The discussion at the manor this past weekend centered around the phrase "a wolf in sheep's clothing". You know the kind of individual I'm talking about. They portray themselves to be a kind, honest person, even hiding behind a strict set of morals, yet in reality are totally the opposite. . As usual, it made me wonder about the etymology behind the phrase. Did you know it all started as one of the fables of Aesop? According to the fable, a hungry wolf found a sheep's fleece lying on the ground in a field. The wolf realized that if it wore the fleece, it would look like a sheep from a distance. He could steal a lamb for supper without the shepherd noticing.
So, the wolf put on the fleece, and went off in search of a flock of sheep. Just as it was about to pounce on a lamb, a shepherd came by, looking for a sheep to slaughter for supper. Thinking the disguised wolf was a sheep, the shepherd quickly grabbed and killed the wolf. . The intended lesson was this: "Frauds and liars are always discovered, eventually, and pay for their actions accordingly." The moral is sometimes also told as, "The evil doer often comes to harm through his own deceit". . The King James Version of the Bible, written in 1611 gives this warning, in Matthew 7:15: "Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. But Aesop is given original credit, since he wrote it sometime in the 620-560 BC range. . Today, in English, "a wolf in sheep's clothing" has become a common metaphor for any hidden danger or for any enemy putting on a false display of friendship. . On a lighter note, remember The Big Bad Wolf used this disguise tactic in Disney's Three Little Pigs, in an attempt to fool Fifer and Fiddler Pigs.
Today is the 144th anniversary of the greatest maritime disaster in United States history. The steamship Sultana, a Mississippi River paddle wheeler, contracted by the U. S. War Department, was loaded with Union soldiers, just released from Confederate prison camps. The legal capacity for the ship was 376, but was crowded with 2400 soldiers, desperate to get home. One of the Sultana's four boilers, poorly repaired just days earlier, exploded, causing the ship to sink
several miles north of Memphis on April 27, 1865.
photo of the over crowded Sultana
taken the day before the disaster
.
No exact death toll is known, but the official count by the United States Customs Service was 1,547 and estimates range from 1,300 to 1,900, even more than perished on the Titanic. This disaster received somewhat diminished attention, since it took place soon after the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln and during the closing weeks of the Civil War.
Peachy Bright's statement of Civil War service
from the National Archives
.
My two great-great-great uncles, Peachy and Isaac Bright, born 1841 and 1843, in Madison Township, Montgomery Co, Ohio and enlisted into service from Howard Co., Indiana in the 24th Indiana Artillery Regiment, were on board the Sultana. They had both just been released from the horrific Andersonville prison camp and were finally on their way home to their loved ones. Sadly, they both perished in the explosion. . Peachy's pocket watch was given to me by my grandfather, just a few months before he died at the age of 93. Regrettably, the tin type photos of both young Bright brothers were separated from the collection of family albums I am currently scanning and cataloging into a book for the extended family.
My family laughs at me when I'm in one of these modes. They say I flutter like mama bird rearranging her nest. I hop about shifting items from one room to another. Those of you who know me personally, know I periodically shuffle my stuff, like a deck of cards. After it's been in a certain spot for a while, it looses it's sparkle, and gets stale; and not just because it's covered by a thick layer of dust.
This quirky domestic practice always causes a major phenomenon, which I fondly call the "chain reaction". I move one framed picture, and the nail holes, resembling target practice from the last chain reaction, are annoyingly exposed. So, this means I have to be extra creative in placing the fresh one, because I don't want to have to paint the entire wall. Next, the picture calls for a tweaking and replacing of books, vases and other paraphernalia to balance into a comfortable "nest" configuration. (By the way, I've heard they're pronounced "vases" if their worth under $100 and "vaazes" if over. Mine are vases.)
