How Did a Turnip and a Beanstalk Lead to Jack-o-lanterns?

 

One Celtic tradition that crossed the Atlantic with many Irish and Scottish immigrants was the “Jack Tales.”  The one familiar to most of us is the story of “Jack and the Beanstalk.”  Recently, I’ve learned that there are many more of these tales of a sharp-witted trickster named Jack.  Here’s one for Halloween:

The Celts have long observed Samhain (pronounced sah-wheen) on October 31, marking the midpoint between the Autumn Equinox and the Winter Solstice.  As the northern nights grew longer, the Celts believed Samhain was the night when the world of the dead and the spirits was closest to the world of the living.

From this has grown our tradition of ghosts and goblins abroad in the night.  In ancient times, people dressed in costumes to scare the real ghouls away.  Offerings of special foods were set out to appease the ghosts so they would leave without committing mischief.  Hence our tradition of “Trick or Treat.”

The popular Jack-o-Lantern was also part of this tradition.  The tale goes that Jack’s spirit roamed the earth on Samhain, but decided he needed a light to better find his way.  In a farmer’s field he found a very large turnip, hollowed it out, cut eye-holes, and put a candle inside.  Thus was born the JACK-o-Lantern.

Perhaps others in the world of the living took Jack’s idea and turned it into a light to keep the ghosts and ghouls away, placing the lights on their porches or in a window.  In America, pumpkins were more common than turnips and easier to carve.  And so our tradition was born.

Wishing all of you a Happy Halloween!

The Morning After

 Just a teaser: excerpt from a new book I'm working on.  (MFE)

Lauren woke with a start, wondering where she was.  Then she heard the deep breathing beside her and glanced over at the lanky form sleeping there.  His arm was lying underneath her.  White sheets were wadded all around them, and she suddenly saw she was naked.

          Then a rippling shock flowed through her,  What have I done?  Now there’s no turning back.

          Here she was in the silence of a hotel room, feeling a parade of emotions.  First there was fear and regret.  Have I compromised all I thought I believed?  But Dave seems to really care for me--I hope. 

          As she rolled and turned her face toward his, a slight smile played at the corners of his mouth, sending a throbbing thrill through her, echoing the[Ma1] warmth and pleasure of his intimate embrace.  For the first time in a long time she felt loved and safe.

          Now his eyelids fluttered open, and his smile grew larger and warmer.  “Awake now?” he murmured.  “Are you alright?”

          She nodded and drew closer to him.  “I’m fine, for the first time in years.”

          “I’m glad,” he smiled, and then kissed her lips gently.

          She flowed into him, their bodies no longer two separate entities.  There was nothing left to do but let the heat burn on between them.

 

***

 

          They couldn’t be together every night, even though she ached for it.  He needed to find ways to keep his wife from getting suspicious, so she had to be ready to change plans at a moment’s notice.  At first, this didn’t bother her.  After all, it wasn’t as though she had much of a social life.  Just transporting her kids to and from their activities.  Ginna had her driver’s license now, but they couldn’t afford a second car.  This wasn’t a huge problem, since Lauren had few other obligations outside of her job.         

          Soon, she was willing to drop anything to be with Dave, at whatever secret rendezvous he found.  Her needs began to outweigh her thoughts of her children, dear as they were to her.  Hunger for Dave kept growing within her.  Sometimes it caught her in an unexpected rush. Her lower abdomen would get an urgent contraction, then warmth, followed by quickened breathing, and often tears in her eyes.  She’d never realized hormones could do such powerful things to her body.

          Some days she’d get angry for reacting this way, telling herself she shouldn’t feel this intense attraction to someone else’s husband.  But her body was unable to listen.

          As the weeks went by, she stopped counting their encounters.  Whether this grew out of guilty feelings or not, she told herself not to care.  Things began to blur.  All she could focus on was when they could be together again.

          One Friday after work, he drove much farther than usual, west toward Denver.

          “Where are we going?”

          “Someplace special,” he grinned.

          It was late fall and the days were growing shorter, so everything was dark, and stars were appearing by the time he pulled into a lane with a sign reading Palisade Estates.  The road was unpaved and rough, so he took it slowly.  Evergreen trees loomed high overhead, blocking the stars.  Then just as he rounded a corner, a mountain vista opened with a small log cabin in the foreground.

          “Well, what do you think?”

          “Oh, Dave, it’s really romantic out here in the wilderness with only the stars to see[Ma2]  by.”

          “I’m glad you like it,” he smiled.  “It’s been one of my favorite places for a long time.”  He gathered her into his long arms.

          For an instant, she wondered if he and his wife had come here often but dared[Ma3]  not ask.  Instead, she took a deep breath to clear her mind as they got out of his car.

          “Why didn’t you tell me we were coming so far?”  she asked, an edge in her voice.

          “I’m sorry.  Is there a problem?”

          “Well--I guess not.  My kids are both sleeping over at friends’ places since it’s Friday.  But I need to know if I’m going to be gone more than one night.”

          He covered her hand with his large warm one.  “Your hands are cold,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t forewarn you.  I guess I’m only thinking of my needs.”

