34th entry to the Colonel`s Scrapbook
August 7th
Births:
1870 19 kittens born to Tarawood Antigone (4 still born) ,as Abe Lincoln said,”No matter how much cats fight,there will always be lots of kittens.”
1876 Mata Hari dancer/courtesan/spy (WW I)born as Gertrude Margarett Zelle, was stupid enough to believe in Vadim de Masslof`s love chants
Died
1941 Rabindranath Tagore, Noble Prize 1913, greatest Indian poet, have always had a crush on him
0117 Death of Marcus Trajan, 65, Roman emperor from A.D. 98-117. His attitude toward Christianity gradually changed from toleration to persecution. It was during Trajan's rule that Apostolic Father Ignatius of Antioch was martyred. Maybe he had a foreshadowing of how evil religion could be
Events
1620 Kepler's mother arrested for witchcraft, showing how ignorant the Inquisitors were 1782 George Washington creates Order of the Purple Heart, while chewing on a feather with his wooden teeth
1819 Battle of Boyac ; Bol¡var defeats Spanish in Colombia, but he always thought that Central Americans should be bartered for freedom1820 1st potatoes planted in Hawaii , potatoes are from America originally
1409 The Council of Pisa closed. Convened to end the Great Schism (1378-1417) caused by two rival popes, the Council in fact elected a third pope, Alexander V (afterwards regarded as an antipope). How holy can a church be if they have always been quarrelling?
August 8th
born
1879 Emiliano Zapata Mexican revolutionary, peasant leader, nice mustache1884 Sara Teasdale US, poet (1st Pulitzer Prize-1918-"Love Songs"),not fit for diabetics,oversweet
Events
1815 Napoleon Bonaparte set sail for exile on St Helena,it was about time someone put this nasty dwarf where he wouldn`t bother anyone
1844 Brigham Young chosen Mormon Church head following Joseph Smith death(lynched) and would be on his way to getting his when his 27th wife Eliza Anne Webb would give him a sound lesson
"Leave just a bit of myself with me so I can call you my everything.”Rabindranath Tagore
"Why did the flower wither and kilt?It did because I hugged her too strongly against my heart,that is why.” Rabindranath Tagore
The child in me is rejoicing. No sir, I am not pregnant, with a baby turning somersaults of glee inside me. I have always carried a child all the time, the kid I was, the one who sat hours on end listening to classical music while her cat also became a melomaniac feline,too. I have just finished listening to the symphonic tale Peter and the Wolf by Ukrainian composer and pianist Sergei Prokofiev, yes you are right, the same one who died of chagrin after Joseph Stalin and the Central Committee of the Communist Party decreed that his music was decadent, too cerebral and with westernizing tendencies unfit for the lofty proletariat of Russia. He had no choice but to bow out gracelessly with an embolia. But Sergei left us with so many beautiful masterworks, and Peter and the Wolf immediately flies me on wings of song, as Jewish Mendelssohn would sing, to my childhood. Classical music and the poetry of Bengal bard Rabindranath Tagore have that almost magical power. We all have a child inside and whoever tries to deny that is a fool and will only end up hurting himself. Peter and the Wolf has always had the power to take me back to when I was happy and undocumented, to paraphrase another favourite author Gabriel Garcìa Màrquez, also Nobel.prize winner.
It is so easy to forget being a child amidst our everyday chores or sudden leaves on missions that were not written on my work plan sheet that dozes its unquiet slumber in the pocket of my jacket, smack over my heart. The stress of our globalized times –although we have been globalized for long ages but we prefer to save this candy for the century we live in now-doesn`t allow us But once in a while someone falls off the navy yacht on which we are aboard and gets fished out by the silk net and the moment has a levity of its own. The formalities are broken, a smile gallops fast into a peal of laughter,and although the crow`s feet at my eye`s corner comes out, there it is. That is the sensation I get while whistling Peter and the Wolf, although it may bring me memories of a friend who was my dear boss, but who died in 2001 and is no longer here to call me with the theme from Peter. May Lorenzo, my former boss at the classical radio where I worked for years, be having a nice conversation with Sergei Prokofiev over a good shot of vodka.
