Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Pinocchio

This is in part an answer to a posting, "Things From Another World," by Tom Mason, dated July 27, 2009, on a site called (unless I misread things) COMIX 411. Tom Mason seems to have felt very uneasy about a story he found in WALT DISNEY COMICS DIGEST #23, July 1970, called "The Magic Brew," mixing up characters from Duckburg, Pinocchio, and -- since there is no wicked witch in PINOCCHIO (either Collodi's original or Disney's version) -- one who looks very much like the villainess of SNOW WHITE in her witch disguise. Mr. Mason doesn't seem to like crossover stories. Me, I love 'em. Yes, I confess it. (Adv.: My own BLOODY HERRING mixes up at least one character from each of the 14 G&S operas into a single storyline -- e.g., Princess Ida takes over Castle Bunthorne -- while my DANGEROUS PERSUASION is a mashup of characters from RUDDIGORE with Jane Austen's NORTHANGER ABBEY and, of course, PERSUASION. THE BLOODY HERRING is available right now from Wildside Press, DANGEROUS PERSUASION is included in my projected HAUNTED MURGATROYDS OF RUDDIGORE MEGAPACK planned to appear from Wildside Any Year Now.) My fascination with crossovers goes back to early childhood. I already suffered from it the Christmas -- must have been 1954 -- when on a family visit to friends, I encountered a story bringing together Huey, Louie, and Dewey with Pinocchio. With keen interest, I set in to read it. Alas, I had read a mere three pages when, in a figurative sense, Midnight Struck, and we had to go home. That friend tended not to keep comic books around very long, and before my next visit, it was gone. Had I been able to finish reading that story in 1954, chances are that my memory would have swallowed it down, disgorging only a stray image here and there. Left with HLD watching in horror as the wicked witch flew away with Pinocchio, I wondered all my life, in odd moments, what happened next. Such an odd moment taking me in autumn 2016, in curiosity I ran in Internet search on "Hudy, Louie, Dewey, and Pinocchio," and to my gratified astonishment, it turned up that very story, telling me it first appeared in WALT DISNEY'S VACATION PARADE No. 5, 1954. Apparently this is not among the costliest collectors' items, because Comic Book World had a copy available for under $20, incl. S/H. (Another adv., but take this one with caution: not long after buying this comic book, my bank account got hacked and it could have cost me hundreds of $$$ had the bank not refunded. I can't say for sure it was Comic Book World: I have two or three stronger suspects. But CBW did start peppering my e-mail and home page with ads, apparently based on the assumption that anyone who buys an old comic book MUST, q.e.d., dote on superheroes. The only superheroes I ever made an effort to collect were the Inferior Five: otherwise, superheroes rather bore me, and I feel quite sure that Huey, Louie, and Dewey, armed with the Junior Woodchucks' Handbook, could defeat Superman if by some strange quirk they found themselves on opposing sides.) So at long last I was able to finish reading the story; in the 1954 printing, I can find no title except "Huey Dewey and Louie," so am guessing that "The Magic Brew" was a title added in the 1970 reprint. On initial perusal, it did not quite come up to that lifetime of wondering about it. But as I let it percolate in my brain, more of its virtues surfaced. Tom Mason summarizes it, but knowing that not everyone immediately looks up every cross reference, I shall do so again. HDL accept Pinoke's invitation to visit him in his hidden tree house. Seeing them go there together shows the wicked witch where it is, and she manages to kidnap Pinoke and dunks him into her magic brew, turning him into a solid gold statue, which she plans to sell for big bucks. HDL have meanwhile started running away (this was the point where I had to stop reading in 1954), but as they cross the bridge, they see their reflections show yellow in the water. So they go back, catch the witch by surprise, and threaten to dunk her unless she tells them how to disenchant Pinoke. She tries to trick them by giving them directions that in practice turn Huey and Dewey into (talking) apples. To her frustration, Louie happens to be out of range at the crucial moment, so he dunks her into a golden statue, then explores her house until he finds a book with true directions: touch the person to be disenchanted with a feather and say "Abba Kadabba." He uses one of his own tail feathers, and soon Huey, Dewey, and Pinoke are themselves again. Also (first being bound) the witch, whom they tell from now on to dig for her gold like everyone else, and then leave her to get herself untied. The story ends with the nephews gratified to see their reflections are no longer yellow. It has holes. Leaving aside the detail that Pinocchio is still drawn as a wooden puppet -- he becomes a real boy at the end of both Collidi's story and Disney's version, but everybody always ignores that and remembers only the puppet (just as everybody always ignores Ebenezer Scrooge's conversion) -- having seen HDL go into the treehouse with Pinoke, why doesn't the witch capture them right away, too? Surely four golden statues would bring more money than one. And then, a life-sized statue of solid gold would surely be much, much heavier than the story seems to imply. And just leaving the wicked witch as they do hardly seems the most secure long-term solution. On the other hand, the bridge over a small river looks like a solidly folklorish signal of entering a faery realm, especially when the water reflects some quality in whoever is crossing the bridge. And what a pregnant piece of symbolism, to have Louie pluck one of his own feathers for the magic tool he needs! True, Pinocchio seems very much a passive plot device: but the opening panel identifies this as a story about "Huey, Dewey, and Louie," not about "HDL Meet Pinocchio." And it is primaril about the newphews, how they find their courage. With the slightly cynical adult touch that courage alone does not always or necessarily save the day -- had Louie not by good luck been out of range, all three would have been turned into helpless apples for having done the right and courageous thing. I have tried to figure out how it could have been written not as a crossover story, but with only characters appropriate to the disney Duck cycle. Carl Barks could have pulled it off -- using, say, Magica de Spell, with Don himself in the Pinocchio part, and the disenchantment formula turning up in the Junior Woodchucks Handbook. But I cannot remember HDL ever showing run-away cowardice even temporarily in a Carl Barks tale. Perhaps, even though this one is not by Barks, we might take it as a prelude to his saga: how HDL got to be the plucky juvenile heroes they are in the tales by Barks. So far, my efforts to run down two other non-Barks Duck Tales I remember from my 1950s childhood -- one about Don and nephews on an alien planet, and one in which the nephews share Don's dream of himself as a medieval knight, by lying down and dreaming themselves into it -- have failed to meet the surprisingly instant success my "Huey, Dewey, Louie and Pinocchio" search had. I ventured once onto Facebook. Was immediately hacked and even without this -- which COULD of course have been coincidence -- found the experience so unsatisfactory that I plan never to go back there again. It is probably as safe as anything can be in cyberspace, however, to post my e-mail address here: iolanthe3@yahoo.com.