          My kids are old enough to manage.  She wanted to believe this—to stop the feeling of guilt growing in her chest.  Then her physical need for him began to override these thoughts.

          By this time, he’d pulled her closer and was gently moving his thumb across her cheek.  “You are so wonderful for me,” he murmured.

          Even though she wanted to reply, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.  Gazing over his shoulder, she could see the full moon rising behind him.  Soon his hair was outlined in a halo of moonlight.

          As they stood on the small cabin’s porch, his hands moved to her shoulders before she realized he’d even lifted them.  In the next instant, her sweater was being pulled over her head and his hands were working their way into her blouse.   One of his arms was behind her shoulders, pulling her toward him in a fierce embrace.  She’d never felt such urgency and power in him.  His lips pressed hard and hot against hers.  Gradually he moved his lips down her neck, and she moaned in pleasure. 

          Then he carried her in his arms through the cabin’s door, both of them pulling off clothing and tossing it aside as they made their way to the tiny room’s bed.

 

---

 [Ma1]comma

 [Ma2]maybe wilderness instead of wilds

 

 [Ma3]no comma after often

 

TURN, TURN, TURN

 As the seasons change, I have begun to analyze the thoughts of change flowing through my mind.

Many people in my generation probably have heard the songs of the “Folk Revival” of the 1960’s.  Things like “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” “If I Had a Hammer”, “We Shall Overcome” and “Blowing in the Wind”.  There were others that were composed as songs protesting the Vietnam War and pleading for peace.

One of my favorites was “Turn, Turn, Turn” recorded by the Byrds.  It was an adaptation of verses found in the Bible book of Ecclesiastes (chapter 3).  The words are almost identical:

“To everything (turn, turn, turn) there is a season (turn, turn, turn), and a time to every purpose under heaven.”  It goes on to list many cycles of life:  “A time to be born, a time to die, a time to kill, a time to heal,  a time for war, a time for peace…” etc.

With the way our world is going these days, these words mean even more now that they did in the 1960s.  To me it seems like history is repeating itself—the mistakes and problems, not the good things.

This idea of the unending cycles of life is highlighted in the old folk song, “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” as well.  I believe this is an adaptation of an old Russian song, though I’m not sure.  It begins with the title question, and answers that young girls have picked all the flowers.  Then it goes on the say that all the girls have gone to young men, the young men to soldiers, the soldiers to war, then to graveyards—every one. 

The final verse asks, “Where have all the graveyards gone?” and answers “Gone to flowers everyone.”  The cycle resumes.

The most poignant part of the song is the phrase that ends each verse, “When will they ever learn?"  When will we ever learn?

As the World Gets Colder

 September has arrived at last.  Lord, these fall days are so beautiful here--crisp mornings, changing colors, shorter days, and colorful sunsets.

But we humans have marred and scarred your lovely creation with violence, sickness, and death.  Thank you for sending your Son to pay the price for all of this, all our sins.

The past few years our world appears to be in a prolonged Autumn, moving inexorably into the death of winter.  This happens in people's hearts, and in our relationships.  I depicted this in a spiritual fantasy called, "When the World Grows Cold."  (You can find it on Amazon or order it in any bookstore.)

As frail humans, our days here are limited.  But after winter comes spring, the time of rebirth and hope.  Lord, I pray that our world will someday be reborn and made new, restored and perfect again.

mferler@peaksandbeyond.com

Shoulders of Giants

 The first and last time I read Isaac Asimov's Foundation Trilogy, I was in college, in the early 1970s.  I loved it then, and now that I've just re-read it almost 50 years later, I still love and admire it.  

This science fiction classic is older than I am, but it still holds a wealth of truth and meaning, even though many outward things have changed in my lifetime.  When I was born, man hadn't been beyond our planet's atmosphere, there were no cordless phones, let alone cell phones.  Scientists were just beginning to understand the mysteries of the atom.  The stars were fuzzy shapes seen through earth's atmosphere.  Computers were rooms full of reels, tubes, and wires.  The whole control room at NASA's Johnson Space Center hadn't been developed yet, and when it was it carried the same capacity that we can fit in our pockets now, or on our wrists.

So how can it be that books written before 1950 still have something to say to our modern age?  Because I believe Asimov in this series has dealt with the fundamentals of human thought and behavior.  And he's done it the way only a very skillful and well-educated scientist/author can.

For me it boils down to the truth that human nature doesn't really change.  We can be in a setting far in the past, such as The Clan of the Cave Bear, the less-distant past of the European Middle Ages, the more contemporary settings of most modern fiction set in the twentieth century, or the far distant future that most sci-fi writers use.  Human beings, no matter when they are living, all have the same mental processes, emotions, foibles, faults, and all.

As an author of fiction (mostly science fiction, I confess), I am seeking in my own small way to emulate great thinkers and writers like Asimov.  Perhaps I'm hoping to catch a better glimpse of some far-off truth by attempting to stand on the shoulders of these giants who came before me.  (I know there's a quote to that effect somewhere, but I can't remember who said it.)  And I'll keep on looking for this "Great Beyond" until my dying day, I suppose.

