West African Folktales appears to have a focus on Anansi, a dangerous trickster, and the origins of natural phenomena. Women Saints focuses on legends of women saints, from Saint Juliana to Saint Eugenia. Native American Heroes looks at legends from different tribal traditions including Hupa, Apache, Crow, Cree, and will focus on a variety of heroes. Japanese Mythology discusses the gods Izanagi and Izanami and their children. Egyptian Myths include tales of creation, of magic, of filial rivalry, and many other topics.
The first, Dragons Around the World, promises to look at the variety of dragons in different cultures and to examine four dragons specifically. I became immediately interested in this storybook because of its topic. Dragons interest me greatly–and what I find even more interesting are the various associations different cultures have with them. I do not know much about dragons or the viewpoints many cultures hold regarding them. While the title caught my attention, the author’s introduction retained it. He or she compiled information in a stimulating story format. I additionally like the simplicity of the blog and the placement and incorporation of images, a necessary element when discussing the supernatural.
The second, Desperate Goddesses, discusses the lives of several goddesses. I became invested in this storybook because of its topic and not necessarily because of the Desperate Housewives format. I know a little of this particular mythology, but I desire to know more. I like the way the author created the design for the blog; it relies heavily on female stereotypes but still looks compelling. All of the author’s notes give insight that I wouldn’t have expected; typically I like for stories to stand on their own, but the author’s notes take an important role in this blog entry.
My interest in the third storybook, The Mermaid Diaries, parallels my same desire to learn more of the goddesses. The introduction for this storybook appears less appealing to me than the former two, but I do admire the design and the other content. I am interested in the stories that will be told and in improving my limited knowledge that involves too extensively The Little Mermaid.
My name is Alice. I am a Letters major and a sophomore. Currently I am taking incredibly interesting classes, comprised of Italian Renaissance Art, Morality and Foreign Policy, Spanish, Latin, and Origins of Christianity. I’ve now experienced the first days of all of these classes, and the pleasant first days I’ve had seem to promise future excitement and knowledge. I’m involved in the Honors Student Association, Our Earth, and the Student Environmental Council.
This introduction seems to already be more intimate than many of my other introductions in classes, despite the fact that visual aspects are lacking. I’ve never had to say more than my hometown, major, grade, and possibly something interesting about me. Now I’m scraping together an introduction that more extensively looks into my life. This feels personal, too, because I’m lying in my bed, finishing other homework and ultimately more soft/unguarded than I would feel in a classroom.
I’m currently reading The Lord of the Rings. I finished The Two Towers earlier today, which I was excited about. I’m going to rate it 5 stars on Goodreads! I hope to start and finish the last installment of The Lord of the Rings soon, but I fear the vast free time I had over the break will soon be replaced with obligations, work, and challenges.
An interesting fact about myself is that just two days ago I purchased a candle. My life has never before involved candles, but each time I come into my room I light it and find some weird sort of solace in this. Perhaps I could intertwine this image of a candle that comforts me with greater symbols–light, good. For now, though, I’m excited about this candle and the aroma that radiates from it.
“Why in the world do you walk sideways like that?” said a Mother Crab to her son. “You should always walk straight forward with your toes turned out.”
“Show me how to walk, mother dear,” answered the little Crab obediently, “I want to learn.”
So the old Crab tried and tried to walk straight forward. But she could walk sideways only, like her son. And when she wanted to turn her toes out she tripped and fell on her nose.
“You should see the world,” my mother told me. She said this constantly, with different words or the same, in paragraphs of thought or a sudden burst of guidance. Mostly she would remind me of this when she stood alone in the kitchen. She would scrub the dishes, expend incredible energy on soap scum, and call to me in the dining room–“go see things out there!” Of course I’d know what she was referencing. I had been shown photos of monuments, been read biographies of French and Finnish leaders–I knew what places felt like.
I would sit in a corner of the living room, feeling. These places were not immediate to me. My places were, my places surrounded me and comforted me, and while I knew more places existed, I couldn’t imagine not feeling the same there. I walked often in my neighbor’s garden, peering at hidden flowers behind bushes, gently caressing petals, sometimes saying hello to my neighbor and often enjoying what she had to say. Other places, too, had flowers; and if they didn’t, they had other delicacies that played the same role for them as flowers did for me. Other places had people, too, amiable people, people who let you experience their flower garden with no commentary or question, and likely had people who lacked kindness or had no gardens.
I grew to understand that my mother had not seen things out there. “Out there” no longer meant Europe or South America. Her command–be cultured, experience more–was fair, was understandable, but she wanted much more for me than airplane tickets. I wanted more for me than airplane tickets.
Author’s note: The fable is provided above: “The Young Crab and His Mother.” This fable can be found in Aesop for Children, published in 1919. The moral at the end of the fable says, “Do not tell others how to act unless you can set a good example.” I hoped to start at a similar place with my story–to have a mother figure who longs for her child. I did not want to leave certainty at the end, however. I did not want an adage easily taken away. I did not want the daughter to rebel and disprove her mother. I wanted the mother’s wish to be general and good and one that most caregivers would feel. I wanted the child to see this and see other places and understand that her mother’s wish is well-intended and desirable. The fable has a point; one cannot be a hypocrite in relating to others. But for a mother who could not travel the world, desiring that her daughter travels is understandable and good. And for a daughter who doesn’t want to immediately travel the world, understanding her mother’s desire is preferable, too.
One of my favorite places–certainly not my favorite, because I’m sure I have not yet experienced it–is Brasenose College in Oxford, England. I studied there this summer for a study abroad program, and while the academic experience was rewarding, living in the college, too, proved to be gratifying. Everyone who enters Oxford comments on its mesmerizing architecture and general impression. Living there allowed me to experience this even more personally, and that’s why this place is one of my favorite places.
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