Latin and a Short Story

Howdy all. I stumbled across an old Latin phrase recently, which proved yet again there are no new ideas:

Homo Homini Lupus

Man is wolf to Man

The phrase goes perfectly well with this last week's events at my day job as we finished our studies of World War II and watched the excellent Holocaust movie called Life is Beautiful. Man is truly Wolf to Man.

Picture lifted from here 

~*~

Also for this post I moved over and edited a story from my Wattpad account. I would rather it be over here to keep my story babies all in the same location. I do this odd thing of looking over old posts and expanding them from time to time, which turns out to be a lot easier when they are in the same location. So here is Bullseye, a little piece born from a dream.

BULLSEYE

The officer went down the list. "Any distinguishing marks, tattoos?"

"Birth mark on left elbow, and I have a tattoo on my hand."

"Which hand?"

"Left."

"Show me." She talked as she typed. "Small tattoo, back of left hand, approximately half inch in diameter, bullseye with an arrow sticking out of it." A few more clicks of the keyboard. "Cute."

"Thanks." My eyes brimmed with tears. 

I was fifteen. I had a supervised visit with my dad and my brother Randy. Mom dropped me off just outside the main gate and dad honked when he saw me. His uniform was rough and smelled like the ocean and oil when we hugged.

We rode in silence for the short drive to the parking lot in sight of the water. The sky was overcast and gray, the waves were little and it was a little windy but nice. Too cold to swim. I remember the MPs, parked two spots over in the lot, pretending to watch. My little brother Randy was only five and my dad had checked him out of pre-school so he could meet me. 

We sat down at a picnic table at the edge of the sand. We huddled around and Dad tried to light the candles on my cake. With a "Ta-da!" he gifted me a camouflage backpack filled with school supplies and a stuffed dog. I instantly hated both, but thanked him anyways. He tried for once. We licked the candles clean.

After eating cake and sipping punch, my brother showed me stickers he had gotten for being a good boy at school. They were those fake tattoos, the ones you put on with a wet cloth. It was an Army base pre-school, so the stickers were bullseyes, thumbs-ups, tanks, things like that. He wanted everyone to have a sticker, so we all got one. Helped break some of the awkwardness. 

Mine was the bullseye, Dad picked a flag and Randy picked a little soldier. I still can feel the wet cloth sometimes. It was the first close contact I had with my dad in many years, him holding my hand on the tabletop and placing the temporary tattoo. I remember that moment any time the sky is gray and the wind chills my hands. I took Dad's wet napkin and put Randy's soldier on his hand. My little brother danced with joy and did his best salute to Dad. The sun shone bright as Dad returned the salute with a grin.

The MPs honked. Randy gave me another hug and kissed the back of my hand. We headed back to the main gate, the return trip as quiet as the first ride. Mom was outside, pacing away. Dad gave me a kiss on the head as we hugged and then I trudged across No-Man's Land through the gate. Mom snubbed out her cigarette and ignored Dad's wave. "Get in," she said.

When we got back home, I convinced my mom to let me get a tattoo for my birthday. I got a bullseye in the same spot as the sticker. Now every time I see my brother, that's our thing, the tattoo. No matter what trouble he is in, or how long it has been, he always grabs my hand and kisses my bullseye tattoo, just like when he was five.

The officer spoke, interrupting my thoughts. "Any other tattoos?"

I glanced down and rubbed the bullseye. A tear hit the metal surface. I wiped my eyes with a clatter of chain, careful of my mascara. I had forgotten for a moment Randy was dead and would never kiss my hand again. 

"No. Just the one."

~*~ 

Until next time, may your days be long and well upon this Earth.

Coronavirus

Coronavirus (now known as COVID-19).

I have watched with a mix of horror and anxiety as the numbers of infected and deceased have grown and grown and grown. A doctor who was in the right place at the right time to help stunt the spread of the virus instead was silenced by the Chinese government and became another casualty of the deadly bug. A citizen reporter has disappeared. Silenced?

