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From: Bill <>
Subject: [OH-NW-HERITAGE] Black Swamp Heritage, "Silk Tongues", 29 June 2008,Vol 7 #22
Date: Sun, 29 Jun 2008 19:49:21 -0400
Black Swamp Heritage Articles
eduda tsunogisdi
© Bill Oliver
29 June 2008
Vol 7 Issue: #22
ISBN: 1542-9474
Good Evening from the Black Swamp of NWoHIo,
"Silk Tongues"
The Irish have some wonderful stories. Mostly we "Americans" lack
knowledge of the history of the Irish race. The blame for this possibly
rests with the ignorance of the exiles and the "sons" of the exiles. Or,
maybe it rests with the exiles themselves due to not allowing Americans
around them to catch information by contagion.
There is a political and a non-political history of the Irish. In the
beginning, it is said, the Irish [Celtic] Race were the descendants of
the Milesius of Spain and thus are known as the Milesian Race. Surely,
now, it was the Milesians who came and conquered the Fribolg and the
Tuatha De Danann, who first conquered the Fribolg. Though, truth be
known, all three of these races were the different tribes of the great
Celtic family – three streams blended and flowing in one great Gaelic
stream.
Out a ways north by west of Cork lies the village of Blarney. Near there
is the castle of Blarney with its world-famous Blarney Stone. People
come to kiss the Blarney Stone each year, in the hopes of gaining more
eloquent speech. The term Blarney has come to mean 'the ability to
influence and coax with fair words and soft speech without giving offense'.
Grandma Oliver was a stern matriarch. She was hard working, religious
and practical for her day. If you were living with a relative, you
cooked and cleaned house -- like "holy stoning" the cabin floor of Uncle
Monroe [Benson]. If you were living with a daughter [or son] you still
earned your "keep", like Great Grandma [Martha] Whittenberg shelling
peas, rocking on the porch and watching the grand kids playing in the
yard. You attended church and church meetings on Wednesday evening and
Sunday [mornings and afternoons]. It wasted too much time to call
Grandpa in from the fields for lunch so she use a cow horn "trumpet" to
"fetch him in."
Grandma would readily tell stories of her growing up from a little girl
to her being a double great Grandmother. She also put in Aesop's Fables
type moral statements in the stories that suited her purpose. As an
adult I encouraged and listened to them over and over without tiring.
Dad on the other hand was a very fun loving person and his stories
reflected this. His stories told of the shenanigans of him and friends.
This included a most dry sense of humor, such as in a W.C. Fields style,
"Start every day with a smile and get it over with."
Dad inherited Grandma Oliver's ability to storytell which contained
Aesop point. Two examples follow, both showing a practical statement.
One day a farmer's donkey fell down a well. While the animal was braying
piteously the farmer thought about what to do about the situation.
Finally, he decided the animal was old and no longer useful and that the
well needed to be covered up anyway.
Inviting his neighbors to help him, the began to shovel dirt into the
well. At first, the donkey realized what was happening and once again
cried horribly. Soon the donkey quieted.
Continuing to shovel loads of dirt into the well different noises were
heard coming from the well shaft. The farmer looked into the well and to
his astonishment he saw the donkey. With each shovel full of dirt that
was put on him, the donkey would shake it off and take a step up.
As the farmer's neighbors continued to shovel dirt into the well, the
donkey would shake it off and take a step up. Shortly, as the well
filled the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and trotted off.
Morel: when life shovels dirt on you, shake it off and take a step up.
The next one is a bit more subtle. [grin]
The Seaman Boatswain and the Boatswain Third were standing at the base
of a ship's mast looking up. A Marine walked by and asked what they were
doing.
"We're supposed to find the height of the mast, but we don't have a
ladder", announced the Boatswain Third.
The Marine took a wrench from the tool box near-by, loosened a few
bolts, and laid the mast down. Then he took a tape measure from the tool
box and took a measurement. He announced:
"Eighteen feet, Six inches", and walked away.
The Boatswain Third laughed and said, "Now, ain't that just like a
Marine! We ask for the height and he gives us the length!"
e-la-Di-e-das-Di ha-WI NV-WA-do-hi-ya NV-WA-to-hi-ya-da.
(May you walk in peace and harmony)
Wado,
Bill
-=-
PostScript:
"Myths are universal and timeless stories that reflect and shape our
lives ..." Alexander McCall Smith, Dream Angus
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