<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439</id><updated>2012-02-16T17:44:54.774-05:00</updated><category term='la barbe bleue'/><category term='fantastic mr fox'/><category term='bluebeard'/><category term='born in a bottle rocket'/><category term='the lady of gollerus'/><category term='ghost'/><category term='chinese folk tale'/><category term='big bad wolf'/><category term='the elephant&apos;s child'/><category term='red riding hood'/><category term='neutral milk hotel'/><category term='the death stone'/><title type='text'>Born In A Bottle Rocket</title><subtitle type='html'>a suitcase of stories to retell</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-5350636787417002519</id><published>2010-10-24T10:23:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T10:28:56.170-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Alice's Adventures In Wonderland...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TMRBmJjqFCI/AAAAAAAAAdM/4Qu_1bAE7Jg/s1600/DSC_0027+Alice+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TMRBmJjqFCI/AAAAAAAAAdM/4Qu_1bAE7Jg/s400/DSC_0027+Alice+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531618365974123554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice's_Adventures_in_Wonderland"&gt;Alice's Adventures In Wonderland&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and the talking over its head. `Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,' thought Alice; `only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: `No room! No room!' they cried out when they saw Alice coming. `There's PLENTY of room!' said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. `I don't see any wine,' she remarked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`There isn't any,' said the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice angrily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited,' said the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I didn't know it was YOUR table,' said Alice; `it's laid for a great many more than three.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Your hair wants cutting,' said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Alice said with some severity; `it's very rude.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he SAID was, `Why is a raven like a writing-desk?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Come, we shall have some fun now!' thought Alice. `I'm glad they've begun asking riddles.--I believe I can guess that,' she added aloud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?' said the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Exactly so,' said Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Then you should say what you mean,' the March Hare went on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I do,' Alice hastily replied; `at least--at least I mean what I say--that's the same thing, you know.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Not the same thing a bit!' said the Hatter. `You might just as well say that "I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat what I see"!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`You might just as well say,' added the March Hare, `that "I like what I get" is the same thing as "I get what I like"!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, `that "I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`It IS the same thing with you,' said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Hatter was the first to break the silence. `What day of the month is it?' he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice considered a little, and then said `The fourth.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Two days wrong!' sighed the Hatter. `I told you butter wouldn't suit the works!' he added looking angrily at the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`It was the BEST butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' the Hatter grumbled: `you shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, `It was the BEST butter, you know.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. `What a funny watch!' she remarked. `It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Why should it?' muttered the Hatter. `Does YOUR watch tell you what year it is?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Of course not,' Alice replied very readily: `but that's because it stays the same year for such a long time together.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Which is just the case with MINE,' said the Hatter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. `I don't quite understand you,' she said, as politely as she could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`The Dormouse is asleep again,' said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes, `Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Have you guessed the riddle yet?' the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`No, I give it up,' Alice replied: `that's the answer?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I haven't the slightest idea,' said the Hatter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Nor I,' said the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice sighed wearily. `I think you might do something better with the time,' she said, `than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter, `you wouldn't talk about wasting IT. It's HIM.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Of course you don't!' the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. `I dare say you never even spoke to Time!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied: `but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Ah! that accounts for it,' said the Hatter. `He won't stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you'd only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(`I only wish it was,' the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`That would be grand, certainly,' said Alice thoughtfully: `but then--I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Not at first, perhaps,' said the Hatter: `but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Is that the way YOU manage?' Alice asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Hatter shook his head mournfully. `Not I!' he replied. `We quarrelled last March--just before HE went mad, you know--' (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) `--it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!&lt;br /&gt;         How I wonder what you're at!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the song, perhaps?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I've heard something like it,' said Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`It goes on, you know,' the Hatter continued, `in this way:--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;            "Up above the world you fly,&lt;br /&gt;         Like a tea-tray in the sky.&lt;br /&gt;                 Twinkle, twinkle--"'&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep `Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle--' and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse,' said the Hatter, `when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, "He's murdering the time! Off with his head!"'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`How dreadfully savage!' exclaimed Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`And ever since that,' the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, `he won't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bright idea came into Alice's head. `Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?' she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Yes, that's it,' said the Hatter with a sigh: `it's always tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Then you keep moving round, I suppose?' said Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Exactly so,' said the Hatter: `as the things get used up.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`But what happens when you come to the beginning again?' Alice ventured to ask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Suppose we change the subject,' the March Hare interrupted, yawning. `I'm getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I'm afraid I don't know one,' said Alice, rather alarmed at the proposal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Then the Dormouse shall!' they both cried. `Wake up, Dormouse!' And they pinched it on both sides at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. `I wasn't asleep,' he said in a hoarse, feeble voice: `I heard every word you fellows were saying.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Tell us a story!' said the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Yes, please do!' pleaded Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`And be quick about it,' added the Hatter, `or you'll be asleep again before it's done.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Once upon a time there were three little sisters,' the Dormouse began in a great hurry; `and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well--'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`What did they live on?' said Alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`They lived on treacle,' said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`They couldn't have done that, you know,' Alice gently remarked; `they'd have been ill.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`So they were,' said the Dormouse; `VERY ill.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: `But why did they live at the bottom of a well?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Take some more tea,' the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I've had nothing yet,' Alice replied in an offended tone, `so I can't take more.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`You mean you can't take LESS,' said the Hatter: `it's very easy to take MORE than nothing.