Karta-karta Shou-shou Part 2

(I removed the 'sss for easier reading, but proper nouns retain this dialectal mark. Keep in mind that this is a parody of another book, hence the passages that don't make sense or sound extremely archaic.)

Before beyond the days there was a bloodline styled DTAL'SSS. There was a paterfamilias, who had been among the Royal Guard, Commander Craktala'sss Dtal'sss. (You may believe that Craktala'sss sounds quite a fierce name, but behind reality the future Craktala'sss will be the Emancipator's son, who will be a kind of Tibub Hiif in b.d. 53 and will lead a Rabehikodug company against the Gibab invaders. I believe from then their will be numbers of other Craktala'sss, but I don't understand all about them.) Then there was the Fondler, Nundur Dtal'sss, and a couple of octave twins- Hirtrint, who was a dark-skinned boy, and Hirnun'sss, who was a fair-skinned girl- and they dwelt under a lake near a green hill among the light of the heaven. On the opposite edge of the hill, Nisivob, the large kingdom road around the larger Kada'sss Road, wound about till the the sea. Therefore they possessed the choicest of either lifes – beautiful meadows for watching deer and discovering rabbit holes, with a lake for fish and gudge, and a great wide road near by so that they could fly off and watch the earth when they desired to.
Well, nearly, that is. But the reality amid the appearance was that they didn't possesss enough wealth among them to purchase a dragon. All the wealth they possessed went to necessities -- food and air and light and clothing and many other dull things that one never fully appreciates but families have to have. There was just a bit left over for namedays and Easter and Christmas gifts and rare secret trips – the times that certainly matter.
However the Dtal'sss were a smiling group who all loved their lives and because they were not for a moment disappointed in things, or disappointed that they possessed no dragon to go flying around with, you should not be disappointed for them either.

Following Andrew's Example

I made a Quiz for you! Take my Quiz! and then Check out the Scoreboard!

Karta-karta Shou-shou Part 1

Thi'sss i'sss a short story I am writing, a part fantasy/part nonsense parody of a well-known children'sss chapter book. Try to geus'sss! The triple 'sss are meant to be there, it'sss a dialectal thing from the culture'sss in the story.

Karta-Karta Shou-Shou
A Mystical Dragon

Many dragon'sss were aggregation'sss (that wa'sss an extensive word meaning package'sss) of bone'sss and tendon'sss and muscle'sss and skin, and blood and fire seed'sss and teeth and flame, also the many colour'sss painter'sss use on a picture of a flower field from tomorrow. Flame shot forth from the front of them while tail-curl'sss swept out the back, and they had bright eye'sss like white light'sss regarding you, and red flame'sss within. And that wa'sss about that --- only dragon'sss, fancy fire'sss with wing'sss to fly around with.
However select dragon'sss- mine, for instance, also maybe your'sss- were unusual. If you learned to love them and know them, if you were gentle near them and didn't douse their fire or pull their wing'sss, if you fed them well and praised them along when they wanted that, if you keep scale'sss shiny and brightened and hidden from the cloudburst'sss and avalanche'sss as much as possible, you would see, you MAY see, that they become nearly like people – MORE than only normal people- MAGICAL PEOPLE!!!
You don't believe me? Very well then! You will learn through this story I'm preparing to sing to you now! I know you can surmise it'sss name already- her name, I should say. And after hearing, if you don't agree with me... All dragon'sss aren't only aggregation'sss around blood and bone. SOME ARE.....

(to be continued...if the audience so will'sss....)

Warning: Spoilers

The Lady of The Lake-Sir Walter Scott
Canto IV.the Guard-room stanza XXVI. lines 716-740

Within 't was brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright,
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And from their tissue fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid;
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised,
And fearful round the presence gazed;
For him she sought who owned this state,
The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!-
She gazed on many a princely port
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,-
Then turned bewildered and amazed,
For all stood bare; and in the room
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.
To him each lady's look was lent,
On him each courtier's eye was bent;
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen,
He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring,-
And Snowdoun's Knight in Scotland's King!

Is that wonderful or what? Though I'm usually not a big fan of Walter Scott (I have deplorable taste) this is one of my favorite books. I have a thing for epic poems, and this one has it all: danger, intrigue, mysterious personages unveiled at unlikely moments, truly vile villains, loving fathers, beautiful maidens, gorgeous scenery, and plenty of Scots.

Fairy Tales

I will raise my children to believe in fairy tales, not in Santa Claus, baby-delivering storks, or leprechauns, but in Peter Pan. Now S.C., that funny, lost stork from Dumbo, and little Irish men with red hair and pots of gold are well and good, and my children will know and love them. But they will believe in Peter Pan. My reasons:
When a child believes in these pixies, it is only for a few brief years, then they go through extreme emotional trauma as they discover that their parents lied and deceived them, that no one lives at the North Pole, that babies are not found at the doorstep wrapped in soft blankets, and that you can never reach the end of the rainbow. If they are healthy children, and they will be because they believe in Peter Pan, they will search for the end of the rainbow, but they will not truly believe that there is a pot of gold hidden there. My children will know that the magic is not in the pot of gold, but in the rainbow; magic is not in Santa but the bright colours, red and green and gold, on the wrapping papers; magic is not in the storks, but in the babies.
But Peter Pan is the magic. To me, Peter is not the pixie he appears in Walt Disney's animated movie. To me, he is a little boy, with a little boy's vanities, who stopped growing just as he started growing. I see him as a boy with blond hair, eyes that are older than his body, and wise with the magic that is in him, slender and quick, but with that little sag in his stomach that small boys have before they learn to hold it in. Not a flirt, but just a boy, who really doesn't care about girls, and though Wendy and Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell think they must compete for his affections, he only sees them as playmates he must be more careful with.
"The whole happiness of fairyland hangs upon a thread, upon one thread." That thread is the vanity of Peter Pan. As long as Peter never grows up, even when you are grown up, fairyland is still open. But if once Peter stays too long in our world, listening to stories about himself at the window of the next Wendy, and grows up, then fairyland will shatter beyond all hope of repair, for we will have lost our guide to fairyland.

