Children's fairy tales are not what they used to be, and five year olds possess a level of sophistication that is astounding. It almost makes you kind of want to do your life over, as them.
The plot and message of the story that the Nootch and I were reading the other day was unmistakable. When the enchanting Princess Elizabeth decides to rescue the hapless Prince Ronald from the lair of the annoying, fire breathing, crazily narcissistic dragon, she opts for a deceptively simple disguise: an ordinary, sustainable, everyday item from the grocery store, so as to avoid detection. And thus she transforms herself into "The [covertly stealthy and super smart] Paper Bag Princess." Clothes may make the man as Polonius admonishes Laertes, but modern women buy on sale, if at all, and just get to work.
The author Robert Munsch (this was written by a man???), goes on to relate the fiery trials Elizabeth endures to free the hapless prince from the flaming environs of the silly, self obsessed dragon, a feat she accomplishes through a series of carefully crafted manipulations designed to appeal to the monster's ego, and in this manner wear him out.
When all is said and done, the freed but not liberated prince- instead of thanking his fiancee- rather immediately makes mention of her disheveled, unsightly, unglamorous, soot covered look. Elizabeth quickly decides to chuck the guy, then, as the beaming, accompanying illustration indicates, lives happily ever after.
At the end of the tale, we had a little discussion about the book as we usually do, and I asked the Nootch why she thought the princess jettisoned the prince.
Without skipping a beat, this five year old with the thirty year old sensibility of a true post millennial replied with confidence, equanimity and certain knowledge: "Ronald is a jerk!"
As if to imply, isn't this self evident?
Like the sun rising each day and the Earth being round, stories do not always end the way they used to, and everyone knows this.
Oh, uh, okay. . . . Got it.
Silly me.
The world is moving at "multi tasking" lightning speed, though in silent, staccato clicks.
It's all on your phone. A life's history, a running tally of friends, family, shopping habits, bills, cares, fantasies, health concerns, dreams worries, all the places you may have visited in virtual reality, in your imagination, in real time and/or in your car or on foot.
An entire diary of one's hopes, desires, fears, frustrations, favorite tunes and prosaic daily tasks. A detailed, satellite picture of your every footstep, whether in truth or imagined.
The question that continually comes up: why do we need to get all this done anyway, in the fastest way possible, then meticulously inscribe and post every movement, interaction, image and blip of consciousness into the ship's log of your existence? Is there a soundtrack for this?
During the first small heat wave in June I was headed to the market in my battered, little Civic- masked, locked and loaded against all and any germs- when I turned on the radio and heard- nay, was enveloped by!- the familiar, eternal chords of Swan Lake.
Without a doubt, the exquisite, shape shifting myth is a strange tale of transmogrification, a poignant, tragic narrative, inducing the creation of a magical and majesterial ballet suite, a symphony of deepest fantasy.The story of Odette and her prince, their dark doubles Odile and Rothbart, eternity and mortality and the forces of good and evil give rise to a kind of shattering, indelible music. I acknowledge that the die hard Baroque groupies and such will turn up their smarmy noses at this shamelessly romantic, emotional outpouring of fairy dust schmaltz that brings me to near tears every time I hear it, but no matter.
As the music filled the parked car and the story unfolded in my mind, for one crystal moment, the sight of all those tired, over heated souls with face coverings as observed through the windshield, dragging themselves along the hot streets during the summer of not-going-anywhere, suddenly melted into a kind of suspended, melodic collage of pure, happy listening.
So you see, I'm not really talking about the pandemic anymore. . . .