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Nobody asked YOUR opinion,' said Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Who's making personal remarks now?' the Hatter asked triumphantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question. `Why did they live at the bottom of a well?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, `It was a treacle-well.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`There's no such thing!' Alice was beginning very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went `Sh! sh!' and the Dormouse sulkily remarked, `If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`No, please go on!' Alice said very humbly; `I won't interrupt again. I dare say there may be ONE.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`One, indeed!' said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he consented to go on. `And so these three little sisters--they were learning to draw, you know--'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`What did they draw?' said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Treacle,' said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`I want a clean cup,' interrupted the Hatter: `let's all move one place on.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk-jug into his plate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very cautiously: `But I don't understand. Where did they draw the treacle from?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`You can draw water out of a water-well,' said the Hatter; `so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh, stupid?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`But they were IN the well,' Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing to notice this last remark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Of course they were', said the Dormouse; `--well in.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`They were learning to draw,' the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; `and they drew all manner of things--everything that begins with an M--'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Why with an M?' said Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Why not?' said the March Hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice was silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on: `--that begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness-- you know you say things are "much of a muchness"--did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Really, now you ask me,' said Alice, very much confused, `I don't think--'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`Then you shouldn't talk,' said the Hatter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;`At any rate I'll never go THERE again!' said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. `It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. `That's very curious!' she thought. `But everything's curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.' And in she went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table. `Now, I'll manage better this time,' she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she wet to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocked) till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little passage: and THEN--she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TMRCfNuztrI/AAAAAAAAAdU/5O9K2LBF-d4/s400/DSC_0010+Alice+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531619346347177650" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-5350636787417002519?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/5350636787417002519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/5350636787417002519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/10/alices-adventures-in-wonderland.html' title='Alice&apos;s Adventures In Wonderland...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TMRBmJjqFCI/AAAAAAAAAdM/4Qu_1bAE7Jg/s72-c/DSC_0027+Alice+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-7897968089228996876</id><published>2010-08-29T17:46:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-29T17:56:57.719-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Kitsune...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/THrVbeh3zSI/AAAAAAAAAc0/CVGOmutSd7k/s1600/DSC_0007+Crystal+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/THrVbeh3zSI/AAAAAAAAAc0/CVGOmutSd7k/s400/DSC_0007+Crystal+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510951762069540130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://academia.issendai.com/chinese-fox-stories.shtml"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Kitsune&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Kitsune (狐) is the Japanese word for fox. Foxes are a common subject of Japanese folklore and are akin to European faeries; in English, kitsune refers to them in this context. Stories depict them as intelligent beings and as possessing magical abilities that increase with their age and wisdom. Foremost among these is the ability to assume human form. While some folktales speak of kitsune employing this ability to trick others—as foxes in folklore often do—other stories portray them as faithful guardians, friends, lovers, and wives.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Foxes and human beings lived close together in ancient Japan; this companionship gave rise to legends about the creatures. Kitsune have become closely associated with Inari, a Shinto kami or spirit, and serve as his messengers. This role has reinforced the fox's supernatural significance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The more tails a kitsune has—they may have as many as nine—the older, wiser, and more powerful it is. Because of their potential power and influence, some people make offerings to them as to a deity.  (More at &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.kitsune.org/stories.html"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Too many stories to even try to retell here!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/THrVj-_DWEI/AAAAAAAAAc8/_R90mjil0_U/s400/DSC_0013+Crystal+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510951908220819522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-7897968089228996876?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/7897968089228996876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/7897968089228996876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/08/kitsune.html' title='Kitsune...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/THrVbeh3zSI/AAAAAAAAAc0/CVGOmutSd7k/s72-c/DSC_0007+Crystal+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-8928896784113301912</id><published>2010-08-08T17:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T17:30:11.688-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Brer Rabbit...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TF8hqq0Y2OI/AAAAAAAAAcs/9tPVN5GKG3Q/s1600/DSC_0032+Olive+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TF8hqq0Y2OI/AAAAAAAAAcs/9tPVN5GKG3Q/s400/DSC_0032+Olive+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503154286602279138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2010/07/brer_rabbit_meets_a_tar_baby.html"&gt;Brer Rabbit in the briar patch...&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Well now, that rascal Brer Fox hated Brer Rabbit on account of he was always cutting capers and bossing everyone around. So Brer Fox decided to capture and kill Brer Rabbit if it was the last thing he ever did! He thought and he thought until he came up with a plan. He would make a tar baby! Brer Fox went and got some tar and he mixed it with some turpentine and he sculpted it into the figure of a cute little baby. Then he stuck a hat on the Tar Baby and sat her in the middle of the road.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Fox hid himself in the bushes near the road and he waited and waited for Brer Rabbit to come along. At long last, he heard someone whistling and chuckling to himself, and he knew that Brer Rabbit was coming up over the hill. As he reached the top, Brer Rabbit spotted the cute little Tar Baby. Brer Rabbit was surprised. He stopped and stared at this strange creature. He had never seen anything like it before!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Good Morning," said Brer Rabbit, doffing his hat. "Nice weather we're having."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Tar Baby said nothing. Brer Fox laid low and grinned an evil grin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Rabbit tried again. "And how are you feeling this fine day?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Tar Baby, she said nothing. Brer Fox grinned an evil grin and lay low in the bushes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Rabbit frowned. This strange creature was not very polite. It was beginning to make him mad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Ahem!" said Brer Rabbit loudly, wondering if the Tar Baby were deaf. "I said 'HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Tar Baby said nothing. Brer Fox curled up into a ball to hide his laugher. His plan was working perfectly!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Are you deaf or just rude?" demanded Brer Rabbit, losing his temper. "I can't stand folks that are stuck up! You take off that hat and say 'Howdy-do' or I'm going to give you such a lickin'!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Tar Baby just sat in the middle of the road looking as cute as a button and saying nothing at all. Brer Fox rolled over and over under the bushes, fit to bust because he didn't dare laugh out loud.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"I'll learn ya!" Brer Rabbit yelled. He took a swing at the cute little Tar Baby and his paw got stuck in the tar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Lemme go or I'll hit you again," shouted Brer Rabbit. The Tar Baby, she said nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Fine! Be that way," said Brer Rabbit, swinging at the Tar Baby with his free paw. Now both his paws were stuck in the tar, and Brer Fox danced with glee behind the bushes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"I'm gonna kick the stuffin' out of you," Brer Rabbit said and pounced on the Tar Baby with both feet. They sank deep into the Tar Baby. Brer Rabbit was so furious he head-butted the cute little creature until he was completely covered with tar and unable to move.