This chain reaction can last an entire day. You are probably thinking this sounds a bit on the OCD side, which does happen to run rampant in my extended family, but I'm a fairly laid back kinda girl. It doesn't happen that often. The end result gives the illusion of fresh new stuff. I say it's a good thing; a form of recycling that makes this little Magpie very happy. And in this economy, it's easy on the budget, too.
**The photo above is the freshly hung prints from yesterday's chain reaction, above my desk, off the kitchen. (Notice the little side print to hide the exposed nail holes!) It's an old drafting table rescued in the 70's from an old school in Kansas City. It's standing height, so I don't have to sit down every time I pop over to check my blogs. Love it. I'm tempted to paint it black. Whatd'ya think?
At the end of the chain reaction, I always have an item or two left. Heavens to murgatroyd, what AM I going to do with this guy?
When I headed out for my walk the other evening, this sweet violet caught my eye. It was stretching it's pretty wee head out of a crack, of all places, smack dab in the center of the asphalt drive. The old adage "bloom where you're planted" came to mind. (Actually, this is a wise ancient Afghan proverb.) So, no matter what cracks you may find yourselves in, dear bloggy friends, take some advice from dear old Mother Earth; just hold your heads high and bloom, bloom away!
I have the great privilege of being featured on the charming David McMahon's well known Authorblog's Sunday Roast [click here] today! He's the handsome Aussie journalist and photographer you've seen popping around the bloggyhood in his blue diving suit. Hop on over to his blog and say hello. David is the nicest guy ever. Thank you Mr. McMahon, I'm very honored, indeed.
Codependence is described as a disease that originates in dysfunctional families where children learn to overcompensate for their parent's disorders, in order to cope, and develop an excessive sensitivity to other's needs. The term "dysfunctional family" originally referred only to families with patterns of interaction associated with alcoholism. It is now, however, recognized as a disease occurring in family systems based on "denial" or "shame based rules."
Living in this environment is much like walking through a psychological minefield. This includes a wide spectrum of pathological emotional interactions in families, but there is always an avoidance of confrontation and inability to resolve conflict. Adult children of dysfunctional families often suffer from a sense of confusion and deprivation, that has continued into their adult life, as well as low self esteem. So, in order to compensate, they are highly approval driven individuals, which often puts them in the position of being taken advantage of, exacerbating the situation.
I highly recommend Melody Beattie's book, Beyond Codependency: And Getting Better All the Time, which several years ago, literally changed my life. Certain people in your life may be experts in demonstrating toxic and abusive behavior. They behave in certain ways to provoke or seduce their victims into reacting in certain ways.
Melody Beattie suggests that if we stop giving them the reaction they want, we take all the joy out of it for them. And here's a point that's very important to realize; when you refrain from being controlled by their seduction, regardless of how irrational and rude their behavior is, you then remove yourself from their control and take away their power over you.
It's an on going process, but I've come such a long way. Thank you, Melody for giving me the confidence to rise above hurt and control and embrace a stronger, happy and liberated life. You're a good friend to have.
Earth does not understand her child, Who from the loud gregarious town Returns, depleted and defiled, To the still woods, to fling him down.
Earth can not count the sons she bore: The wounded lynx, the wounded man Come trailing blood unto her door; She shelters both as best she can.
But she is early up and out, To trim the year or strip its bones; She has no time to stand about Talking of him in undertones
Who has no aim but to forget, Be left in peace, be lying thus For days, for years, for centuries yet, Unshaven and anonymous;
Who, marked for failure, dulled by grief, Has traded in his wife and friend For this warm ledge, this alder leaf: Comfort that does not comprehend.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1934 . .
