A Fairy Tale from the Castle

The Woman stares up at the tower.   Once she had lived there. She was rapunzel then,  her hair streamed down over the moat and onto the bridge, and all the lovers tried to climb up to her…

You  were not repunzel, says the invisible child sternly.  You were a middle-aged lady with short hair.  Sometimes a man looked up and waved.  That’s not rapunzel.  That’s not even the wicked witch.

The woman ignores her.  I was rapunzel, she repeats.  And when I washed my hair, I hung it out the window to dry.

And it landed in the moat and the last few inches got filthy with moat water and grime and carp crap, and you had to wash it again.

It blew over the moat and floated onto the bridge….

Which was full of dirt and peacock shit and you still had to wash it again.

And the young men all wanted to climb up the hair into my window because I was so beautiful.

And their boots were full of mud and bits of leaves and you still….

But the wicked witch wouldn’t let them, and they all fell into the moat and drowned, she says, very loudly now.

And then what? A sigh.  Better to stop arguing and get the damn story over.

The wicked witch made everybody go to sleep for a hundred years, and so they did.  Except I had insomnia, and stayed awake for many of those years.  It was very boring.

Yes,’ agrees the invisible child with another sigh.  And then what happened?

Well, eventually we all woke up and went about our lives.  But by then the wicked witch had cut my hair all off….

Must have startled the hell out of the carp.

And by then it was all gray anyhow, and no one would have wanted to climb it.

And that’s why you never got married.

Well, it was one of the reasons…

The Return of the Bad Traveler--2013i

It sounds so elegant and sophisticated, doesn't it?  'Where did you go?',  'Oh, Paris and London.'  even i feel inpressed with myself when i see that phrase. but once again, perversity wins ut--or at least nibbles at my heels.  i really hadn't wanted to go anywhere.  but since they changed the policy and nw the caslte is closed for the kids' break, i can't stay here.  so i thught it would be nice to see both places, which i have loved, and haven't been to for years.  it would be easy because i know them pretty well--especially london.  but i doundt dig up any excitement for the trip.

at the asme time, i can't dig  up any disappointment.  i was tired all the time, as i am here, or in brookline, or wherever.  so i slept a lot, which felt great.  it's only the usual old demons that bothered me.  one of the reasons i stopped going to london is that i had stopped enjoying it as a tourist. i felt i'd be happy there for 3 or 6 months, on some sort of work project, and live as i do at home--going out when there's something i really want to go out for, and staying home otherwise.  but you can't do that easily when you're paying hotel bills.  or actually, i can't. no, actually i couldn't. now, it turns out, i can.  the little id voice popped in a lot, saying, 'liten, you're in london; go to a museum or a play.'  but there was no theatre in town that appealed to me much--certainly nothing i'd go to if it were playing at home. only 2 museums i felt compelled to see, and those i actually got to.  these were the national gallery and, of course, the portrait gallery. in the national not only did see christine of denmark [who rejected henry 8's courtship, supposedly with the line, 'if i had 2 heads,' i'd gladly give his majesty one.]. and upstairs, the duttch section, with some wonderful vermeers and de hochs.   and later i got to see two very old friends again, which was lovely.

paris too was fun to see, and i got to the louvre with the group.  i have always disliked the louvre as a museum--too many people, too much sensory input from a million paintings. i got a big panic attack, but had te sense to tell the guide i was leaving, and found my way to the only paintings i cared about--holbein's portrait of anne of cleves.  i kept getting lost and panicky, and took a couple of tranquilizers, which worked but knocked me out later. no matter. a peaceful and almost solitary visit with anne, which made it all worth while. she's still hanging out with erasmus, and for the firt time i had noticed at the portrait gallery in london that christine of denmark is also right by erasmus.  i did enjoy this a lot--2 unlikely companions for the great philosopher.  when i left Anne in paris, i got to see also Marguerite of austria, and her english aunt.  between all that and the two city bu tours, i saw all i needed--and slept a lot.  no drama, but a worthy time.

DROP DEAD DIVA Will Return!

AN ODE TO THE RETURN OF OUR DIVA

Speak through me, oh muses of arms and the fans,

Who fought for their diva,  despite the cruel bans!

Sing we now of Ms Elliot and all her fine crewmates

 Returned unto life by the fickle renew-mates!

On the heights of Networkia,  TV gods  did bicker

While pious King Berman  no eyelid would flicker.

Now cheer we, his troops,, who fought all as one

Both  Owen- and Grayson-ites , the cause to be won!

 Together, unweaponed, they toast their great break

With mead and ambrosia, all flavored with pake.

We cheer for our Jane, defiantly unslender

And bet on the Parker and Kim baby’s gender.

Feminists faint and weep manlike to know

we’ll see once more our mighty ms. Cho!

Which quirky guard angel shall to us return,

Does Fred with love for Stacey yet burn?

(And if so, what shall their offspring be—

half mortal, half angel?)  Or shall we just see

our divine buddies back at their website,

guarding ‘return’, one day and one night?

Tell us, oh muse, for which noble fellow

Will Jane’s borrowed heart in the new season bellow?

Or will handsome Tony on heaven-lent steed

Return to her rescue in her hour of need?

Will old Jane return, or be only a dream

Of our Jane’s confusing unconsciousness stream?

How glorious these questions once more to be facing

As the sweet season enters, our triumph embracing!