Eucharistic Miracles Being Catholic does not mean you have to believe in these things. In fact, at a conference some years ago when I asked a priest whether or not, as parish librarian, I should leave a VHS about "The Eucharistic Miracle of Lanciano" in the parish library, he said angrily, "Get rid of it, it's heresy!" (Well, I wouldn't have gone quite that far. I'd have called it just silly.) The thing is, the Catholic tradition holds that the "species" (the consecrated bread and wine) become the actual Body and Blood of Jesus, this being God's loving way of sharing the Divine Essence with humanity as intimately as possible. Now, finding this principle a worthy base for my spiritual life, I absolutely revolt at the idea that this great and all-loving God would cancel out the sublime and meaningful wonder by turning the species into a form that most civilized worshipers can't comfortably consume. Sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn't it? What a pitiful cheapening of the greatest miracle of all! What, does Jesus want us to barbecue His dead raw flesh and make czarnina (Polish duck's-blood soup) of His disembodied blood? And what ELSE can one do with Communion species that have been "miraculously" rendered inedible? I guess where such things are purported to happen, that's what the churches concerned in fact do ... but what a housekeeping nightmare! Of course, they can always trot them out for paying tourists to look at, so I guess it's a source of income ... As for the alleged "scientific" testimony: well, say you've miraculously got something you think might be the actual substance of Jesus: doesn't your sense of responsible belief demand that you turn samples over to none but scientists you can trust to handle and test it with Abject Respect? The very scientists who are most likely to bring in exactly the right results to bolster your belief. Not that atheistic scientists would be any better or less biased! As for the scientific results: as I remember that Lanciano VHS, they have seven separate lumps of purported human flesh, and all seven weigh exactly the same as a single one. What the heck is that supposed to prove? I was always taught that the entire Christ was present in every individual Host. So shouldn't even a fragment of one of those seven lumps weigh as much as Jesus Himself weighed in life? For that matter, what do we have, even by the most pious "miracle" interpretation, but DEAD human flesh? Myself, I trust, hope, and pray that all these things are either outright hoaxes or some have some such explanation as bacteria. IF they are in fact actual dead human flesh and blood, then either we have a rather cruel practical joker of a God, or the Devil's hand is more likely to be in it than that of the "Good God" (though for myself, I can't stop toying with the idea that the Devil is simply the "Shadow Side" of God), or we have evidence that would seem to favor the theory, which I understand has become respectable in scientific circles, that we are all of us living inside a computer simulation, and we've got mischievous programmers. My best understanding is that the Catholic Church does not require all its members to believe any miracles at all outside the ones recorded in the Bible: Rome simply declares certain alleged miracles, after due investigation, to be "worthy of belief," meaning you may or may not believe them, as you consider best. I consider best to regard such "miracles" as those of Lanciano as at best pieces of folklore. I don't believe that the famous Shroud of Turin was the burial cloth of Jesus, either ... but won't reopen that particular can of worms just now. And happens I also think that to "believe" in the miracles recorded in the Bible is not necessarily to believe they literally and historically happened. Many of them, especially those in the Gospels, may well have allegorical and symbolic meanings. As for the famous O.T. one when Josue made the sun stand still: I have long suspected there was some kind of idiom in the original language conveying the idea that they had plenty of time for what they needed to do, and later generations forgot the idiom, and/or translators were unaware of it, and so took literally what had been no more than an exaggerated figure of speech.