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Fox leapt out of the bushes and strolled over to Brer Rabbit. "Well, well, what have we here?" he asked, grinning an evil grin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Rabbit gulped. He was stuck fast. He did some fast thinking while Brer Fox rolled about on the road, laughing himself sick over Brer Rabbit's dilemma.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"I've got you this time, Brer Rabbit," said Brer Fox, jumping up and shaking off the dust. "You've sassed me for the very last time. Now I wonder what I should do with you?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Rabbit's eyes got very large. "Oh please Brer Fox, whatever you do, please don't throw me into the briar patch."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Maybe I should roast you over a fire and eat you," mused Brer Fox. "No, that's too much trouble. Maybe I'll hang you instead."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Roast me! Hang me! Do whatever you please," said Brer Rabbit. "Only please, Brer Fox, please don't throw me into the briar patch."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"If I'm going to hang you, I'll need some string," said Brer Fox. "And I don't have any string handy. But the stream's not far away, so maybe I'll drown you instead."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"Drown me! Roast me! Hang me! Do whatever you please," said Brer Rabbit. "Only please, Brer Fox, please don't throw me into the briar patch."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"The briar patch, eh?" said Brer Fox. "What a wonderful idea! You'll be torn into little pieces!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Grabbing up the tar-covered rabbit, Brer Fox swung him around and around and then flung him head over heels into the briar patch. Brer Rabbit let out such a scream as he fell that all of Brer Fox's fur stood straight up. Brer Rabbit fell into the briar bushes with a crash and a mighty thump. Then there was silence.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Brer Fox cocked one ear toward the briar patch, listening for whimpers of pain. But he heard nothing. Brer Fox cocked the other ear toward the briar patch, listening for Brer Rabbit's death rattle. He heard nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Then Brer Fox heard someone calling his name. He turned around and looked up the hill. Brer Rabbit was sitting on a log combing the tar out of his fur with a wood chip and looking smug.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"I was bred and born in the briar patch, Brer Fox," he called. "Born and bred in the briar patch."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;And Brer Rabbit skipped away as merry as a cricket while Brer Fox ground his teeth in rage and went home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-8928896784113301912?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8928896784113301912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8928896784113301912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/08/brer-rabbit.html' title='Brer Rabbit...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TF8hqq0Y2OI/AAAAAAAAAcs/9tPVN5GKG3Q/s72-c/DSC_0032+Olive+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-6631158594733311138</id><published>2010-08-07T18:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T18:25:42.822-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Monkey's Heart...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TF3bzjvSaFI/AAAAAAAAAck/Xp8XBwoUMaE/s1600/DSC_0090+Monkey+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TF3bzjvSaFI/AAAAAAAAAck/Xp8XBwoUMaE/s400/DSC_0090+Monkey+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502795998530005074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/type0091.html#swahili"&gt;The Monkey's Heart&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Africa, Swahili&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A long time ago a little town made up of a collection of low huts stood in a tiny green valley at the foot of a cliff. Of course the people had taken great care to build their houses out of reach of the highest tide which might be driven on shore by a west wind, but on the very edge of the town there had sprung up a tree so large that half its boughs hung over the huts and the other half over the deep sea right under the cliff, where sharks loved to come and splash in the clear water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The branches of the tree itself were laden with fruit, and every day at sunrise a big gray monkey might have been seen sitting in the topmost branches having his breakfast, and chattering to himself with delight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/N5RxQ3mHAkc&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/N5RxQ3mHAkc&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he had eaten all the fruit on the town side of the tree the monkey swung himself along the branches to the part which hung over the water. While he was looking out for a nice shady place where he might perch comfortably, he noticed a shark watching him from below with greedy eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can I do anything for you, my friend?" asked the monkey politely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh! if you only would throw me down some of those delicious things, I should be so grateful," answered the shark. "After you have lived on fish for fifty years you begin to feel you would like a change. And I am so very, very tired of the taste of salt."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't like salt myself," said the monkey, "so if you will open your mouth I will throw this beautiful juicy kuyu into it," and, as he spoke, he pulled one off the branch just over his head. But it was not so easy to hit the shark's mouth as he supposed, even when the creature had turned on his back, and the first kuyu only struck one of his teeth and rolled into the water. However, the second time the monkey had better luck, and the fruit fell right in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, how good!" cried the shark. "Send me another, please," and the monkey grew tired of picking the kuyu long before the shark was tired of eating them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is getting late, and I must be going home to my children," he said, at length, "but if you are here at the same time tomorrow I will give you another treat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you, thank you," said the shark, showing all his great ugly teeth as he grinned with delight. "You can't guess how happy you have made me," and he swam away into the shadow, hoping to sleep away the time till the monkey came again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For weeks the monkey and the shark breakfasted together, and it was a wonder that the tree had any fruit left for them. They became fast friends, and told each other about their homes and their children, and how to teach them all they ought to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By and by the monkey became rather discontented with his green house in a grove of palms beyond the town, and longed to see the strange things under the sea which he had heard of from the shark. The shark perceived this very clearly, and described greater marvels. And the monkey, as he listened, grew more and more gloomy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matters were in this state when one day the shark said, "I really hardly know how to thank you for your kindness to me during these weeks. Here I have nothing of my own to offer you, but if you would only consent to come home with me, how gladly would I give you anything that might happen to take your fancy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I should like nothing better," cried the monkey, his teeth chattering, as they always did when he was pleased. "But how could I get there? Not by water, Ugh! It makes me ill to think of it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh! don't let that trouble you," replied the shark. "You have only to sit on my back and I will undertake that not a drop of water shall touch you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it was arranged, and directly after breakfast next morning the shark swam close up under the tree, and the monkey dropped neatly on his back, without even a splash. After a few minutes -- for at first he felt a little frightened at his strange position -- the monkey began to enjoy himself vastly, and asked the shark a thousand questions about the fish and the seaweeds and the oddly shaped things that floated past them, and as the shark always gave him some sort of answer, the monkey never guessed that many of the objects they saw were as new to his guide as to himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun had risen and set six times when the shark suddenly said, "My friend, we have now performed half our journey, and it is time that I should tell you something."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is it?" asked the monkey. "Nothing unpleasant, I hope, for you sound rather grave."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, no! Nothing at all. It is only that shortly before we left I heard that the sultan of my country is very ill, and that the only thing to cure him is a monkey's heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Poor man, I am very sorry for him," replied the monkey; "but you were unwise not to tell me till we had started."