I was delighted to be asked to help raise money for the Leukemia-Lymphona Society. A great bunch of people, most especially Leslie Schilling. Who is the greatest of the great.
It has been two years now since we brought Lily home, and right from the beginning I hated every time she cried out in her sleep. At first, her night-time cries were simply physical distress. Later, when she hit that moment in her development when she had night tremors, I comforted myself with the fact, as doctors re-assured me, that she wasn’t really dreaming, but we now that she can talk, we can no longer pretend that she isn’t having nightmares.
Last week, the night after we returned from our grand trip to Houston, she woke up crying “truck blown away, truck blown away!” (We had seen a pretty terrible wreck on the interstate, one in which one of the vehicles, a six-wheeled panel truck, was on fire, sending up huge plumes of smoke in the misty rain of the day. We had, however, said nothing about what had happened, no mention of blowing up or away.)
Later in the week, she woke up screaming “my blanket, my blanket. It’s my blanket!” We both rushed to her and all of us ended up sleeping in her bed.
And this morning she woke up crying “go home! go home!”
You read that right, or, rather, er, okay, not really. But let me explain: tonight, as I sat with Lily on my lap, after she had finished her first bottle, we read one of her three Charlie and Lola books, aka “CharlieLola.” And then she got out another one — which she does by leaning wayyy out over the arm of the chair and dangling her arms into the basket of books which she calls “library” all the while saying “let’s see, let’s see.”
Wouldn’t you know it, but out comes another “CharlieLola” book. Her first one, the one about books and libraries. At first she just sits on my lap flipping through it, talking a bit about books and “CharlieLola.” And then she starts to read the book, or rather, she has heard the book so many times that she knows how it begins:
I have this little sister. Her name is Lola.
She is small and very funny.
From there she went on to describe much of the plot of the book. By this point, Yung-Hsing had joined me in the bedroom and we both simply sat there with our jaws in our laps, listening to Lily read to us while she turned the pages.
Lily turned two last Wednesday, and, well, we never did get around to hosting a party — neither of us are party planners — but we did manage to host a birthday weekend in Houston for the Bean. While we did not set out to make shopping for her a major component of the trip, I have to admit that most of the bags in the back of the car were for her. I got a computer game — which I can’t play on my current computer, and Yung-Hsing got a few clothes. Lily got a table, a chair, a stool, a hanging set of shelves, some huge leaves to make a canopy for her bed, some books, and I don’t even know what else.
Today Lily went to the doctor for her two-year checkup. The results are in:
| ITEM | The Bean | Percentile |
| Height | 33.5in | 45% |
| Weight | 24lbs 12oz | 30% |
| Head Circumference | 18.5in | 35% |
In sum, she is holding her course: staying just about dead average for height, light on weight, and a smallish head.
We probably need a new tag: something like “what lily tells us.”
We have reached a moment where it is often wiser to wait and let Lily tell us things, rather than leaping ahead of her — or at least that’s how we initially think about it. The result is almost always funny, and, in the case of the example above, sometimes metaphorically richer.
In the most recent issue of Make magazine, Cory Doctorow finds himself face to face with the central contradiction of many contemporary museums: charged with spreading/sharing art and knowledge, most museums simultaneously prohibit unauthorized replications of the works in their collections. In the case of fragile artifacts, this makes sense, Doctorow notes, but in this particular instance he finds himself in a science museum. What sense then? A flash of light will do brass and stainless steel no harm.
The answer comes from a curator: the museum makes money on sales of postcards and books. Doctorow asserts that this is no answer, no respectable answer for such institutions. Two readers [take him to task][task], pointing out that the world is a bit more complex than the scene he describes. First, intellectual property is a mine field to navigate — with more mines being added every day. (If only it were more “minds.”) The second reader points out that the financial underpinnings of most museums are not so sure and the sale of such baubles and books are a necessary part of any institution’s revenue. In short, keep those post cards coming because they keep the doors open.
I think both readers make a good point, but they miss the larger point, and perhaps the bit of irony with which Doctorow writes: that’s not the way things should be. Instead, wouldn’t it be more interesting to imagine an open museum. I’m not entirely sure what it would look like, or even that it would succeed, and I’m pretty sure that many of the denizens of today’s museums probably won’t like what my vision looks like, but let me try it on for size.