Tone Deafness?

Some years ago, running an Internet search on "tone deafness" got me very little. Trying one a few months ago got quite a lot, which is promising. Maybe people are starting to notice that there is indeed a legitimate disability here. But ... One of the most prominent sites i found offered a free online test for tone deafness. Out of curiosity to learn how they'd classify mine, i took this test ... and actually got contratulated on scoring 17 out of a possible 20 and having excellent tonal hearing! With more than half a century of direct evidence and testimony to the opposite, i knew better than to take these test results at face value. I must in fact be about as tone deaf as we come short of total and general deafness (which would probably be more socially acceptable). How could the professionals (i assume) who devised the test have gotten it so wildly inaccurate? A little thought showed me the answer: All it really tests is recognition of correct intervals in simple and very well-known tunes (e.g. "Happy Birthday to You") when played in simple, unadorned melody line. THIS, i can hear. But add instrumental accompaniment, and i'm hopelessly confused. Add harmonization of any complexity, and i don't even know where the melody line is, let alone recognize it. As for singing along in the same key as everybody else -- forget it! I can neither hear the difference nor understand, except as a purely intellecutal exercise, why it should be important. Nor do i possess enough sense of rhythm to clap along with everybody else, a lack which accompanies tone deafness. My fear is that other people as tone deaf as myself, but with less experience to recognize the fact, may suffer a false sense of security from such a flawed and imperceptive test as this. Incidentally, one sometimes meets the opinion that "there is no such thing as tone deafness." Of course there is! Though i will admit the name we commonly use for it is misleading, causing many of us -- including some who are actually affected -- to suppose that tone deaf people cannot hear music at all, only monotones. After years of casting about for a better tag, let me propose "untunable" as one to which i would feel little objection.

Curioser and curioser

Just Googled my own name and found a very curious entry in Japanese. It appears to be advertising for some kind of skin care product or establishment. It might be superlative, but, knowing nothing about it beyond what I see on my screen, I can hardly endorse it. How did it get so prominent, right beneath the Wikipedia entry? Does this kind of thing happen to other people?

Rebecca's Choice

Have recently watched (about the fifth time) the 1952 MGM movie version of IVANHOE, which occasionally strays to somewhere more or less in the near vicinity of the novel. (Took me years to learn to enjoy the movie on its own terms.)Just before the final, climactic battle, Rebecca (Elizabeth Taylor) stands at the foot of the stake, between Brian de Bois-Guilbert (George Sanders) and Ivanhoe (Robert Taylor). The two knights are about to engage in a trial by combat to the death. If Bois-Guilbert wins, Ivanhoe will die and Rebecca will be burned at that stake. Bois-Guilbert is in an unwelcome situation: he really loves Rebecca, though he will owe it to his knighthood to fight his best. At the last minute, he tells her softly that if he should concede the trial by combat, he will be forever disgraced in his knighthood but Ivanhoe will be declared the winner (without any danger to himself at all) and Rebecca will live. Bois-Guilbert is ready to bear the disgrace and humiliation, if only Rebecca will come live with him and be his love. (I paraphrase somewhat; I have not yet learned the movie line by line.) At this point, something very large in me always wants Rebecca to answer, "Brian, baby, you're on!" Now that they can do so much with computer graphics, think they'll ever be able to give us a doctored version of the movie with that outcome?
Critical and popular opinion seemed always to be asking about the novel, all through the 19th century, how Ivanhoe could prefer Rowena to Rebecca. (Joan Fontaine as Rowena leaves less of a question mark in the movie.) The question that always hits me, even in the movie -- where they managed to give the hero a lot more heroic stuff to do -- but most especially in the novel, is what on earth can Rebecca see in Ivanhoe? In her place, I'd certainly at least take Brian's offer under serious consideration.

