One from the email archives: Scheherazade

This is a story I sent out via email to my circle of friends and family back on February 3, 2000, before I was on LiveJournal. I think it is a story worth telling again. (Fiona was almost seven at the time this was written):

Here's a story, just because.

Last night, I went into the girls' room to turn off the night light about twenty minutes after I had put them to bed. "Put the books down, girls," I told them. "Lights out."

"No, pleeeaase!" they begged. "Five minutes more?"

"Okay, five more minutes."

Five minutes later, I came back and made good my threat. Delia contentedly put down her book, snuggled into her bunny blanket, and rolled over to go to sleep. But Fiona burst into tears. "I need more time. Another few minutes, pleeeaase?"

"Honey, I told you five more minutes and I meant it. It's time to go to sleep."

"But, I'm not FINISHED yet!"

I looked at her in affectionate exasperation as she bounced up and down on her mattress in fury, tears rolling down her face. Obviously, she is her Mommy and Daddy's daughter, unable to bear putting down her book. "Sweetheart, look, you're getting to be a better reader, so you're reading longer and longer books, now. You won't always finish your bedtime book every night. That's to be expected. Mommy doesn't finish her book she reads at bedtime every night, either. I have to put a bookmark in it and put it away."

"But it's not fair!" she sobbed.

I sighed, gently but firmly took the book away, and guided her to lie down. I covered her up and began rubbing her tummy, and I suddenly had an inspiration. "Let me tell you a story."

She quieted down immediately.

"Once upon a time there was a rich and powerful king, who had a wife he loved very much, but she betrayed him." (I decided to skip the details.) "Now, since this king was very proud and very angry, he ordered that his wife should be killed. And he made a vow, saying that he would from then on wed a woman every day, but after she spent one night with him as his wife--" (again, we skipped over the details) "--he would have each new bride killed in the morning and then marry a new woman in the afternoon. Finally, it came the turn of the Grand Vizier's beautiful daughter, Scheherazade, to marry the king. The Grand Vizier was overcome with grief, but Scheherazade told him, 'Don't worry, father, I have a plan.'

"In the evening after Scheherazade married the king, Scheherazade's sister came to the king and begged a favor. 'Let my sister tell me a story.'

"'Very well,' said the king. 'And I will listen, too.'

"And so, Scheherazade began to spin the most marvelous tale for her sister and the king. The king was fascinated, but right at the most exciting part of the tale, Scheherazade stopped. 'I will tell the rest tomorrow night,' she said."

Fiona began to smile.

The next day came, and the king thought about killing her, but then he thought, 'No, I want to hear the rest of the story.' And that evening, Scheherazade finished the story, but immediately began telling another, even more exciting than the last. And once again, she stopped, just at the best part.'

Fiona smiled even more.

"Night after night, Scheherazade told part of a story. And day after day the king let her live, because he wanted to hear the rest. Finally, when she had entertained the king for a thousand and one nights, the king had fallen so deeply in love with her because of her stories, that he declared she would live with him as his wife for the rest of their days. The stories that Scheherazade told the king we call the '1001 Arabian Nights.' 'Aladdin' is one of them."

"Aladdin?" Fiona said, brightening. "Really?"

"Mmm, hmm. What part of the story do you suppose Scheherazade stopped at when she told that one?"

Fiona pondered. "Maybe when Aladdin was trapped in the cave?"

"Maybe. She must have been a very clever woman, to think of a thousand stories as exciting as that one, don't you think?"

She nodded.

"Do you see, Fiona? Books, to you, are like Scheherazade. You are like the king. You will simply have to wait until tomorrow to find out the rest of the story, just as the king did. Okay?"

She nodded, finally satisfied.

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead and then turned to go. She reached out for me again. "Stay with me, please?"

"No, this is my writing time. I have a story to tell, just like Scheherazade."

I went to my office and wrote for a while. And then I went to bed and read until very late. I hadn't yet finished the book when I put the bookmark in, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

Cinema Fiction vs. Physics Reality

Ghosts, Vampires, and Zombies:

Two physicists examine certain features of popular myths regarding ghosts, vampires, and zombies as they appear in film and folklore.

Happy Halloween!

Bunty

Neil Gaiman made a passing reference in a recent blog entry of, back when he was a boy, picking up copies of Bunty long ago for his sisters but reading it himself first. I was surprised by the pleasant flood of nostalgia I felt at Neil's casual offhand reference. Lordy, I haven't thought of Bunty for years. It was a girls' weekly comic book which was published in the British Isles starting in 1958, and at its peak, it reached a circulation of one million copies. Bunty continued until it quietly folded in 2001, done in by the changes in cultural trends and marketing to girls and teens.

It's rather surprising, I suppose, that I ever had the chance to even read it, but I had a friend who, like me, took ballet, who had an aunt who faithfully sent her copies from over the ocean, and Katie kindly let me borrow them to read. Great literature it was not, but there was something about those stories that were just exactly right for me at the stage of life I was at when I encountered them: exciting tales about girls having adventures, with their friends at their sides. I devoured them and loved them and desperately pined to have my own copies. I loved all the stories about the Four Marys and especially about Lorna Drake, who was studying to be a ballerina.

Here's to you, Bunty. I remember you, over thirty five years later, with affection and gratitude. Thanks for all the stories. I suppose my memory is rather rose-colored (I had much less critical discernment back when I was ten), but still, I wish I could have introduced my own little girls to you, too.

My checkbook

I have chased down the errors in my checkbook register and now it matches my records in Quicken.

It is absurd how happy this makes me feel.