Manly Traits in Literature

It recently occurred to me that unmarried girls of the literary vein have an unrealized but very strong literary judgment of any men in their lives. I was thinking, merely to amuse myself, that if I could only name one of Mr. Darcy's qualities, which would be the one that completely personified him. Then a thought flitted across my mind to do the same with all the great male characters in literature, so...

Henceforth all the men in you literary lasses lives should have all of the following qualities, and read the book from whence each gentleman comes; otherwise he is not worthy.

Mr. Knightly's knightlyness
Mr. Darcy's manners
John Brook's niceness
Mr. Bhaer's comfort
Robin Hood's justice
Wiliam Wallace's scottishness (this being quite essential)
Gilbert Blythe's persistance
Faramir's leadership
Sam Gamgee's friendship
Edward Ferrer's honor
Henry V's nobility
Pa Ingall's wisdom
Dr. McNiel's service (and scottishness, again)
Zachary Moon's romance (in the good, old-fashioned way)
Grandfather Fordyce's jollity
Jack Aubrey's boldness
David Lyall hominess

(now for the unmarried gentlemen)

Matthew Cuthbert's kindness
Peter Pevensie's forgiveness
Edmund Pevensie's redeemed soul
Canon Tallis' resourcefulness
Jean Valjean's self-sacrifice
Roger Walker's unique perspective
Father Brown's purity
Dickon's music
Badger's protection
Mole's steadfastness
and last and very important, every man should have a little bit of pixie dust...
Peter Pan's fun

If I have forgotten any literary gentlemen, forgive me. And above all,
Never Be A Wickham.

"O hushed October morning mild..."

Following in the inestimable footsteps of our beloved Fa-so-la-la, I also take offense of the words a poet used to describe this new season. Frost, however, can never be as foreign as Keats. This morning was not hushed, nor mild, at least by an oven-baked Texan's standard. I have a few items to add to her list of things to occupy your time upon a crisp day.

Item One: Eating fresh demi-biscuits with cider-syrup, drunk with hot Earl Grey in a blue and green tea-mug and cold milk in an old, glass, pot-bellied jelly-jar.

Item Two: Spreading a blanket in the chilly grass, with white, warm socks and a good thought-provoking book, and watching the antics of three playful kittens, two grey and one grey and white, as they discover grass and their climbing abilities for the first time.

Item Three: Lying on the roof with the same thought provoking book as the sun warms you all over, and the kittens curling up next to you.

Item Four: Hearing the crisp sound of scissors cutting through fabric.

Item Five: Having a darling little boy with big brown eyes give you an tight hug.

Item Six: Eating a balony sandwich while looking at pictures of fun summer times.

Item Seven: Dashing about helping your sisters leave for destinations far away at six in the morning.

Item Eight: Sitting on your bed with all the windows open as the wind blows your door open and shut, open and shut, open and shut.....

To the Last Man

Jeff Shaara, whose books Gods and Generals and The Last Full Measure finished the story of the Civil War began by his father's book The Killer Angels, has written an intriguing novel detailing the World War I. To the Last Man begins towards the end of the war, shortly before the Americans enter the conflict. It opens with a vivid description of a nameless English replacement's first days in the trenches, then for the first half of the book follows the German pilot Richthofen, otherwise known as the Red Baron; and Lufberry, an English ace. The last half of the book follows a marine named Temple through the horrors of the trenches. Very well written, like his other books, Mr. Shaara does not break his tradition of showing the lives of men from both sides. This time, however, right and wrong are clear cut in a way that the Civil War was not. It was fascinating to see how Mr. Shaara treats the Germans sympathetically, showing that they too had family and were not all barbarian madmen. His chapters in the trenches are extremely realistic, down to the cooties.

"Temple followed Scarabelli up out of the wide dugout, climbed back up into the open air, the light gone now. He felt the wetness again, the rumble of artillary louder. They were in the mud again, the air cold, chilling the wetness of his uniform. He thought of the poilus, the words of their lieutenant...seven days. We stay here that long, we'll look like that too......He was engulfed by a sickening odor, and his foot kicked something soft. The ground under his feet was uneven now, and he had to step carefully, his boots dropping into the mud, then up again. He felt light rain on his helmet, cold misery dripping down his back, the awful smells boring into him. There was a flash of light, a shell impacting fifty yards behind the trench. There would be no sleep, nothing to erase the numbing shock of the seventy-seven shell, the direct hit on the men who had marched so close behind him.....No names. These men don't want to know, because if you die, they'll forget you anyway."

This book is excellently written, and I recommend it to anyone who has time to read it. World War I is often overshadowed by World War II, but this book does an excellent job of giving a feel for this much neglected period of history.

p.s. Book reports are very boring, and usually make me never want to read the book because the report was so dull. So PLEASE, PLEASE read it. It is very, very good. But, to quote Reading Rainbow, "Don't take my word for it!"

Prayer Request

My cousin Candy Dalton miscarried last night. Please pray for her and Josh.

First Post...how original

Since the first post is the hardest, I will begin and conclude with a modified quote from Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, Commander in Chief, British Expeditionary Force, April 12, 1918.

"There must be no course but to blog. Every post must be written to the last man. There must be no neglect. With our fingers to the keys and believing in the justice of our cause each one of us must blog on to the end."

The original version was much better. I ask myself, why am I blogging? This is pathetic. Oh well, love me, love my blog!

T.T.F.N.