The child in us is determined by how much freedom of movement or speech we get. As adults, we are expected to fulfil our promises, do our duty and always be in charge. The stability of a family falls on the woman`s shoulders, so we get to disguise the kid we have in us as much as it`s possible. Because there will always be something that only mom can do, or a favour only the wife can do for the guy. I chose two quotes from Tagore to start this entry, and they weren`t chosen by accident. When somebody affirms,declares,states,vos,etc. that he is in love with you,dearest reader among all, he wants to swallow you whole, with the child inside. He may even perform a routine abortion on that permanent embryo of glee that we all have inside,and his scalpel or curette of vacuum instrument may be repression,callousness, or jealousy. When Tagore says that he needs his lover to leave him a bit of himself so he can call her his everything it means no smothering, no asphyxia, no strangling the couple to be under the ball of your foot gasping for breath. The child by existing in ourselves doesn`t mean we have a proclivity towards unfaithfulness or that we are some kind of jaded pervert. Not every secret we harbour has a sex symbol in it.So what Tagore says about not smothering the flower by crushing it against your heart is valid too.
The child we were will be with us all our life, whether we like it or not. It will poke his little face out when we least expect it. Look at Mao Tse Tung showing his lack of underwear to several diplomats when it was so hot in China that flies would drop dead from the sweltering heat while in flight in midair. Or Nikita Krushchev pounding his meaty fist on the podium during one general assembly with his Central Committee because they refused to listen. He bawled like a baby ,but surely got their attention. Or King Stefan Cel Mare,the great Moldavian fighter against the Turks, picking his nose inpublic in the middle of a Sunday sermon in church, while his third wife Maria Voichita blushed furiously at what her spouse was doing. The child in us refreshes any moment we are in, particularly when we are feeling mousy and tired and bored by it all. It makes us wonder what would happen if we let out the child to play with the people who are with us at that moment.
Tagore accompanied me since I was 5.I learned to read at age 3,like my compatriot bard Ruben Dario. A reading child doesn`t mean he will never play,he will play as an adult.Take my word for it. It only takes time to realize how much we were missing out on when we refused to join the game. Sooner or later, whatever we decide to play-even something as macabre as playing god-we will join in. Laughter in the classroom has proven to be one of the best learning methods, because not only the teacher brings her own child in but all the students rescue theirs from oblivion. And as we know,children always learn faster. Perhaps because they are never afraid of making mistakes, and even when they fall they pick themselves up faster than we do.As adults,we have a sense of ridicule and many times that is what prevents us from learning properly, or assimilating our own mistakes to draw a lesson from them.
I work at keeping my child alive inside me. Even in my tragic situations, I can laugh at my own shortcomings,pains and disappointments. That is the best balm to heal all wounds,because you know that even a child with a scraped knee or bloody nose, always returns to the playground. And sporting the best smile he or she can give.
August 7th
Births:
1870 19 kittens born to Tarawood Antigone (4 still born) ,as Abe Lincoln said,”No matter how much cats fight,there will always be lots of kittens.”
1876 Mata Hari dancer/courtesan/spy (WW I)born as Gertrude Margarett Zelle, was stupid enough to believe in Vadim de Masslof`s love chants
Died
1941 Rabindranath Tagore, Noble Prize 1913, greatest Indian poet, have always had a crush on him
0117 Death of Marcus Trajan, 65, Roman emperor from A.D. 98-117. His attitude toward Christianity gradually changed from toleration to persecution. It was during Trajan's rule that Apostolic Father Ignatius of Antioch was martyred. Maybe he had a foreshadowing of how evil religion could be
Events
1620 Kepler's mother arrested for witchcraft, showing how ignorant the Inquisitors were 1782 George Washington creates Order of the Purple Heart, while chewing on a feather with his wooden teeth
1819 Battle of Boyac ; Bol¡var defeats Spanish in Colombia, but he always thought that Central Americans should be bartered for freedom1820 1st potatoes planted in Hawaii , potatoes are from America originally
1409 The Council of Pisa closed. Convened to end the Great Schism (1378-1417) caused by two rival popes, the Council in fact elected a third pope, Alexander V (afterwards regarded as an antipope). How holy can a church be if they have always been quarrelling?