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do you mean?" asked the shark. But the monkey, who now understood the whole plot, did not answer at once, for he was considering what he should say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why are you so silent?" inquired the shark again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I was thinking what a pity it was you did not tell me while I was still on land, and then I would have brought my heart with me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your heart! Why isn't your heart here?" said the shark, with a puzzled expression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, no! Of course not. Is it possible you don't know that when we leave home we always hang up our hearts on trees, to prevent their being troublesome? However, perhaps you won't believe that, and will just think I have invented it because I am afraid, so let us go on to your country as fast as we can, and when we arrive you can look for my heart, and if you find it you can kill me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The monkey spoke in such a calm indifferent way that the shark was quite deceived, and began to wish he had not been in such a hurry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But there is no use going on if your heart is not with you," he said at last. "We had better turn back to the town, and then you can fetch it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, this was just what the monkey wanted, but he was careful not to seem too pleased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't know," he remarked carelessly. "It is such a long way; but you may be right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am sure I am," answered the shark, "and I will swim as quickly as I can," and so he did, and in three days they caught sight of the kuyu tree hanging over the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a sigh of relief the monkey caught hold of the nearest branch and swung himself up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wait for me here," he called out to the shark. "I am so hungry I must have a little breakfast, and then I will go and look for my heart," and he went further and further into the branches so that the shark could not see him. Then he curled himself up and went to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you there?" cried the shark, who was soon tired of swimming about under the cliff, and was in haste to be gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The monkey awoke with a start, but did not answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you there?" called the shark again, louder than before, and in a very cross voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yes. I am here," replied the monkey; "but I wish you had not wakened me up. I was having such a nice nap."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Have you got it?" asked the shark. "It is time we were going."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Going where?" inquired the monkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why, to my country, of course, with your heart. You can't have forgotten!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My dear friend," answered the monkey, with a chuckle, "I think you must be going a little mad. Do you take me for a washerman's donkey?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't talk nonsense," exclaimed the shark, who did not like being laughed at. "What do you mean about a washerman's donkey? And I wish you would be quick, or we may be too late to save the sultan."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you really never hear of the washerman's donkey?" asked the monkey, who was enjoying himself immensely. "Why, he is the beast who has no heart. And as I am not feeling very well, and am afraid to start while the sun is so high lest I should get a sunstroke, if you like, I will come a little nearer and tell you his story."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well," said the shark sulkily, "if you won't come, I suppose I may as well listen to that as do nothing."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the monkey began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;A washerman once lived in the great forest on the other side of the town, and he had a donkey to keep him company and to carry him wherever he wanted to go. For a time they got on very well, but by and by the donkey grew lazy and ungrateful for her master's kindness, and ran away several miles into the heart of the forest, where she did nothing but eat and eat and eat, till she grew so fat she could hardly move.&lt;br /&gt;One day as she was tasting quite a new kind of grass and wondering if it was as good as what she had had for dinner the day before, a hare happened to pass by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, that is a fat creature," thought she, and turned out of her path to tell the news to a lion who was a friend of hers. Now the lion had been very ill and was not strong enough to go hunting for himself, and when the hare came and told him that a very fat donkey was to be found only a few hundred yards off, tears of disappointment and weakness filled his eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is the good of telling me that?" he asked in a weepy voice. "You know I cannot even walk as far as that palm."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Never mind," answered the hare briskly. "If you can't go to your dinner, your dinner shall come to you," and nodding a farewell to the lion she went back to the donkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good morning," said she, bowing politely to the donkey, who lifted her head in surprise. "Excuse my interrupting you, but I have come on very important business."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Indeed," answered the donkey, "it is most kind of you to take the trouble. May I inquire what the business is?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Certainly," replied the hare. "It is my friend the lion who has heard so much of your charms and good qualities that he has sent me to beg that you will give him your paw in marriage. He regrets deeply that he is unable to make the request in person, but he has been ill and is too weak to move."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Poor fellow! How sad!" said the donkey. "But you must tell him that I feel honored by his proposal and will gladly consent to be Queen of the Beasts."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Will you not come and tell him so yourself?" asked the hare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side by side they went down the road which led to the lion's house. It took a long while, for the donkey was so fat with eating she could only walk very slowly, and the hare, who could have run the distance in about five minutes, was obliged to creep along till she almost dropped with fatigue at not being able to go at her own pace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When at last they arrived the lion was sitting up at the entrance, looking very pale and thin. The donkey suddenly grew shy and hung her head, but the lion put on his best manners and invited both his visitors to come in and make themselves comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Very soon the hare go up and said, "Well, as I have another engagement I will leave you to make acquaintance with your future husband," and winking at the lion she bounded away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The donkey expected that as soon as they were left alone the lion would begin to speak of their marriage, and where they should live, but as he said nothing she looked up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To her surprise and terror she saw him crouching in the corner, his eyes glaring with a red light, and with a loud roar he sprang towards her. But in that moment the donkey had had time to prepare herself, and jumping on one side dealt the lion such a hard kick that he shrieked with the pain. Again and again he struck at her with his claws, but the donkey could bite too, as well as the lion, who was very weak after his illness, and at last a well planted kick knocked him right over, and he rolled on the floor, groaning with pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The donkey did not wait for him to get up, but ran away as fast as she could and was lost in the forest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the hare, who knew quite well what would happen, had not gone to do her business, but hid herself in some bushes behind the cave, where she could hear quite clearly the sounds of the battle. When all was quiet again she crept gently out, and stole round the corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, lion, have you killed her?" asked she, running swiftly up the path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Killed her, indeed!" answered the lion sulkily, "it is she who has nearly killed me. I never knew a donkey could kick like that, though I took care she should carry away the marks of my claws."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear me! Fancy such a great fat creature being able to fight!" cried the hare. "But don't vex yourself. Just lie still, and your wounds will soon heal," and she bade her friend good-bye, and returned to her family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two or three weeks passed, and only bare places on the donkey's back showed where the lion's claws had been, while, on his side, the lion had recovered from his illness and was now as strong as ever. He was beginning to think that it was almost time for him to begin hunting again, when one morning a rustle was heard in the creepers outside, and the hare's head peeped through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah! there is no need to ask how you are," she said. "Still you mustn't overtire yourself, you know. Shall I go and bring you your dinner?