Change of color...

A few days ago I snapped a picture of Edinburgh Castle (well, part of Edinburgh Castle) as a silhouette against a fiery sunset. The picture was pretty dramatic (not due to any of my skills mind you, just because castles and sunsets ooze drama!) But, I got to playing with the colors of original picture and I ended up with a few others that I liked for various reasons. All I used here was the simplest editing tools on iPhoto- I can't wait to learn how to use PhotoShop so I can really play around with images! (And its about time, since Matt got it for me last Christmas.)  Anyway, here they are... what do you think? 

1. The Original- no trickery here. Just pointing and clicking... Pretty nice, I think.

2. Total saturation- I liked this one because it looks fake and fantastical, and when I see it I start to come up with stories in my head about a imprisoned sorceress casting enchantments so potent that the skies turn into water and fire!

3. Sepia- This one makes me think of Wuthering Heights... I don't know why, really, since that story takes place so clearly on the moors, not rocky hilltop, but the colors evoke a Heathcliff kind of mood in me. Romantic, violent, passionate, and haunting... 

4. Black & White- Makes me think of Dracula. Maybe not the most imaginative association, but black & white is classic for a reason (as is Dracula, for that matter!) This one feels stark and lonely and quiet... and a bit ominous.

Do the simplest of color changes make you see a totally different picture too? I am sometimes surprised how just looking at something in a different light can change it's whole story to me.

Catching up on my reading

I have not posted about books in a long while. My reading has been sporadic so far this year and I go through periods of feeling overwhelmed by how many books I want to read. I have hope, though, that I will add more reading to my nightly routine in our new flat, as it is without a television. (It will be my first time ever without a tv, although I have lived with one so small and with so few channels it hardly counts!) So, perhaps in the near future I 'll be blogging more and more about the books I have enjoyed.

Here is a little post about a few that have recently kept me company. As I have said before, several times before actually, I dislike writing book reviews. I find it a boring task and I am pretty lousy at it. I usually say too much about a book, ruining it for potential readers, or I say too little and my review is cryptic and frustrating. So, I have resolved not to review books at all. Instead, each title is a link to a Goodreads page, where the books are summarized and reviewed by people who know what they are doing (for the most part). Follow those links if you want to know more about the books below apart from the little bits shared by me.

Books I read a while back: 

I found In the Suicide Mountains at The Last Bookstore before they moved to their new location in LA. They were selling books at lowered prices to have less to pack up, and I nabbed a bunch of folktales and mixed mythologies. I was expecting this book to be like the others, short stories and tales, but it was a novel. A short novel.... actually, it is somewhere between a novel and a YA chapter book. Regardless, it was a strange and charming story that I am happy to have found. I am surprised actually, that I didn't come across it as a young reader- it has a sensibility to it that was very popular in the age and area in which I was raised. I can't properly describe what I mean, but I can see this book having a fan following, full of the same folks who love the movie, The Last Unicorn. 

The Children's Book is a hearty meal of a book. It is long, wordy and follows a group of writers, artists, politicians, and other VIP in Europe (mostly England) from the 1890s to about 1920. Some times, I couldn't help but feel totally ignorant while reading this book- Byatt mentions several people,places and events as if they are common knowledge. I am sure some of them are, and I just don't have a clue about them, but I'm equally sure she throws in some obscurities for good measure. And even though at times I felt like I just had to get through certain passages, there were moments of magic- the German puppeteers, the parties at Todefright, the opening night of Peter Pan in London... It's the kind of book you can hold in your hand, glance at the back cover  (and the page length) and determine on the spot if its something you want to undertake.

On the other hand,  Fearless Girl, Wise Women & Beloved Sisters: Heroines in Folktales from Around the World is a book for everyone. Truly. I couldn't see one person not enjoying this collection. It is a book of stories that feature women in non-traditional roles (i.e.: not the damsel in distress or the princess looking to get married). These are not stories written simply to counter-balance the norm, these are the stories that have been told along side the ones we are so much more familiar with. They are old stories, from all different cultures, that have not enjoyed the same kind of popularity as has Cinderella et al. Its well written, well explained and entertaining. 