Funnily enough, I’m going to start with an actual museum and with an actual event that happened this past weekend. UL-Lafayette, thanks to some generous local patrons, now has a state of the art museum, which has three gallery spaces, two on the first floor and one on the second. In addition to these galleries, there is a capacious, if also somewhat broken up, lobby and a second floor bookshop space which has additional display space as well as a terrific view of the older museum building designed by noted local architect, A. Hays Town.
The older museum is everything the newer one is not: it is a plantation structure with small galleries. The newer facility is spacious, for the most part. Tragically, Gallery 2 is a cave. It is cramped and because of its cramped nature it always feels like all the light being poured out of its many fixtures is simply trying to overcome a darkness that constantly threatens the visitor from every corner. It is also the gallery which they chose to house the annual senior art show, packing in both fine and graphical art exhibits of over a dozen young artists into a space that measures on a good day something like 20 by 40 feet.
This past Saturday was the opening for the show, and it was, not to be too redundant, packed. Despite the highly efficient HVAC unit of a modern museum and an overcast day that kept Louisiana’s subtropical sun at bay, visitors to Gallery 2 on Saturday afternoon had to move quickly through the exhibits both because the press of people was so great and because it was one way to keep air moving. Why were all those people in there? For purely parochial reasons, of course. Most of us there, I would bet, were there to see the work of either our students or our children.
FOOBA WOOBA JOHN
G
Saw a flea kick a tree
C G C
Fooba wooba fooba wooba
G
Saw a flea kick a tree
D G
Fooba wooba John
G
Saw a flea kick a tree
C G
In the middle of the sea
Em G
Hey john ho john
D G
Fooba wooba john
Saw a frog chase a dog...
Sitting on a hollow log...
Saw a snail chase a whale...
All around the water pail...
Heard a cow say meow...
Then I heard it say bow-wow... There was once upon a time a rich king who had three daughters, who daily went to walk in the palace garden, and the king was a great lover of all kinds of fine trees, but there was one for which he had such an affection, that if anyone gathered an apple from it he wished him a hundred fathoms underground. And when harvest time came, the apples on this tree were all as red as blood. The three daughters went every day beneath the tree, and looked to see if the wind had not blown down an apple, but they never by any chance found one, and the tree was so loaded with them that it was almost breaking, and the branches hung down to the ground.
Then the king’s youngest child had a great desire for an apple, and said to her sisters, our father loves us far too much to wish us underground, it is my belief that he would only do that to people who were strangers. And while she was speaking, the child plucked off quite a large apple, and ran to her sisters, saying, just taste, my dear little sisters, for never in my life have I tasted anything so delightful. Then the two other sisters also ate some of the apple, whereupon all three sank deep down into the earth, where they could hear no cock crow.
When mid-day came, the king wished to call them to come to dinner, but they were nowhere to be found. He sought them everywhere in the palace and garden, but could not find them. Then he was much troubled, and made known to the whole land that whosoever brought his daughters back again should have one of them to wife. Hereupon so many young men went about the country in search, that there was no counting them, for everyone loved the three children because they were so kind to all, and so fair of face.
Three young huntsmen also went out, and when they had traveled about for eight days, they arrived at a great castle, in which were beautiful apartments, and in one room a table was laid on which were delicate dishes which were still so warm that they were smoking, but in the whole of the castle no human being was either to be seen or heard. They waited there for half a day, and the food still remained warm and smoking, and at length they were so hungry that they sat down and ate, and agreed with each other that they would stay and live in that castle, and that one of them, who should be chosen by casting lots, should remain in the house, and the two others seek the king’s daughters.
They cast lots, and the lot fell on the eldest, so next day the two younger went out to seek, and the eldest had to stay home. At mid-day came a small, small mannikin and begged for a piece of bread, then the huntsman took the bread which he had found there, and cut a round off the loaf and was about to give it to him, but while he was giving it to the mannikin, the latter let it fall, and asked the huntsman to be so good as to give him that piece again. The huntsman was about to do so and stooped, on which the mannikin took a stick, seized him by the hair, and gave him a good beating.
Next day, the second stayed at home, and he fared no better. When the two others returned in the evening, the eldest said, well, how have you got on? Oh, very badly, said he, and then they lamented their misfortune together, but they said nothing about it to the youngest, for they did not like him at all, and always called him stupid Hans, because he did not know the ways of the world.