August 8th
born
1879 Emiliano Zapata Mexican revolutionary, peasant leader, nice mustache1884 Sara Teasdale US, poet (1st Pulitzer Prize-1918-"Love Songs"),not fit for diabetics,oversweet
Events
1815 Napoleon Bonaparte set sail for exile on St Helena,it was about time someone put this nasty dwarf where he wouldn`t bother anyone
1844 Brigham Young chosen Mormon Church head following Joseph Smith death(lynched) and would be on his way to getting his when his 27th wife Eliza Anne Webb would give him a sound lesson
"Leave just a bit of myself with me so I can call you my everything.”Rabindranath Tagore
"Why did the flower wither and kilt?It did because I hugged her too strongly against my heart,that is why.” Rabindranath Tagore
The child in me is rejoicing. No sir, I am not pregnant, with a baby turning somersaults of glee inside me. I have always carried a child all the time, the kid I was, the one who sat hours on end listening to classical music while her cat also became a melomaniac feline,too. I have just finished listening to the symphonic tale Peter and the Wolf by Ukrainian composer and pianist Sergei Prokofiev, yes you are right, the same one who died of chagrin after Joseph Stalin and the Central Committee of the Communist Party decreed that his music was decadent, too cerebral and with westernizing tendencies unfit for the lofty proletariat of Russia. He had no choice but to bow out gracelessly with an embolia. But Sergei left us with so many beautiful masterworks, and Peter and the Wolf immediately flies me on wings of song, as Jewish Mendelssohn would sing, to my childhood. Classical music and the poetry of Bengal bard Rabindranath Tagore have that almost magical power. We all have a child inside and whoever tries to deny that is a fool and will only end up hurting himself. Peter and the Wolf has always had the power to take me back to when I was happy and undocumented, to paraphrase another favourite author Gabriel Garcìa Màrquez, also Nobel.prize winner.
It is so easy to forget being a child amidst our everyday chores or sudden leaves on missions that were not written on my work plan sheet that dozes its unquiet slumber in the pocket of my jacket, smack over my heart. The stress of our globalized times –although we have been globalized for long ages but we prefer to save this candy for the century we live in now-doesn`t allow us But once in a while someone falls off the navy yacht on which we are aboard and gets fished out by the silk net and the moment has a levity of its own. The formalities are broken, a smile gallops fast into a peal of laughter,and although the crow`s feet at my eye`s corner comes out, there it is. That is the sensation I get while whistling Peter and the Wolf, although it may bring me memories of a friend who was my dear boss, but who died in 2001 and is no longer here to call me with the theme from Peter. May Lorenzo, my former boss at the classical radio where I worked for years, be having a nice conversation with Sergei Prokofiev over a good shot of vodka.
The child in us is determined by how much freedom of movement or speech we get. As adults, we are expected to fulfil our promises, do our duty and always be in charge. The stability of a family falls on the woman`s shoulders, so we get to disguise the kid we have in us as much as it`s possible. Because there will always be something that only mom can do, or a favour only the wife can do for the guy. I chose two quotes from Tagore to start this entry, and they weren`t chosen by accident. When somebody affirms,declares,states,vos,etc. that he is in love with you,dearest reader among all, he wants to swallow you whole, with the child inside. He may even perform a routine abortion on that permanent embryo of glee that we all have inside,and his scalpel or curette of vacuum instrument may be repression,callousness, or jealousy. When Tagore says that he needs his lover to leave him a bit of himself so he can call her his everything it means no smothering, no asphyxia, no strangling the couple to be under the ball of your foot gasping for breath. The child by existing in ourselves doesn`t mean we have a proclivity towards unfaithfulness or that we are some kind of jaded pervert. Not every secret we harbour has a sex symbol in it.So what Tagore says about not smothering the flower by crushing it against your heart is valid too.
The child we were will be with us all our life, whether we like it or not. It will poke his little face out when we least expect it. Look at Mao Tse Tung showing his lack of underwear to several diplomats when it was so hot in China that flies would drop dead from the sweltering heat while in flight in midair. Or Nikita Krushchev pounding his meaty fist on the podium during one general assembly with his Central Committee because they refused to listen. He bawled like a baby ,but surely got their attention. Or King Stefan Cel Mare,the great Moldavian fighter against the Turks, picking his nose inpublic in the middle of a Sunday sermon in church, while his third wife Maria Voichita blushed furiously at what her spouse was doing. The child in us refreshes any moment we are in, particularly when we are feeling mousy and tired and bored by it all. It makes us wonder what would happen if we let out the child to play with the people who are with us at that moment.
Tagore accompanied me since I was 5.I learned to read at age 3,like my compatriot bard Ruben Dario. A reading child doesn`t mean he will never play,he will play as an adult.Take my word for it. It only takes time to realize how much we were missing out on when we refused to join the game. Sooner or later, whatever we decide to play-even something as macabre as playing god-we will join in. Laughter in the classroom has proven to be one of the best learning methods, because not only the teacher brings her own child in but all the students rescue theirs from oblivion. And as we know,children always learn faster. Perhaps because they are never afraid of making mistakes, and even when they fall they pick themselves up faster than we do.As adults,we have a sense of ridicule and many times that is what prevents us from learning properly, or assimilating our own mistakes to draw a lesson from them.
I work at keeping my child alive inside me. Even in my tragic situations, I can laugh at my own shortcomings,pains and disappointments. That is the best balm to heal all wounds,because you know that even a child with a scraped knee or bloody nose, always returns to the playground. And sporting the best smile he or she can give.
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