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you will bring me that donkey I will tear it in two," cried the lion savagely, and the hare laughed and nodded and went on her errand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time the donkey was much further than before, and it took longer to find her. At last the hare caught sight of four hoofs in the air, and ran towards them. The donkey was lying on a soft cool bed of moss near a stream, rolling herself backwards and forwards from pleasure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good morning," said the hare politely, and the donkey got slowly onto her legs, and looked to see who her visitor could be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, it is you, is it?" she exclaimed. "Come and have a chat. What news have you got?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I mustn't stay," answered the hare; "but I promised the lion to beg you to pay him a visit, as he is not well enough to call on you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't know," replied the donkey gloomily. "The last time we went he scratched me very badly, and really I was quite afraid."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He was only trying to kiss you," said the hare, "and you bit him, and of course that made him cross."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If I were sure of that," hesitated the donkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you may be quite sure," laughed the hare. "I have a large acquaintance among lions. But let us be quick," and rather unwillingly the donkey set out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lion saw them coming and hid himself behind a large tree. As the donkey went past, followed by the hare, he sprang out, and with one blow of his paw stretched the poor foolish creature dead before him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Take this meat and skin it and roast it," he said to the hare; "but my appetite is not so good as it was, and the only part I want for myself is the heart. The rest you can either eat yourself or give away to your friends."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you," replied the hare, balancing the donkey on her back as well as she was able, and though the legs trailed along the ground she managed to drag it to an open space some distance off, where she made a fire and roasted it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as it was cooked, the hare took out the heart and had just finished eating it when the lion, who was tired of waiting, came up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am hungry," said he. "Bring me the creature's heart. It is just what I want for supper."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But there is no heart," answered the hare, looking up at the lion with a puzzled face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What nonsense!" said the lion. "As if every beast had not got a heart. What do you mean?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is a washerman's donkey," replied the hare gravely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, and suppose it is?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, fie!" exclaimed the fare. "You, a lion and a grown-up person, and ask questions like that. If the donkey had had a heart would she be here now? The first time she came she knew you were trying to kill her, and ran away. Yet she came back a second time. Well, if she had had a heart would she have come back a second time? Now would she?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the lion answered slowly, "No, she would not."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So you think I am a washerman's donkey?" said the monkey to the shark, when the story was ended. "You are wrong. I am not. And as the sun is getting low in the sky, it is time for you to begin your homeward journey. You will have a nice cool voyage, and I hope you will find the sultan better. Farewell!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the monkey disappeared among the green branches, and was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-6631158594733311138?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/6631158594733311138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/6631158594733311138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/08/monkeys-heart.html' title='The Monkey&apos;s Heart...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TF3bzjvSaFI/AAAAAAAAAck/Xp8XBwoUMaE/s72-c/DSC_0090+Monkey+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-7933432663337866795</id><published>2010-08-04T21:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-04T21:43:29.993-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Tiger's Whisker...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFoW5JV5uNI/AAAAAAAAAcc/-xL7hqnO6Pw/s1600/DSC_0019+Crystal+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFoW5JV5uNI/AAAAAAAAAcc/-xL7hqnO6Pw/s400/DSC_0019+Crystal+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501735065802619090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.storiestogrowby.com/stories/tiger_wh_korea.html"&gt;The Tiger's Whisker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;ONCE UPON A TIME a young wife named Yun Ok was at her wit's end. Her husband had always been a tender and loving soulmate before he had left for the wars, but ever since he returned home he was cross, angry, and unpredictable. She was almost afraid to live with her own husband. Only in glancing moments did she catch a shadow of the husband she used to know and love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    When one ailment or another bothered people in her village, they would often rush for a cure to a hermit who lived deep in the mountains. Not Yun Ok. She always prided herself that she could heal her own troubles. But this time was different. She was desperate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    As Yun Ok approached the hermit's hut, she saw the door was open. The old man said without turning around, "I hear you. What's your problem?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    She explained the situation. His back still to her, he said, "Ah yes, it's often that way when soldiers return from the war. What do you expect me to do about it?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "Make me a potion!" cried the young wife. "Or an amulet, a drink, whatever it takes to get my husband back the way he used to be."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    The old man turned around. "Young woman, your request doesn't exactly fall into the same category as a broken bone or ear infection."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "I know," said she.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "It will take three days before I can even look into it. Come back then."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    Three days later, Yun Ok returned to the hermit's hut. "Yun Ok," he greeted her with a smile, "I have good news. There is a potion that will restore your husband to the way he used to be, but you should know that it requires an unusual ingredient. You must bring me a whisker from a live tiger."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "What?" she gasped. "Such a thing is impossible!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "I cannot make the potion without it!" he shouted, startling her. He turned his back. "There is nothing more to say. As you can see, I'm very busy."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    That night Yun Ok tossed and turned. How could she get a whisker from a live tiger?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    The next day before dawn, she crept out of the house with a bowl of rice covered with meat sauce. She went to a cave on the mountainside where a tiger was known to live. She clicked her tongue very softly as she crept up, her heart pounding, and carefully set the bowl on the grass. Then, trying to make as little noise as she could, she backed away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    The next day before dawn, she took another bowl of rice covered with meat sauce to the cave. She approached the same spot, clicking softly with her tongue. She saw that the bowl was empty, replaced the empty one with a fresh one, and again left, clicking softly and trying not to break twigs or rustle leaves, or do anything else to startle and unsettle the wild beast.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    So it went, day after day, for several months. She never saw the tiger (thank goodness for that! she thought) though she knew from footprints on the ground that the tiger - and not a smaller mountain creature - had been eating her food. Then one day as she approached, she noticed the tiger's head poking out of its cave. Glancing downward, she stepped very carefully to the same spot and with as little noise as she could, set down the fresh bowl and, her heart pounding, picked up the one that was empty.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    After a few weeks, she noticed the tiger would come out of its cave as it heard her footsteps, though it stayed a distance away (again, thank goodness! she thought, though she knew that someday, in order to get the whisker, she'd have to come closer to it). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    Another month went by. Then the tiger would wait by the empty food bowl as it heard her approaching. As she picked up the old bowl and replaced it with a fresh one, she could smell its scent, as it could surely smell hers. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "Actually," she thought, remembering its almost kittenish look as she set down a fresh bowl, "it is a rather friendly creature, when you get to know it." The next time she visited, she glanced up at the tiger briefly and noticed what a lovely downturn of reddish fur it had from over one of its eyebrows to the next. Not a week later, the tiger allowed her to gently rub its head, and it purred and stretched like a house cat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    Then she knew the time had come. The next morning, very early, she brought with her a small knife. After she set down the fresh bowl and the tiger allowed her to pet its head she said in a low voice, "Oh, my tiger, may I please have just one of your whiskers?" While petting the tiger with one hand, she held one whisker at its base, and with the other hand, in one quick stroke, she carved the whisker off. She stood up, speaking softly her thanks, and left, for the last time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    The next morning seemed endless. At last her husband left for the rice fields. She ran to the hermit's hut, clutching the precious whisker in her fist. Bursting in, she cried to the hermit, "I have it! I have the tiger's whisker!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "You don't say?" he said, turning around. "From a live tiger?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "Yes!" she said. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "Tell me," said the hermit, interested. "How did you do it?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    Yun Ok told the hermit how, for the last six months, she had earned the trust of the creature and it had finally permitted her to cut off one of its whiskers. With pride she handed him the whisker. The hermit examined it, satisfied himself that it was indeed a whisker from a live tiger, then flicked it into the fire where it sizzled and burned in an instant.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "What have you done?" Yun Ok cried, horrified. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    "Yun Ok," the hermit said softly, "you no longer need the whisker. Tell me, is a man more vicious than a tiger? If a dangerous wild beast will respond to your gradual and patient care, do you think a man will respond any less willingly?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;                    Yun Ok stood speechless. Then she turned and stepped down the trail, turning over in her mind images of the tiger and of her husband, back and forth. She knew what she could do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-7933432663337866795?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/7933432663337866795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/7933432663337866795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/08/tigers-whisker.html' title='The Tiger&apos;s Whisker...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFoW5JV5uNI/AAAAAAAAAcc/-xL7hqnO6Pw/s72-c/DSC_0019+Crystal+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-5525246649837507011</id><published>2010-08-01T15:56:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-01T16:57:19.741-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Grizzly Bear And Rabbit...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFXRe5n6CgI/AAAAAAAAAcU/gI9tsU5sMQI/s1600/DSC_0023+Grizzly+Bear+And+Rabbit+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFXRe5n6CgI/AAAAAAAAAcU/gI9tsU5sMQI/s400/DSC_0023+Grizzly+Bear+And+Rabbit+sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500532848697412098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://amzn.to/brVfbG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Grizzly Bear And Rabbit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Snoqualmie Legend of the Grizzly Bear and the Rabbit who found themselves traveling together along the river Yakima.  An argument between them led to Grizzly Bear tricking Rabbit in order to eat him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rabbits can be a clever animal though.  Will that Grizzly Bear every catch him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/g126yRm8chw&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/g126yRm8chw&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-5525246649837507011?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/5525246649837507011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/5525246649837507011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/08/grizzly-bear-and-rabbit.html' title='Grizzly Bear And Rabbit...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFXRe5n6CgI/AAAAAAAAAcU/gI9tsU5sMQI/s72-c/DSC_0023+Grizzly+Bear+And+Rabbit+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-3884709293421714160</id><published>2010-08-01T14:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-01T14:58:39.893-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Donkey...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFXDOwRvLhI/AAAAAAAAAcM/Zvjhzpp0bL0/s1600/DSC_0011+The+Donkey+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFXDOwRvLhI/AAAAAAAAAcM/Zvjhzpp0bL0/s400/DSC_0011+The+Donkey+sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500517178147810834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/grimms/144donkey.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Donkey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;ONCE on a time there lived a King and a Queen, who were rich, and had everything they wanted, but no children. The Queen lamented over this day and night, and said, "I am like a field on which nothing grows." At last God gave her her wish, but when the child came into the world, it did not look like a human child, but was a little donkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the mother saw that, her lamentations and outcries began in real earnest; she said she would far rather have had no child at all than have a donkey, and that they were to throw it into the water that the fishes might devour it. But the King said, "No, since God has sent him he shall be my son and heir, and after my death sit on the royal throne, and wear the kingly crown." The donkey, therefore, was brought up and grew bigger, and his ears grew up beautifully high and straight. He was, however, of a merry disposition, jumped about, played and had especial pleasure in music, so that he went to a celebrated musician and said, "Teach me thine art, that I may play the lute as well as thou dost." "Ah, dear little master," answered the musician, "that would come very hard to you, your fingers are certainly not suited to it, and are far too big. I am afraid the strings would not last." No excuses were of any use. The donkey was determined to play the lute; he was persevering and industrious, and at last learnt to do it as well as the master himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young lordling once went out walking full of thought and came to a well, he looked into it and in the mirror-clear water saw his donkey's form. He was so distressed about it, that he went out into the wide world and only took with him one faithful companion. They travelled up and down, and at last they came into a kingdom where an old King reigned who had an only but wonderfully beautiful daughter. The donkey said, "Here we will stay," knocked at the gate, and cried, "A guest is without open, that he may enter." As, however, the gate was not opened, he sat down, took his lute and played it in the most delightful manner with his two fore-feet. Then the door-keeper opened his eyes most wonderfully wide, and ran to the King and said, "Outside by the gate sits a young donkey which plays the lute as well as an experienced master!" "Then let the musician come to me," said the King.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When, however, a donkey came in, every one began to laugh at the lute-player. And now the donkey was asked to sit down and eat with the servants. He, however, was unwilling, and said, "I am no common stable-ass, I am a noble one." Then they said, "If that is what thou art, seat thyself with the men of war." "No," said he, "I will sit by the King." The King smiled, and said good-humouredly, "Yes, it shall be as thou wilt, little ass, come here to me." Then he asked, "Little ass, how does my daughter please thee?" The donkey turned his head towards her, looked at her, nodded and said, "I like her above measure, I have never yet seen anyone so beautiful as she is." "Well, then, thou shalt sit next her too," said the King. "That is exactly what I wish," said the donkey, and he placed himself by her side, ate and drank, and knew how to behave himself daintily and cleanly. When the noble beast had stayed a long time at the King's court, he thought, "What good does all this do me, I shall still have to go home again?" let his head hang sadly, and went to the King and asked for his dismissal. But the King had grown fond of him, and said, "Little ass, what ails thee? Thou lookest as sour as a jug of vinegar, I will give thee what thou wantest. Dost thou want gold?" "No," said the donkey, and shook his head. "Dost thou want jewels and rich dress?" "No." "Dost thou wish for half my kingdom?" "Indeed, no." Then said the King, if I did but know what would make thee content. Wilt thou have my pretty daughter to wife?" "Ah, yes," said the ass, "I should indeed like her," and all at once he became quite merry and full of happiness, for that was exactly what he was wishing for. So a great and splendid wedding was held. In the evening, when the bride and bridegroom were led into their bed-room, the King wanted to know if the ass would behave well, and ordered a servant to hide himself there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they were both within, the bridegroom bolted the door, looked around, and as he believed that they were quite alone, he suddenly threw off his ass's skin, and stood there in the form of a handsome royal youth. "Now," said he, "thou seest who I am, and seest also that I am not unworthy of thee." Then the bride was glad, and kissed him, and loved him dearly. When morning came, he jumped up, put his animal's skin on again, and no one could have guessed what kind of a form was hidden beneath it. Soon came the old King, "Ah," cried he, "is the little ass merry? But surely thou art sad?" said he to his daughter, "that thou hast not got a proper man for thy husband?" "Oh, no, dear father, I love him as well as if he were the handsomest in the world, and I will keep him as long as