rather quickly once Steve let himself go limp on the floor. I will not describe it, as the change churns the stomach of even the most experienced individual. The wolf scrambled to its feet and shook its glossy black fur.
The wolf was a dignified member of The Committee of the Werewolves of London (C.W.L.). He liked to be called Unferth. The only thing that he had in common with Steve was black fur, in Steve's case hair, and a love of fire (the human part of any wolf was completely unaware of the C.W.L.). He also liked long walks in the park and quiet midnights with a fresh bone to gnaw upon.
Unferth padded over to the bowl of Germ-Ex that Steve had thoughtfully placed near the doggy door and dipped his paws in. Not only is fire beautiful, but it also cleanses of germs even if only temporarily, Unferth thought to himself. What he wanted was to stay inside, away from germs, but Steve had become very careful to lock the door, so indoors was not an option. Bravely he pushed through the doggy door into the germ filled place that is London.
Approximately eight hours later half of London was on fire, multiple people had been ripped to shreds, all the cats that had been outside were up trees, and it was to be blamed on the C.W.L., well most of it was. The fire was completely Unferth's fault.
THE END
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