All But a Pleasure

I have just written a novel of about 73,000 words in approximately two months, from initial idea to finished holograph draft. It was an invigorating experience, and one i cannot remember ever happening to me before. I seemed to be more "at play" than "at work" on ALL BUT A PLEASURE. Now, i've been in this game long enough to know that such ready inspiration is no indicator at all of the ultimate worth of any work, and may as easily point to pure trash as to pure gold. The best thing would be to let it mellow about a lustrum (5 years) and see if i still like it myself. Unfortunately, right not i need royalties and have to try bouncing it in its as good as "raw" state off a few editors at once. Starting with a search for a new agent to replace my last one, who unhappily moved out of his body a few years ago.
As i was beginning it, the host on TCM spoke of how Faulkner wrote his novel SANCTUARY, the basis for the movie they were premiering that evening, in 3 weeks, for the money. Obviously, my two months is a snail's pace compared with Faulkner's effort; and he at least did -- presumably -- make money with his novel, where mine could easily fizzle. It's aimed at the romance market; and who ever heard of using a mildly masochistic sesquipedalian virgin as the hero of a modern romance novel? (My toes got cold enough that i added a second pair of lovers with a hero more nearly fitting the template, just to play it a little safer.)
Wish me luck!

Enough, already!

No longer do I feel flattered by invitations to add me to online contact lists. They mean that either these people are paying no attention to my blog, or else they think I'm a liar.
To anyone out there who has paid attention to my blog and refrained from inviting me, MANY THANKS!
Send me a good, old-fashioned email, and I will try to answer it, sooner or later. Depending on what may be going on in my life away from the computer, it can sometimes take me a little while. Meantime, LoL.

Thanks, but no thanks, PLEASE

People are STILL requesting to add me to their online contacts. Again, many thanks for the compliment, but I simply don't indulge in this kind of activity, nor do I ever have "online chat time," if that's what it's called, either scheduled or otherwise. There's nothing personal when I decline your invitations: I must decline EVERYBODY'S invitations.
I don't know what happened to my old website, or when; but if it's going to cost me dollars to get it back, that may just have to wait a while. I've been out of contact with just about everything since my mother's stroke early this past Feb. She is 91, spent until Easter in the hospital and adjoining nursing home. Then back at home from Easter Monday until just last week, when we finally had to put her in a nice, friendly and clean assisted living facility. My time is still going to be quite limited, what with going back and forth to visit her (50 miles round trip), and meanwhile seeing if I can't crack into the modern romance market to take a bit of the pressure off my financial situation. Have been reading romances like crazy these past months: turns out that, if you get the nice, thick ones, there's an amazing lot of doggone good storytelling here, the kind of storytelling that attracted me to adult fantasy forty years ago.

Legend of St. Valentine

When I was a child, my mother told me a legend she had read about St. Valentine and the origin of Valentine cards: not having much money himself, the saint had written letters to various people. His ink turned to gold on the page. It remained gold for every recipient who saved and cherished the letter, but for anyone who tried scraping the gold off, it turned back into dried ink.
I have since been unable to locate this Saint Valentine legend anywhere else, nor has it as yet turned up in such of Mom's old scrapbooks as remain in our keeping. Can anyone out there in cyberland help me? (Use email, please.)

Sorry, I just don't do online chatting with anybody!

Please, please, PLEASE, stop inviting me to join your online chatting contacts! I appreciate the compliment, but I don't do online chatting at all -- my time is too limited, my schedule too erratic -- and it pains me to have to "decline" all these offers. Stick to email, okay?