Predictions on where this epidemic will end are all over the place. Reporting criteria has changed. Scientists are still trying to figure out the various ways the virus can spread and how contagious it is. One new report is suggesting that it can travel through the pipes in apartments and infect people on other floors. Japan has just reported its first death from the virus, joining the Philippine Islands and Hong Kong as areas outside of mainland China as areas where people have died from the virus. One of the new worries is what will happen if/when the virus spreads to the African continent and other areas that haven't been affected yet. 


For those who look for updated news, the following is a link to Johns Hopkins University's data wall about deaths, recovered, and infected. One set of data points not tracked by this dashboard are the deaths caused by resources being tied up with keeping this epidemic in check. For example, in areas of heavy infection, people may start dying from measles and other illnesses that could have been treated if the hospital staff weren't busy.

I am glad to be in Louisiana, away from the East and West coasts. I get sick enough from all the bugs my students bring in on a daily basis!

May you be well. 

The Mermaid

09 FEB 2020

[Today's post is a continuation from the last post, with some more mermaid information gleaned from the internets and inspired by the Mythic Creatures exhibit at the Witte Museum in San Antonio, TX] 

One of the mythic creatures highlighted by the Witte Museum’s special exhibit was Lasirenn, the mermaid. This caught my eye, because the Spanish translation for mermaid is La Sirena. La Sirena is also one of the cards in Lotería, the traditional Spanish lottery game, also known as Mexican Bingo. She is card number six.

Lotería is a lot like Bingo, but the caller not only calls out the number on the card, but he or she also says a little rhyme or riddle about the picture on the card as well. Here's an example of what might be said when La Sirena is pulled: 

"Numero Seis! La sirena! Con los cantos de sirena, no te vayas a marear."

Number 6! The Mermaid! Don’t be swayed by the songs of the mermaid.

But the Spanish La Sirena of Lotería fame was not the La Sirenn at the Witte. This La Sirenn was the mermaid of the people of the island nation of Haiti. Lasirenn has various spellings: Lasiren, La Siren, or Lasyrene. She is one of the three Ezili sisters in Haitian mermaid myths. All three symbolize female power and problems but only Lasirenn is actually a mermaid. She is the mystical mermaid living underwater. There was a Haitian Voodoo chant about Lasirenn at the exhibit: 

Original (Haitian French):

Lasyrenn, Labalenn,

Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.

M’ap fé karés ak Lasyrenn,

Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.

M’ap fe dodo ak Lasyrenn,

Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.

To see Lasirenn underwater is like catching a glimpse of something mysterious, something huge, powerful and sudden. The repeated line in the poem, " My hat falls into the sea" means you're about to be consumed by an insight and/or drown!

Lasirenn is described in opposites: she is black and white. She is also Labalenn, the whale (killer whales are also black and white). She is usually nice, but she storms like the sea in her aspect as a whale. As a woman, her hair is black or blonde, but always very long and shiny. She is always combing her long hair, as in other mermaid myths. She is related to the African goddess Mami Wata in form and attributes.

In her mermaid myths, Lasirenn captures people and pulls them underwater. As poetic as “My hat falls into the sea” sounds, it means to follow Lasirenn underwater. Some merely drown, others return alive but altered by their time with the sea goddess. Most of the returnees are women. Those who follow Lasirenn disappear for three days, three weeks, or three years and when they return they are changed. Their skin is paler (a big deal in the Haitian culture), their hair longer and straighter, and they have gained secret knowledge of healing. These returnees are disoriented after their time with Lasirenn. At first, they cannot speak and don't even remember what happened to them. After some time the story emerges, of being instructed by Lasirenn under the water.

Where does she live? Under the sea? No. She lives on the other side of the mirror. She appears white and black. Where did you see her? Ah, you were on the other side of the mirror! 

Artwork from the Smithsonian American Art Museum: 
Michael Cummings, Haitian Mermaid # 2, 1996, machine pieced, quilted, and appliquéd commercial and hand-dyed cotton, synthetic and antique fabrics, found objects, sequins, and beads, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Dorothy Dent Goodson, 2002.59

Most images of La Sirenn show her with a mirror and a comb. Mr. Cummings displays an interesting take on the myth. I am ever grateful to the Witte Museum for opening up my eyes to this version of the mermaid myth. Who knows what stories I will spin based on my trip to the Witte, but I definitely will keep in mind that all creatures, even mermaids, can come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.