On the third day, the youngest stayed at home, and again the little mannikin came and begged for a piece of bread. When the youth gave it to him, the elf let it fall as before, and asked him to be so good as to give him that piece again. Then said Hans to the little mannikin, what, can you not pick up that piece yourself? If you will not take as much trouble as that for your daily bread, you do not deserve to have it. Then the mannikin grew very angry and said he was to do it, but the huntsman would not, and took my dear mannikin, and gave him a thorough beating. Then the mannikin screamed terribly, and cried, stop, stop, and let me go, and I will tell you where the king’s daughters are.
When Hans heard that, he left off beating him and the mannikin told him that he was a gnome, and that there were more than a thousand like him, and that if he would go with him he would show him where the king’s daughters were. Then he showed him a deep well, but there was no water in it. And the elf said that he knew well that the companions Hans had with him did not intend to deal honorably with him, therefore if he wished to deliver the king’s children, he must do it alone.
The two other brothers would also be very glad to recover the king’s daughters, but they did not want to have any trouble or danger. Hans was therefore to take a large basket, and he must seat himself in it with his hunting knife and a bell, and be let down. Below are three rooms, and in each of them was a princess, who was lousing a dragon with many heads, which he must cut off. And having said all this, the elf vanished.
When it was evening the two brothers came and asked how he had got on, and he said, pretty well so far, and that he had seen no one except at mid-day when a little mannikin had come and begged for a piece of bread, that he had given some to him, but that the mannikin had let it fall and had asked him to pick it up again, but as he did not choose to do that, the elf had begun to scold, and that he had lost his temper, and had given the elf a beating, at which he had told him where the king’s daughters were. Then the two were so angry at this that they grew green and yellow.
Next morning they went to the well together, and drew lots who should first seat himself in the basket, and again the lot fell on the eldest, and he was to seat himself in it, and take the bell with him. Then he said, if I ring, you must draw me up again immediately. When he had gone down for a short distance, he rang, and they at once drew him up again. Then the second seated himself in the basket, but he did just the same as the first, and then it was the turn of the youngest, but he let himself be lowered quite to the bottom.
When he had got out of the basket, he took his knife, and went and stood outside the first door and listened, and heard the dragon snoring quite loudly. He opened the door slowly, and one of the princesses was sitting there, and had nine dragon’s heads lying upon her lap, and was lousing them. Then he took his knife and hewed at them, and the nine fell off. The princess sprang up, threw her arms round his neck, embraced and kissed him repeatedly, and took her stomacher, which was made of pure gold, and hung it round his neck.
Then he went to the second princess, who had a dragon with five heads to louse, and delivered her also, and to the youngest, who had a dragon with four heads, he went likewise. And they all rejoiced, and embraced him and kissed him without stopping. Then he rang very loud, so that those above heard him, and he placed the princesses one after the other in the basket, and had them all drawn up, but when it came to his own turn he remembered the words of the elf, who had told him that his comrades did not mean well by him. So he took a great stone which was lying there, and placed it in the basket, and when it was about half way up, his false brothers above cut the rope, so that the basket with the stone fell to the ground, and they thought that he was dead, and ran away with the three princesses, making them promise to tell their father that it was they who had delivered them. Then they went to the king, and each demanded a princess in marriage.
In the meantime the youngest huntsman was wandering about the three chambers in great trouble, fully expecting to have to end his days there, when he saw, hanging on the wall, a flute, then said he, why do you hang there. No one can be merry here.
He looked at the dragons, heads likewise and said, you too cannot help me now. He walked to and fro for such a long time that he made the surface of the ground quite smooth. But at last other thoughts came to his mind, and he took the flute from the wall, and played a few notes on it, and suddenly a number of elves appeared, and with every note that he sounded one more came. Then he played until the room was entirely filled.
They all asked what he desired, so he said he wished to get above ground back to daylight, on which they seized him by every hair that grew on his head, and thus they flew with him onto the earth again. When he was above ground, he at once went to the king’s palace, just as the wedding of one princess was about to be celebrated, and he went to the room where the king and his three daughters were. When the princesses saw him they fainted.
Hereupon the king was angry, and ordered him to be put in prison at once, because he thought he must have done some injury to the children. When the princesses came to themselves, however, they entreated the king to set him free again.
The king asked why, and they said that they were not allowed to tell that, but their father said that they were to tell it to the stove. And he went out, listened at the door, and heard everything. Then he caused the two brothers to be hanged on the gallows, and to the third he gave his youngest daughter, and on that occasion I wore a pair of glass shoes, and I struck them against a stone, and they said, klink, and were broken.