Bibliography addition

Don't have much time to write these days, but I am doing occasional columns again for GASBAG, the news magazine of FUMGASS (Friends of the University of Michigan Gilbert and Sullivan Society. umgassexec@umich.edu; or UMGASS, 911 N. University Avenue, Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1265)
And a little blurb by me about how much I like "Salt Your Own Chowders" has started appearing in the Vermont Country Store catalogues.

Apologies for refusing invitations

People had been sending invitations to my email. As nearly as I understand, they wanted to join me in ... do they still call these things "chatrooms"? I felt very sorry to have to refuse the invitations without explanation, but could find no way to explain that the closest I get to this activity IS oldfashioned email. Suddenly last month I noticed a little symbol that apparently makes it appear the owner of the address is indeed open to such invitations. So the inviters were acting in good faith, and it must have looked as if I were being rude to them, individual by individual! Let me hope the people most concerned check this blog and see my heartfelt apology to them. I have, I trust, put the little symbol on the setting that shows the true situation.
There are two reasons I don't join in this kind of activity. One is that a number of years ago I saw printouts from a chatroom, and felt appalled at the hard, insulting anger much of it showed. Perhaps this kind of thing is easier when people are learning the power of words and cannot either see face to face or even hear voice to voice the persons they're communicating with. Anyway, I felt no desire to participate in such an exercise, ever. The other reason is that my present day-to-day life is such that it leaves me little wiggle space for any reliable scheduling of what time I can snatch for myself (and usually need for resting; while computer time can invigorate, I do not find it at all restful). Someday, perhaps, time will start seeming so long for me that I will rethink my old decision not to participate in chatrooms or their equivalent. Sorry, it has not arrived yet, as anyone can see by how rarely I manage to post blogs.

The Hors d'0euvre Method of Doggy Meds

Last week Abby developed the doggy equivalent of the common cold. Yes, she gets a vaccination every August; but the vet explained that by June it's wearing off, nor are doggy vaccinations always absolutely 100% effective, any more than our own vaccinations for whichever strain of flu they think is going to hit in any given flu season. Abby's was apparently a mild case, quickly caught, and after a week of treatment she seems well over it.
Now Abby -- like many dogs, I believe -- isn't the easiest entity in the known universe to medicate. During the first half year or so of sharing our home with her, I tried most of the tricks I'd heard of to get her to swallow her pills, and none of them worked very well. In fact, inserting a capsule into a bite of sausage only seemed to insult her.
At last I found a method that has so far worked every time, and since I've never seen it described anywhere else, the whole point of this blog is to pass it along. On a little square snack cracker, I put a generous dab of peanut butter, and perch the pill on top, visible and bold as an olive. She gobbles up as a snack what she scorns as a medication.
If you need such a recipe, may it work as well for you as it has so far for me.
Love!

Derogatory Language

If we are to add "retard" to our list of abusive words to avoid, why is it still respectable and even commendable to use "tone deaf" as a synonym for moral dereliction, as in "tone deaf to ethics," "tone deaf to faith," and so on? While I'm on the subject, why are tone deaf people who aspire to sing guilty of the deadly sin of pride and deserving of public humiliation, whereas wheel-chair bound people who aspire to race show the Triumph of the Human Spirit and deserve cheers and Special Olympics? Would it be that much out of order to suggest a few singalongs for us tone deaf who, as Dr. Oliver Sacks points out in MUSICOPHILIA, often love to sing?
Tone deafness is a wildly misunderstood handicap -- so misunderstood that it can take many years for those of us born with it to understand that we even have it. It is NOT hearing the world in monotone. It is being unable to hear the difference between "in pitch" and "off key." I might perhaps compare it with an inability to fine-tune the sense of pitch. In our own ears, we sing as well as most people outside the realm of opera; and we live in an era which tells us to "Believe in Yourself," even when it means putting your own opinion above that of critics. I have never watched "American Idol" and never intend to watch it; but if what I hear of it is true, then I hold the people in charge of searching out hopefuls and airing videos of substandard contestants completely responsible for victimizing tone deaf people.
In my own childhood innocence, I thought that "carrying a tune" meant going up and down in the right places and to the right degrees -- I have apparently always had pretty accurate hearing for intervals. But after half a century of playing flute and other instruments, frequently in some school or community band or orchestra, I still have no more than an intellectual grasp of the concept of staying "in pitch" -- it has something to do with the key signature. My husband once devised a home test which indicated that the trouble is mainly in my left ear (which in more general tests shows the stronger hearing), and that my right ear seems to hear tones pretty accurately. I suppose that I hear every tone as a chord, which could be why fancy harmonizing causes me to lose the melody line completely. While I appreciate that I cannot hear music as richly as my husband heard it, nevertheless I hear enough to love it deeply, at least in its operatic and pre-Twentieth Century forms. At the same time, it clearly takes more to outrage my ears than it does someone cursed with "perfect pitch."
Well, doesn't it stand to reason that if we tone deaf people couldn't hear music at all, we wouldn't even want to sing, and there would be no problem?
Obviously, "tone deaf" is not the best term for our disability; but I have not yet met a better one. "Tin ear" is to "tone deaf" as "nigger" is to "Negro." "Tonally challenged" in today's climate sounds like a parody. "Tone deaf" is at least comparable to "color blind," which generally refers to an inability to differentiate between only a couple of colors.
Tone deafness is not a voluntary condition. I imagine that it is usually if not always genetic. I try to avoid using any terms that might offend other people; but the more tender we grow about everyone else, the more we hurt those people (e.g., the tone deaf, Gypsies, Wiccans) who remain respectable targets for contumely and insult.
I'd like to propose a sort of umbrella to cover everyone: BAOOPP -- Be Aware Of Other People's Problems. Whenever tempted to badmouth any group, even in terms of casual comparison, stop and think how you would feel if one of the particular groups to which you yourself belong were spoken of in the same way. This isn't "political correctness," it's simple good manners.