How appropriate that this Theme Thursday is "earth", this coming Wednesday being Earth Day. Since you know I am taking full advantage of National Poetry Month, I had to post this powerful piece by one of my very favorite poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950. She was an American lyrical poet and playwright, the shining red haired heroine of bohemian fame, famous for her insouciance and bravado. Millay was the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923. . . photo from Flickr by mikE~510
Since next Wednesday is Earth Day, I was wondering why we sometimes speak of Earth as "great Mother Earth". Among almost all peoples, the Earth was at one time reverenced as the "mother" of all. The Romans, for example, tell the story of how the two sons of Tarquinius, together with Junius Brutus, asked the local Delphic Oracle which one of them would succeed to the throne of Rome. The oracle replied, "He who shall first kiss his mother." The two Tarquinius sons raced home to find their mother, but the clever Junius Brutus fell to the ground saying, "Thus I kiss thee, oh Earth, great mother of us all." And the rest is history. Brutus, indeed, did become the ruler of the Roman Empire.
Well, there you have it, dear bloggy friends. I knew you were just craving this earthy little tidbit of knowledge, weren't you? And on a lighter note, here's one of the funniest scenes from the film Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. "Not mother?"
It's a cold, rainy Monday here in my neck of the woods. The pelting rhythm on the skylights all afternoon has been working on me like a lullaby. The most exciting thing that's happened all day, is finding this quirky mushroom with two stems, in the pound I sliced up for dinner. Pretty cool, huh? Heavens to murgatroyd! Maybe it's a good omen? I'm thinking it is!
I almost always make this wonderfully moist cake for Easter at the manor. It's similar to carrot cake, only lighter and fluffier. It's a perfect finish to a dinner of roast rosemary leg of lamb and asparagus. Yummity-yum-yum-yum!! It is said that this cake takes it's name from the fact that it tastes so good that you'll "hum" when you eat it! (disregard random bookish background rubble)
Willow's Hummingbird Cake
[cake] 3 cups flour 2 cups sugar 1 tsp baking soda 1 tsp cinnamon 1/2 tsp salt 3 eggs 3/4 cup oil 1 3/4 cup mashed ripe bananas (about 4) 1 8-ounce can crushed pineapple with juice 1 cup chopped walnuts 2 tsp vanilla extract
Heat oven to 350. Butter and flour three round 9 inch cake pans. In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon and salt. Add eggs and oil, stirring until moist; do not beat. Stir in pineapple with juice, bananas, walnuts and vanilla.
Divide batter evenly among cake pans. Bake 20 minutes. Cool 10 minutes in pan, then invert on wire racks to cool.
Frost between all layers, as well as sides and top of cake. Top with coconut. You can make this cake a day or two ahead, as it ages well, and actually moistens with age.
Hope all of you are enjoying the day~!
PS... Abe Lincoln (yes, that's his real name, and yes, he is related to the Abraham Lincoln) gave me an extra kind mention on his blog, Brookville Daily Photo, yesterday. Stop by his place, actually, he has three lovely blogs, and say hello. .
To me, Easter always brings thoughts of renewal and restoration. I simply adore this photo of a Vatican nun repairing a tapestry designed by Raphael. It is so rich with symbolism. The subject of Christ, the gentle, loving hands of the nun, the gold threads of repair, and even the pierced heart shaped pincushion; all lovely reminders of what Easter is all about.
This photo was taken by James L. Stanfield and is included in the National Geographic book, Inside the Vatican, 1991.
Happy Easter Wishes to you and yours, dear bloggy friends!
You've probably noticed from my sidebar, that I'm reading a book by New Zealand novelist and poet, Janet Frame, Towards Another Summer, written while she was in London in 1963. She considered the book to be too personal to share during her lifetime and it was just published this year (2009).
This week's Netflix pick An Angel at my Table, 1989, was originally produced as a three part miniseries for New Zealand television. I had seen this movie years ago, but wanted to watch it again, since my interest in Frame has been renewed with the novel. I enjoyed it even more the second time around.
It is superbly directed by Jane Campion (The Piano) and is based on the autobiography Janet Frame. Starting with her birth in 1924, it covers the first forty years of her life and takes nearly three hours to tell the story. The film is divided into three sections, but I was so intrigued, I had to watch the whole thing at one setting.