I live." The King was surprised, but the servant who had concealed himself came and revealed everything to him. The King said, "That cannot be true." "Then watch yourself the next night, and you will see it with your own eyes; and hark you, lord King, if you were to take his skin away and throw it in the fire, he would be forced to show himself in his true shape." "Thy advice is good," said the King, and at night when they were asleep, he stole in, and when he got to the bed he saw by the light of the moon a noble-looking youth lying there, and the skin lay stretched on the ground. So he took it away, and had a great fire lighted outside, and threw the skin into it, and remained by it himself until it was all burnt to ashes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As, however, he was anxious to know how the robbed man would behave himself, he stayed awake the whole night and watched. When the youth had slept his sleep out, he got up by the first light of morning, and wanted to put on the ass's skin, but it was not to be found. On this he was alarmed, and, full of grief and anxiety, said, "Now I shall have to contrive to escape." But when he went out, there stood the King, who said, "My son, whither away in such haste? what hast thou in mind? Stay here, thou art such a handsome man, thou shalt not go away from me. I will now give thee half my kingdom, and after my death thou shalt have the whole of it." "Then I hope that what begins so well may end well, and I will stay with you," said the youth. And the old man gave him half the kingdom, and in a year's time, when he died, the youth had the whole, and after the death of his father he had another kingdom as well, and lived in all magnificence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-3884709293421714160?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/3884709293421714160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/3884709293421714160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/08/donkey.html' title='The Donkey...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TFXDOwRvLhI/AAAAAAAAAcM/Zvjhzpp0bL0/s72-c/DSC_0011+The+Donkey+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-8469746319087847664</id><published>2010-06-19T09:14:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T09:17:11.177-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Chief Mountain...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TBzC9nTvwXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/6qjjyS0qNEo/s1600/DSC_0124+Jynni+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TBzC9nTvwXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/6qjjyS0qNEo/s400/DSC_0124+Jynni+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484472810010034546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ocbtracker.com/ladypixel/chiefmtn.html"&gt;The Chief Mountain&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Many years ago, a young Piegan warrior was noted for his bravery. When he grew older and more experienced in war, he became the war-chief for a large band of Piegan warriors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little while after he became the war-chief, he fell in love with a girl who was in his tribe, and they got married. He was so in love with her that he took no other wives, and he decided not to go on war parties anymore. He and his wife were very happy together; unusually so, and when they had a baby, they were even happier then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some moons later, a war party that had left his village was almost destroyed by an enemy. Only four men came back to tell the story. The war-chief was greatly troubled by this. He saw that if the enemy was not punished, they would raid the Piegan camp. So he gave a big war feast and asked all of the young men of his band to come to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After they had all eaten their fill, the war-chief arose and said to them in solemn tones: "Friends and brothers, you have all heard the story that our four young men have told us. All the others who went out from our camp were killed by the enemy. Only these four have come back to our campfires. Those who were killed were our friends and relatives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We who live must go out on the warpath to avenge the fallen. If we don't, the enemy will think that we are weak and that they can attack us unhurt. Let us not let them attack us here in the camp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I will lead a party on the warpath. Who here will go with me against the enemy that has killed our friends and brothers?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A party of brave warriors gathered around him, willing to follow their leader. His wife also asked to join the party, but he told her to stay at the camp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you go without me," she said, "you will find an empty lodge when you return."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Chief talked to her and calmed her, and finally convinced her to stay with the women and children and old men in the camp at the foot of a high mountain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leading a large party of men, the Chief rode out from the village. The Piegans met the enemy and defeated them. But their war-chief was killed. Sadly, his followers carried the broken body back to the camp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His wife was crazed with grief. With vacant eyes she wandered everywhere, looking for her husband and calling his name. Her friends took care of her, hoping that eventually her mind would become clear again and that she could return to normal life. One day, though, they could not find her anywhere in the campe. Searching for her, they saw her high up on the side of the mountain, the tall one above their camp. She had her baby in her arms. The head man of the village sent runners after her, but from the top of the mountain she signalled that they should not try to reach her. All watched in horror as she threw her baby out over the cliff, and then herself jumped from the mountain to the rocks far, far below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her people buried the woman and baby there among the rocks. They carried the body of the Chief to the place and buried him beside them. From that time on, the mountain that towers above the graves was known as Minnow Stahkoo, "the Mountain of the Chief", or "Chief Mountain".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you look closely, even today, you can see on the face of the mountain the figure of a woman with a baby inn her arms, the wife and child of the Chief.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-8469746319087847664?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8469746319087847664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8469746319087847664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/06/chief-mountain.html' title='The Chief Mountain...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TBzC9nTvwXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/6qjjyS0qNEo/s72-c/DSC_0124+Jynni+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-2738030112636554101</id><published>2010-06-11T21:43:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T21:47:23.473-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Werewolf Lullaby...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TBLmlDMGrEI/AAAAAAAAAbs/-ZKXkjsKf4w/s1600/DSC_0030+Jynni+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TBLmlDMGrEI/AAAAAAAAAbs/-ZKXkjsKf4w/s400/DSC_0030+Jynni+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481697220648938562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Werewolf Lullaby&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;If I were, were, were, were a werewolf,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Not werebear or were-mouse,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Not were-pig or were-louse,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Free of wem, stainless,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Free of scar, blameless,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I would walk with the wedders and their sheep wives,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Always even-tempered past the bee hives.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I would do no harm, ther'd be no alarm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Sweet dreams, sleep deep little were-pup.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-2738030112636554101?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/2738030112636554101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/2738030112636554101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/06/werewolf-lullaby.html' title='The Werewolf Lullaby...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TBLmlDMGrEI/AAAAAAAAAbs/-ZKXkjsKf4w/s72-c/DSC_0030+Jynni+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-8372390726666972964</id><published>2010-06-09T06:58:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T07:01:11.817-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Where The Wild Things Are...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TA90MtU-xQI/AAAAAAAAAbk/zhwNerw6wdI/s1600/DSC_0022+WTWAsm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TA90MtU-xQI/AAAAAAAAAbk/zhwNerw6wdI/s400/DSC_0022+WTWAsm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480727033208030466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Where The Wild Things Are&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-8372390726666972964?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8372390726666972964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8372390726666972964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/06/where-wild-things-are.html' title='Where The Wild Things Are...