"Contacts"

I've gotten a few - are they called "pop-up screens"? - saying so-and-so wants to add me to their contacts. I have tried saying "Yes" and providing the desired data, but somehow it didn't work, and I keep getting the same screen from the individual concerned. As nearly as I can make out, this seems to have something to do with texting, cell phones, "chat room" type communications. I have one toe in the water with website, blogsite, and e-mail ... but that's as far as I choose to go for now! Please, those of you asking to add me to your "contacts," understand that I own neither cell phone nor blackberry, do not text, and have not as yet entered any chatrooms. Therefore, until further notice, I am going to decline all such requests. Apologies - I'm not trying to cut you off - but you wouldn't have been able to reach me except by email or snail mail anyway, so in the long run it probably won't make much difference.

Color blindness at stop lights

As I understand it, color blindness means the inability to distinguish only a few colors, perhaps most often red and green. All my life I've heard comments as to the trouble this can cause at traffic lights. And recently I've seen figures suggesting that up to one-fifth of all adult American males are color blind. Could this explain the time I almost got creamed by someone running a red light?
Why not add shapes to colors at traffic lights? Already we see directional arrows in many of the green and yellow (a.k.a. "amber" or "orange") lights. Why not use arrows in all of them -- pointing up for "straight ahead"? The green lights could have the same three-line arrows currently in use, while in the yellow lights the shaft might be eliminated, leaving only a directional "V." Red lights could use either an "X" or an octagon shape or both combined.
Might this help cut down on accidents at traffic lights?

July 28, 2009
NEW TO MY BIBLIOGRAPHY!
An afterword to Marcus D. Mebes's new edition of ZAUBERLINDA, THE WISE WITCH, by Eva Katharine Gibson ([Shreveport, LA]: Pumpernickel Pickle, 2009)
For more than a century, Eva Gibson's ZAUBERLINDA has labored under the reputation of being a quick, cheap imitation of L. Frank Baum's WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ; and, as nearly as we can tell, this is probably the first complete edition since the original one of 1901; though my Internet search revealed what must be one drastically abridged recent edition.
My Afterword explains why I am confident that any slight resemblance between Gibson's work and Baum's is coincidental. In my opinion, ZAUBERLINDA definitely does NOT deserve unexamined dismissal as an Oz clone -- though an argument could be made that some of Baum's later Oz work, perhaps even parts of the 1939 movie, bear remarkable resemblances to bits that Gibson clearly published first.
Sean Patrick Duffley adds a valuable second Afterword in a short biography of the elusive Eva Katharine Clapp Gibson.
If I have persuaded even a few fellow Oz enthusiasts and other readers that ZAUBERLINDA should be taken on its own merit as at least a minor classic, if I have helped to bring an unjustly neglected gem into its own light at last, I feel prouder of my part in this project than of many a "solo" item in my bibliography.