Suffering from introversion and depression, Frame was misdiagnosed as schizophrenic and spent eight years in a psychiatric hospital, nearly lobotomized. Frame would later become one of New Zealand's most celebrated poets and novelists, publishing her first books while she was still confined to a mental ward.
This film follows her harrowing and often frightening journey as she struggles to accomplish her life's dream of writing, which she used as a form of survival and self defense. Three talented actors play Frame at different ages throughout the film, with Kerry Fox, pictured above, giving a powerful performance as the young adult Janet, whose skill and creative perseverance would prove to be her salvation.
Late snow fell this early morning of spring. At dawn I rose from bed, restless, and looked Out of my window, to wonder if there the snow Fell outside your bedroom, and you watching.
I played my game of solitaire. The cards Came out the same the third time through the deck. The game was stuck. I threw the cards together, And watched the snow that could not do but fall.
Love is like sounds, whose last reverberations Hang on the leaves of strange trees, on mountains As distant as the curving of the earth, Where the snow hangs still in the middle of the air. . . Donald Hall
Hey, did you know April is National Poetry Month? I usually post quite a bit of poetry, anyway, but now I have a wonderful excuse to really lay it on this month! I picked up a lovely book of poetry from the library last week; White Apples and the Taste of Stone: Selected Poems 1946-2006, by Donald Hall.
I love the powerful simplicity of his writing. And as an added surprise, tucked in the back of the book, was an audio CD of Hall reading selections from the book, himself! How cool is that? I felt like he was right here in my easy chair having a cup of tea with me. (Boleslawiec mug, of course!) I've included a charming video of one of his poetry readings, below, if you're interested. . Donald Hall, 1928, considered one of the major American poets of his generation, has published numerous books of poetry. He uses simple, direct language to evoke surrealistic imagery. Hall was appointed Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, commonly known as the Poet Laureate of the United States, in 2004, as well numerous awards. In addition to two Guggenheim Fellowships, he received the Marshall/Nation Award, the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Los Angeles Times Book Award and the Lily Prize for Poetry.
Many of you had snow today, but just a slow, cold drizzle here.
I was tagged this morning from the lovely Elizabeth Wix. If you aren't familiar with this special lady, pop on over to her blog, About New York. She is a wonderful photographer, as well as a published author, and best of all, nice. So stop by and say "hello".
What are your current obsessions?
Besides blogging? Wasa crispbreads with fig preserves. Ruby
nail polish.
Which item from your closet are you wearing most often?
My red woollies.
What's for dinner?
Mushroom cheddar omelette with red onion and a ripe pear.
Last thing you bought?
A vintage 1940's high school sports trophy at Scott's Antique Fair. The winner of the weekend Scrabble game gets to keep in on their
desk all week. It's currently on mine.
What are you listening to?
I usually have WOSU classical radio and NPR news on, but this
morning I'm listening to my favorite Essential Bach album.
.
Say something to the person who tagged you.
Elizabeth, I want to visit you in NYC for some of that lovely cake
and culture!
Favorite vacation spots.
The back patio at Willow Manor.
Vacation spots I must visit before I die.
The Cinque Terre and the Highlands of Scotland.
Reading right now?
Towards Another Summer by Janet Frame and The Poems of
Marianne Moore.
Four words to describe yourself.
Placid, bookish, silly, and a tad on the lazy side.
Guilty pleasure?
Fresh flowers.
First spring thing?
Putter outside with my garden gloves and hat.
Best thing you ate or drank lately?
Homemade french fries with a huge puddle of ketchup.
What spring flower are you most anxious to see?
Lilacs and pale pink peonies at the manor.
Care to share some wisdom?
Life is too short, so Carpe Diem! Cherish your loved ones. Shower
them with unconditional love!
Rules of the meme: Respond and rework.
Answer questions on your own blog.
Replace one question. Add one question.
You are supposed to tag eight bloggers, but I'm going to
leave this one open to anyone who would like to participate.
