Would You Like A Jelly Baby?

For Laura, who has never eaten a jelly baby. Yes, m'dear, you are missing out ;)

Literary Quote #6--'The Brothers Karamazov'

'Once upon a time there lived a very nasty, horrible old woman. When she died, she didn't leave behind her one single good deed. So the devils got hold of her and tossed her into the flaming lake. Meantime, her guardian angel stood there, trying hard to think of one good deed of hers that he could mention to God in order to save her. Then he remembered and said to God: "Once," he said, "She pulled up an onion in her garden and gave it to a beggar woman." So God said to him: "Take that onion, hold it out to her over the lake, let her hold onto it, and try to pull herself out. If she does, let her enter heaven; if the onion breaks, the old woman will just have to stay where she is." So the angel hurried to the woman, held out the onion to her, and told her to take hold of it and pull. Then he himself began to pull her out very carefully and she was almost entirely out of the lake when the other sinners saw that she was being pulled out and grabbed on to her so that they'd be pulled out of the flames too. But when she saw them, that wicked, horrible woman started kicking them, saying: "I'm being pulled out, not you, for it's my onion, not yours!" As soon as she said that, then onion snapped and the woman fell back into the flaming lake, where she's still burning to this day. And her guardian angel wept and walked away.'


What a story! And yet it is a moment in the book which stood out to me very clearly. I enjoyed it. Is this truly a Russian folk tale, does anyone know, or did Dostoevsky make it up?

One Can Never Have Too Much Pachelbel . . .

Do you guys remember the Pachelbel Rant video? Laura, I believe you sent it to everyone . . . well anyways, I was looking it up today, and came across this. And it's impressive (to me anyway) musically, but it's also pretty hilarious.

'The Nighthawk's Candle' --Part IV

IV.

A boy was running through the trees, gasping and terrified, and he kept glancing behind himself, as though to try and get a glimpse of that which he was fleeing from. The rain was so strong now it penetrated even here, and rain ran from his face, his bare arms, his fine clothing--the dye had begun to run from his garments, streaking his skin with green and blue and red, and the cloth would surely be ruined by the wet, which was a shame. It was masterfully made, and fine as though the last stitch had been sewn only that day.

He tripped and fell, but caught himself on his hands and knees and scrambled upright again, rushing onward, ever onward. His knees and hands were red, and it was not from the dye of his clothes. His thick black hair whipped in wet swirls against his face, and the brambles and stones he stumbled past tore at his skin.

He was a very little boy, only a child, no more than eight years old from the look of his face and his thin limbs. A child: tiny and white and sobbing, running through the vast forest, tripping and staggering, trembling in the rain. There was a terror, a blind, hungry terror pursuing him, and he was lost, running through the trees that leered at him with their long black faces.

At last he fell and did not get up, but sprawled painfully on the moldy ground, drenched and cold and alone. Slowly, he raised his head, and pulled himself into sitting position, staring with frightened eyes at the blood on his hands. He tried to wipe them clean on his shins, then pulled them back with a yelp of pain. He clawed frantically at the fine clothes he wore, and they tore a little, but not much. They were very well-sewn.

Trembling and rocking slightly, he gazed up around himself at the tall black trees, the hammering rain, hte tall black night. The Candle he had left far behind.

And with a despairing wail he covered his face with his hands, and cried, soaking wet, cold, and shivering like a child--which was only to be expected, since he was a child . . .

"Mother," he cried, "What has she done to me? What has she done to me?"

How Time Flies!

There I was intending to post something last week, and suddenly it's the end of this week. Wow.

I have been very busy with school recently. Finals are swiftly and cruelly approaching, and while I am not stressed yet, I will be soon. I have also had to start looking up spring classes to register for, and that's been agonizing as well because many classes I want to take--like the honors creative writing class and Russian 102--are in the same time slots. It's not fair :(

Supposedly tomorrow we'll be having thunderstorms here in HI. In some ways I'm looking forward to it, because I love rain, and a thunderstorm sounds quite exciting, but in other ways I'm not--namely, tomorrow is my library day, and I don't relish the idea of walking to the library down the usual dirt road, trying to shield the books I'm returning from lashing rain.

I'll probably bring my umbrella and stick the books in a plastic shopping bag; that should work. Oh, and Kat, I'll probably call you on my way to the library. Depends on how loud the weather is.

My family back home are currently driving to Arizona for the Oireachtas. I'm rather despondent about not going too, but I hope my little sister does well, anyway.

I'm starting to get excited jitters about going home for Christmas! I've begun my Christmas shopping already, which is an adventure in itself, and my siblings have all told me that they want to help me cook up a Christmas feast when I get home. We're planning to do a Redwall-style feast, with breakfast scones, shrimp soup, mushroom pasties--the works. Hopefully it'll turn out well.

One last note: Lone Wolf, I told you I accepted your challenge to draw the 'Oath of Feanor' scene, remember? Well, I did it! But my broken camera is having issues with getting the picture in focus, so I might not be able to upload the artwork until I get home and can use my parents' scanner. But it was fun, thanks for the challenge :)