New Yuletide Carols

Last time, I may not have made my email address quite clear. Please use: karrphyllis@yahoo.com.

At about age 24, I would have hated the thought of Joseph having an earlier wife, or being more than ten years, maximum, older than Mary: I would have preferred the Catholic interpretation of the "brothers and sisters" whom the Gospels give Jesus being in fact cousins. At about age 46, I felt deliciously sympathetic to the Protestant view of those siblings being Mary's younger children by Joseph. At 64, I find myself more and more drawn to the theory that one member of the Holy Family knew what it was to be widowed of a beloved earlier spouse. Some ancient apocryphal writers named her Melcha.

A CAROL FOR MELCHA

How good that woman must have been
Who helped to grow the soul
Of him who made those free from sin
A loving family whole.
O Melcha, Joseph's former wife,
The mother of his sons
And daughters blessed to share the life
Of God's most holy ones --

Your spirit always stayed with him.
How gladly would I paint
You at the crib with all of them:
Yuletide's forgotten saint!
Saint Melcha, pray help ease each heart
Who, widowed, aching, grieves
The union that death keeps apart
Through longing Christmas Eves.

I believe this could be sung to the tune of either "O Little Town of Bethlehem" or "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear. Speaking of which -- it seems to me that "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear" would sound better to the tune of "O Little Town of Bethlehem" than vice versa. Has anyone else got an opinion about this?

A CHRISTMAS EVE LAMENT

Oh, poor little Baby!
We've weighted You down
With vast expectations
And pointy sharp crown.

We expect You to heal
In one single breath
All our ages of conflict,
Of greed, war, and death.

We expect You to clean
With one wave of Your hand
All the messes we've made
Over God's lovely land.

We've made waiting for You
Pious reason to shirk
What parts we might play
In God's holiest work.

No wonder You'll turn
From the conquest we seek,
To die on the cross
With the feeble and meek!

Does this one mark me as a child of the Sixties?
I have no particular melody in mind. I'd thought of trying to fit new words to something like "The Coventry Carol" or perhaps -- ironically -- "Oh Come, Little Children." But these words insisted on flowing out the way they wanted, two days ago.
Some years ago I tried to read a book which made the point that the word we translate "meek" in the Biblical Beatitudes originally meant something more closely akin to "balanced" in the martial arts sense: meeting situations with proportionate actions and reactions. Unfortunately, as nearly as I could see, the rest of the book was all padding for this one idea -- but the idea itself is certainly well worth consideration, so I thank the author heartily for bringing it to my attention.
I do not know whether posting these verses -- hot off my brain the week before Christmas 2008 -- on my blog constitutes "publishing" in the copyright sense, or not. I'd offer them to Public Domain right now, but am not sure I have a right to do so. In any case, I surely wouldn't be the one to prosecute anyone using them.

Mathomshop

October 31, 2008
Home archeology (sifting and sorting through decades' worth of mss. and other assorted clutter) has turned up several copies of an antique self-publication:
BAR SINISTRE. Story & pictures by Frances Lauren [a pseudonym I crafted for myself in those salad days when I actually feared fame enough to threaten my private life] c1967, 1968 [the year I turned 24]. Since I have found this one offered on the Internet for quite a flattering price, it seems only fair to ask a donation of $50 apiece for my own old copies; $40 in combination with:
THE FOLLIES OF SIR HARALD. Green Knight Publishing, c2001. $10 in combination with BAR SINISTRE, otherwise $15.
Explanation: In the 1990's, I returned to the central characters of Bar Sinistre, doing a sort of alternative remake of their story in a more or less Chretien-de-Troyes Arthurian universe as opposed to my original heavily Americanized Malory-cum-Prince Valiant-cum-T.H.White one. The only original character of the 1960s supporting cast to reappear in the 1990s one was Sir Harald's horse Goblin. Follies is in no sense a sequel.
Sorry, I prefer not to attempt dealing over the Internet. Please email me for snail-mail directions. After shipping and handling costs, all proceeds from these "sales" will go to charity.
Phyllis Ann Karr
(Mrs. Clifton Alfred Hoyt)

Diversicon

Thursday, July 31.
Well, after only a quarter of an hour refiguring out the right buttons to hit to get this screen, I'm able to tell the world that tomorrow I'm off to this year's Diversicon in Minneapolis. It's a good little con, that I always enjoy. Some year maybe I can see some of you there?