I have carried around this version of the Grimms tale for years. I am unsure of its copyright status or where it falls in the Grimms’ own versions.
Please note: this was an early draft of the proposal I made to Louisiana Public Broadcasting in the spring of 2006. I would later go on to produce two segments for their weekly news magazine, Louisiana: The State We’re In, working closely with Donna LaFleur. The first was on John Colson, a Creole filé maker, and the second was on Lou Trahan, a Cajun Mardi Gras mask maker. The folks at LPB were fantastic throughout the process, and I would gladly do more, time willing.
Three Pilot Pieces
“Louisiana Folk Masters” is the title of the CD series published as a cooperative venture between the Archives of Cajun and Creole Folklore and Louisiana Crossroads Records. It’s an umbrella framework that I came up with several years ago, one part of which was always open to a television component. Having said that, I am not wedded to “Louisiana Folk Masters” being the title of any or all segments. These folks could ust as easily be called “Living Legends” or, following the Japanese, “Living Treasures,” with Louisiana appended to the title or not.
The only thing that is important is that the focus is on the individual and how they embody, through the things they do and the stories they tell, dimensions of Louisiana’s history and culture that deserve a larger audience and a place in our collective memory.
VARISE CONNER
STORY: Fiddler from Lake Arthur. Real story here is the Conner family, who continue the tradition of getting together and playing music which brought Barry Ancelet to Conner’s door in 1975 – VC himself was continuing a tradition his father participated in. VC retired from the music scene to focus on his family life and supported himself as a logger. The family still owns the property where the mill once stood, only now they use it as a sugar mill – where they make syrup every year.
VISUALS: Family jam session in Lake Arthur. They will, at the drop of a hat, put together a barbecue or gumbo on a weekend night and call together the family to play all the old songs they learned from their elders. David Greely, of the Mamou Playboys, is a big fan of Varise Conner and has become something of an adopted son by the family. If invited, and we work with his schedule, he will turn up. Michael Doucet actually did play with Conner and would make for a great on camera commentator.
ENOLA MATTHEWS
STORY: Creole storyteller. She appeared on Swapping Stories telling a Bouki and Lapin story. She wants to teach her niece how to make soap and to teach her about the Creole tradition. In one scene we get a great aunt passing down to a member of her family important lessons about life and how to live it. While the soap is cooking, she tells her niece about growing up in south Louisiana, about going to work while she was still only a young girl, about meeting her husband. She also tells stories about a girl who gives her lover her skeleton so that he can make a ladder of bones to save her, a magic tale with roots in Europe from hundreds of years ago. Her Bouki and Lapin stories have their roots in Africa. She is a living connection back to two continents.
VISUALS: Mrs. Matthews lives in Jennings in a gray-sided bungalow with a large yard and a small dog. She makes soap in a large cast-iron pot atop a wood fire out in the yard. She can recount her stories outside or inside in her rocking chair.
JOSEPH BOUDREAUX
STORY: This one, like the Varise Conner piece, is a little outside the ostensible frame for these pieces, but like the Conner piece it represents an opportunity that should not go unconsidered: Joseph Broussard is the child star of Robert Flaherty’s Louisiana Story. The feature-length 1948 film has, of course, something of a mixed reputation, since it is often considered a documentary, but really was entirely scripted by Flaherty and his crew and funded by Standard Oil. The opportunity here is the chance to interview Broussard about his memories of making the film and how it intersected with his life then and his life now – no one, to my knowledge, has done any oral history or biographical work with the man. Last year Elemore Morgan, Jr. held a series of events about the film, and he would make an excellent commentator. VISUALS: Joseph Broussard; Elemore Morgan, Jr.; scenes from Louisiana Story itself – it would be nice to have Broussard take us out to where the film was shot and recount events in situ.
VENABLE FABRICATORS
STORY: Venable Fabricators, in Rayne, make the crawfish boats that ply the rice fields of south Louisiana. The boats are themselves miracles of Cajun engineering: the wheels in their hulls along with their unique form of propulsion – a paddle wheel that also acts as a crawler – allows them to cross rice field levees as well as pass down country roads.
SCENE: Two locations here: the factory itself as well as someone operating one of their boats to harvest crawfish. (Keith Leleux, who lives south of Crowley, has one of their boats.)