Just finished: 

The Meaning of Night took me 4 months to read. Not that it was a slow story, or that it was particularly long, I was just only getting through one page at time during the months leading up to our move. I enjoyed the story, but more than that, I liked the Victorian writing style. Author Michael Cox is a scholar and a bibliophile, much like his main character, and that clearly comes out in his writing. He must have spent ages researching the specific books that appear in this one. The story starts with an incredible opening sentence. It doesn't always live up to the excitement of a "thriller", as there are sections that lag, but it is written as a confession, one that leaves behind no detail, big or small!  The Glass of Time is a continuation of The Meaning of Night.  It has a few more twists and turns than the first, but they are pretty easy to predict. The main fun is seeing how the other character's find out each other's secrets. Fans of Victorian writers, especially mysteries or thrillers, a la Lady Audley's Secret, would probably fancy these two tomes.

Currently reading:

I am only about 50 pages in to Neil Gailman's American Gods and there has already been a leprechaun bar fight and a death by vagina... so, I'm pretty much hooked... 

Next on my reading list:

44 Scotland Street

and

The Night Circus

Anyone read either of these? They continue to be recommended to me by my avid reader friends, so I think I'll have to finally go get copies for myself!

3 Billy Goats Gruff

Here's another story I heard as a child- this time, it was my grandfather I remember telling me. I always felt sad for the troll... (Click here to see my post on another story,  'The Little Match Girl'


A Folktale retold by
S. E. Schlosser


Snippity-snip, snap and swill,
The tale begins upon a hill…

The air was crisp and cool. The sky was an endless blue. The green meadow grass swayed in a gentle breeze. And Big Billy Goat Gruff was bored.

"I am tired of eating in the same old field every day," he told his brothers. "I want to eat in the meadow on the far side of the stream.

"Ohhh no, Big Billy Goat," said little brother. "We cannot walk through the stream for it is too deep and too fast. We would be swept away!"

 "And we cannot walk over the bridge," said middle brother, "because there is a big troll under the bridge who will gobble us up if we try to cross it."
 "I am not afraid of the troll," said Big Billy Goat Gruff, tossing his bold head with the huge round horns. He stamped the ground - once, twice, thrice - with his big hooves. "Let him try to eat me! We shall see who wins the fight!"


"But we won't be there to see," said Middle Billy Goat Gruff practically, "Because Little Billy Goat Gruff and I will have been eaten."


"Not so!" cried Big Billy Goat Gruff, dancing around the meadow excitedly, his large hooves making holes in the mossy turf under his feet. "I have a plan!"

The three billy goats put their heads together and whispered for a long time. Finally they broke the huddle and all three of them trotted across the wide meadow to the narrow bridge that crossed the fast-flowing, deep stream in the ravine dividing their meadow and the one on the other side.


Taking a deep breath for courage, Little Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Trip-trap, trip-trap. His little hooves made the bridge spring up and down a little as he moved carefully forward.

A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. "Who's that trip-trapping over my bridge?" rumbled the troll. A big hairy arm reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Little Billy Goat Gruff.

"It's just me," said Little Billy Goat Gruff in a very small voice. "I am the teeny-tiniest Billy Goat Gruff, all skin and bones, going over to the meadow to make myself fat."

A second huge hand joined the first on the rail. "I am coming to eat you," said the troll, his voice rumbling so deep that it shook the whole bridge.


"Eat me?" asked Little Billy Goat Gruff, shaking from head to toe, "I am too little. Not even worth a bite for a big troll like you. You should wait for my middle brother to come. He is much bigger than me."


This made sense to the troll. Why go to all that bother for one small bite of Billy Goat when a bigger Billy Goat was on its way?


"Gerroff my bridge then," the troll roared, slipping back down into the darkness underneath. "And don't come back here until you are big and fat!"


"Yes sir," said Little Billy Goat Gruff, trotting off the far side of the bridge in triumph and heading up into the wide-green meadow above. The plan was working!