The Amazing Gift of Grace

 I ran across a very interesting quote today:  "The Gospel, it is said, comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable."

True in my experience!  The second verse of John Newton's hymn, Amazing Grace, says this well, too:  "Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved."

What does grace have to do with the Gospel?  Everything!  If God wasn't being gracious to us, none of us would have any hope of measuring up to His standards.  He sent his Son to provide what we couldn't do for ourselves.  I've seen an acrostic like this:

God's

Riches

At 

Christ's

Expense

Some denominations don't like this particular verse of Newton's hymn, though, and exclude it from their hymn books, saying it crosses what they see is a definite line between the action of God's Law and God's Gospel of Grace.

Yes, St. Paul talks about the different roles of Law and Gospel in his letter to the Romans.  But there is more of a gray area or overlap between these concepts in real life.   In an individual life or heart, comfort and affliction often co-exist.

In my humble opinion, God works according to His ways, not always by the rigid definitions we humans prescribe.  He sees the whole picture, and we don't.

The Trials of Parenting a Tourette's Child

 

NOTE:  Here is a continuation of an excerpt from a book I'm working on, called "Far From Magnolia Drive."  It's a story of a mother and her family, echoing some of my own experiences, but not a memoir.  If you want to read the first excerpt, it's in my archives.  Hopefully, there will be more chapters to come.

Lying sleepless in bed, she listened to Rick snoring softly.  The sound didn’t really bother her.  She was just envious that he was asleep.  Her mind was whirling around, trying to pray, but her thoughts kept wandering.

Turning onto her right side, produced an angry meow. 

“Sorry, Tiglet,” she whispered.  “Didn’t know you were there.”

The tiger-striped cat they’d been given last year curled up between her knees and arms, in the hollow made by lying on her side.  They had always been cat people, so after Rick’s first cat Tiger died, all of them longed to have another brown-striped cat.  Since this one was a kitten, the name Tiglet came naturally.  He felt warm and cuddly, and the sound of his purring began to relax her.  Still the thoughts kept flowing:

          She remembered when they first noticed Jay squinting his eyes and blinking a lot in kindergarten.  Sometimes his mouth twitched, too.  When they took him to the eye doctor, they learned he did need glasses, but glasses didn’t stop the blinking.  When they asked the pediatrician about it, she said he’d outgrow it.

          The next thing that came along was the constant throat clearing, with clicking sounds interrupting his speech.  About this time, she saw a feature on Tourette’s on one of those news shows, probably Sixty Minutes. That’s when she began to wonder, but no one else noticed.  Maybe I’m being paranoid, she told herself at the time.

          Next they took Jay to an Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, who said his noises weren’t caused by allergies, and maybe he was becoming a stutterer.  This turned out to be another dead end.  She decided God was making her work too hard at learning patience.

         

How she wished she could go to sleep, to keep these thoughts from carrying her away.  They just wouldn’t stop tonight--like a dam had burst in her mind, with all kinds of old suppressed feelings flooding out.  She kept petting the cat, and he purred.  But her mind reeled on:

          By second grade, Jay’s vocal noises were a disruption in class.  The teacher sent him to the school counselor, who suggested getting a full psychological evaluation.  The nearest child psychologist was over sixty miles away.  Though their health insurance didn’t pay for any of this, they went through with it, wanting to help Jay as much as they could.

          After the psychologist’s long session with Jay, he sent them to a neurologist.  When were they going to get any answers?  The neurologist did a battery of tests, too, including an EEG.  They had to drive over an hour to the doctor’s office for each test.  Jay was deathly afraid of needles, and by the end, he didn’t like doctors either.  After all that, the neurologist said Jay probably had Tourette’s Syndrome. 

If only they’d explained beforehand that there’s no definitive test for Tourette’s, but all they can do is rule out every other possibility.  What an ordeal! she sighed. I’m not sure who it was harder on, Jay, or Rick and me.  I still hadn’t learned enough patience apparently, for this was only the beginning.  The neurologist said we had to wait a year before trying any medication.  I guess they were waiting to see if anything else showed up.  

She knew she’d been hoping for some miracle drug that would make things all better.  But there never was one for Jay.

          Denial set in, especially on Jay’s part.  He wouldn’t even let them use the word Tourette’s around him. She and Rick had to meet with his teachers every year to explain Jay’s condition, to let them know that Jay wasn’t being intentionally bad. 

There are so many misconceptions about Tourette’s.  It was barely even mentioned in the psychology courses I took for my teaching certificate.  She mouthed these words to the cat.

Still stroking Tiglet’s head behind the ears, where he liked it best, she mumbled aloud, “I wish I was a cat.  My life would be so much simpler—just eat and sleep.” 

Almost as though he heard her, Tiglet put a paw on her hand.

At this point in her life, she felt a desperate need to get all these scattered memories collected into some kind of order.  Maybe it was a symptom of aging, this need to look back, to try to convince herself that life had been worthwhile.

Right now, the memories bounced around in her mind like popcorn flying out of a pan with the lid off.  Somehow, she must corral them, maybe try to put them on a string, like the popcorn garlands they used to make for the Christmas tree, when Amy and Jay were young.