When Little Billy Goat Gruff reached the top of the hill, Middle Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Trap-rap, trap-rap. His medium-sized hooves made the boards of the bridge spring and sway under his weight as he moved forward.


A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. "Who's that trap-rapping over my bridge?" grumbled the troll loudly. Hairy arms reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Middle Billy Goat Gruff.

"It's me," said Middle Billy Goat Gruff in a very medium-sized voice. "I am the Middle Billy Goat Gruff, all skin and bones from the winter. I am going over to the meadow to make myself fat."


Two blazing troll eyes over a long, twisted nose glared at him through the rails of the bridge. "I am coming to eat you," said the troll, his voice rumbling so deep that it shook the whole bridge.


"Eat me?" asked Middle Billy Goat Gruff with a laugh. "Why do you want to eat me? I am all skinny from the winter. Barely two bites for a big troll like you. And my bones will get stuck in your throat and make it feel all scratchy and horrible. You should wait for my big brother to come. He is huge! Much bigger than me."


This made good sense to the troll. Why go to all that bother for one bony, medium sized Billy Goat when a bigger Billy Goat was on its way?


"Gerroff my bridge then," the troll roared, slipping back down into the darkness underneath. "And don't come back here until you are big and fat!"


"I'm off then," said Middle Billy Goat Gruff, trotting to the far side of the bridge in triumph. He headed up to the wide-green meadow above and joined Little Billy Goat Gruff at the top of the hill. Then both of the brothers peered down at the bridge to see what Big Billy Goat Gruff was going to do.


As they watched, Big Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Stomp-tromp, stomp-tromp. His huge hooves made the boards bend and give protesting creaks under his massive weight as he moved forward.


A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. "Who's that stomp-tromping over my bridge?" roared the troll. He sprang out onto the top of the bridge in a single leap. Big Billy Goat Gruff narrowed his eyes at the large, hairy troll. "It's me," he said, lowering his huge head so the curved horns were pointed at the troll. Then he charged.


Wham! Big Billy Goat Gruff slammed into the troll. "Arrrgh!" screamed the troll as it was lifted clean off its feet and thrown way, way, way up into the air. The troll landed head down on the bridge, making it shake and rattle from top to bottom. Big Billy Goat Gruff stomped and tromped on the troll with his huge hooves until the troll was smashed flat on the wood boards. Then he tossed him into the raging stream with his huge horns and the troll sailed down the ravine and out of sight, never to be seen again in those parts.


And Big Billy Goat Gruff went up the hill to join his brothers in the meadow. All summer long they ate the lovely green grass in both meadows until they all grew quite fat. And they walked back and forth over the troll-free bridge whenever they wanted.


Snippity-snip, snap and snout,
This little tale has been told out!


Source
More versions here

Little Match Girl

I've recently spent some wonderful time traveling and catching up with my mother- and we got to talking about her mother, my grandma, who lived next door to me all my life until her passing a few years ago. My grandma was lovely company; she liked to sing and watch birds and was almost always in the mood for a laugh. But she did have a dark side-- or something of that nature-- for she would tell the most disturbing folk stories to me as a child. Her stories had nothing to do with Princes and fairy God-mothers, instead they were about poverty, sickness, abuse and death, and usually starred children. (For good measure, Grandma would often make a point of saying that the child in the story was a little girl, right about my age, with golden hair, very much like mine!)


The stories seemed terrifying to me as a child of 6 or 7! Maybe it was her way of having a little joke, or toughening me up a little. Or maybe it is a British thing, as her roots travelled back to England and Whales, and I imagine that her grandmother or mother told the same stories to her as a child. It was a fun exercise reminiscing with my mother and seeing which ones we remember in common (since she obviously heard them as a girl herself), and realizing that the stories were not nearly as terrifying to me now as they were 25 years ago!


So I have found one of the stories that my grandma told me and posted it here, although this version varies a bit from the one in my memory. It is not a happy story (but there is a heart-warming element), but it belongs here on the happy blog because I am so happy that I had a wonderful grandma to tell me stories...

The Little Match Girl

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!

The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.

Illustration by Appleton