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TA90MtU-xQI/AAAAAAAAAbk/zhwNerw6wdI/s72-c/DSC_0022+WTWAsm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-1787521615180436720</id><published>2010-03-20T17:46:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T17:49:24.084-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Witch In The Woods...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TB07DabIqXI/AAAAAAAAAcE/9vbn9J2uBB0/s1600/DSC_0026+Brannon+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TB07DabIqXI/AAAAAAAAAcE/9vbn9J2uBB0/s400/DSC_0026+Brannon+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484604851025914226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;The Witch In The Woods&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Children, beware the witch in the woods... She will eat you up!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-1787521615180436720?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1787521615180436720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1787521615180436720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/03/witch-in-woods.html' title='The Witch In The Woods...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/TB07DabIqXI/AAAAAAAAAcE/9vbn9J2uBB0/s72-c/DSC_0026+Brannon+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-1291011156362378564</id><published>2010-03-15T21:58:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T09:18:29.833-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Girl Without Hands...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S57mB64sbDI/AAAAAAAAAak/PSRS3Wr0ZUo/s1600-h/The_Girl_Without_Hands_by_Tsururadio.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S57mB64sbDI/AAAAAAAAAak/PSRS3Wr0ZUo/s400/The_Girl_Without_Hands_by_Tsururadio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449045519826185266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm031.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Girl Without Hands&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;A miller fell slowly but surely into poverty, until finally he had nothing more than his mill and a large apple tree which stood behind it. One day he had gone into the forest to gather wood, where he was approached by an old man, whom he had never seen before, and who said, "Why do you torment yourself with chopping wood? I will make you rich if you will promise me that which is standing behind your mill."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What can that be but my apple tree?" thought the miller, said yes, and signed it over to the strange man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The latter, however, laughed mockingly and said, "I will come in three years and get what belongs to me," then went away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he arrived home, his wife came up to him and said, "Miller, tell me, where did all the wealth come from that is suddenly in our house? All at once all the chests and boxes are full, and no one brought it here, and I don't know where it came from."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He answered, "It comes from an strange man whom I met in the woods and who promised me great treasures if I would but sign over to him that which stands behind the mill. We can give up the large apple tree for all this."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, husband!" said the woman, terrified. "That was the devil. He didn't mean the apple tree, but our daughter, who was just then standing behind the mill sweeping the yard."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The miller's daughter was a beautiful and pious girl, and she lived the three years worshipping God and without sin. When the time was up and the day came when the evil one was to get her, she washed herself clean and drew a circle around herself with chalk. The devil appeared very early in the morning, but he could not approach her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He spoke angrily to the miller, "Keep water away from her, so she cannot wash herself any more. Otherwise I have no power over her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The miller was frightened and did what he was told. The next morning the devil returned, but she had wept into her hands, and they were entirely clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus he still could not approach her, and he spoke angrily to the miller, "Chop off her hands. Otherwise I cannot get to her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The miller was horrified and answered, "How could I chop off my own child's hands!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the evil one threatened him, saying, "If you do not do it, then you will be mine, and I will take you yourself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This frightened the father, and he promised to obey him. Then he went to the girl and said, "My child, if I do not chop off both of your hands, then the devil will take me away, and in my fear I have promised him to do this. Help me in my need, and forgive me of the evil that I am going to do to you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She answered, "Dear father, do with me what you will. I am your child," and with that she stretched forth both hands and let her father chop them off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The devil came a third time, but she had wept so long and so much onto the stumps, that they were entirely clean. Then he had to give up, for he had lost all claim to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The miller spoke to her, "I have gained great wealth through you. I shall take care of you in splendor as long as you live."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she answered, "I cannot remain here. I will go away. Compassionate people will give me as much as I need."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she had her mutilated arms tied to her back, and at sunrise she set forth, walking the entire day until it was night. She came to a royal garden, and by the light of the moon she saw that inside there were trees full of beautiful fruit. But she could not get inside, for there it was surrounded by water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having walked the entire day without eating a bite, she was suffering from hunger, and she thought, "Oh, if only I were inside the garden so I could eat of those fruits. Otherwise I shall perish."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she kneeled down and, crying out to God the Lord, she prayed. Suddenly an angel appeared. He closed a head gate, so that the moat dried up, and she could walk through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She entered the garden, and the angel went with her. She saw a fruit tree with beautiful pears, but they had all been counted. She stepped up to the tree and ate from it with her mouth, enough to satisfy her hunger, but no more. The gardener saw it happen, but because the angel was standing by her he was afraid and thought that the girl was a spirit. He said nothing and did not dare to call out nor to speak to the spirit. After she had eaten the pear she was full, and she went and lay down in the brush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The king who owned this garden came the next morning. He counted the fruit and saw that one of the pears was missing. He asked the gardener what had happened to it. It was not lying under the tree, but had somehow disappeared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gardener answered, "Last night a spirit came here. It had no hands and ate one of the pears with its mouth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The king said, "How did the spirit get across the water? And where did it go after it had eaten the pear?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gardener answered, "Someone dressed in snow-white came from heaven and closed the head gate so the spirit could walk through the moat. Because it must have been an angel I was afraid, and I asked no questions, and I did not call out. After the spirit had eaten the pear it went away again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The king said, "If what you said is true, I will keep watch with you tonight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After it was dark the king entered the garden, bringing a priest with him who was to talk to the spirit. All three sat down under the tree and kept watch. At midnight the girl came creeping out of the brush, stepped up to the tree, and again ate off a pear with her mouth. An angel dressed in white was standing next to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The priest walked up to them and said, "Have you come from God, or from the world? Are you a spirit or a human?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She answered, "I am not a spirit, but a poor human who has been abandoned by everyone except God."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The king said, "Even if you have been abandoned by the whole world, I will not abandon you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took her home with him to his royal castle, and because she was so beautiful and pure he loved her with all his heart, had silver hands made for her, and took her as his wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a year the king had to go out into the battlefield, and he left the young queen in the care of his mother, saying, "If she has a child, support her and take good care of her, and immediately send me the news in a letter."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gave birth to a beautiful son. The old mother quickly wrote this in a letter, giving the joyful news to the king.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now on the way the messenger stopped at a brook to rest. Tired from his long journey, he fell asleep. Then the devil came to him. He still wanted to harm the pious queen, and he took the letter, putting in its place one that stated that the queen had brought a changeling into the world. When the king read this letter he was frightened and saddened, but nevertheless he wrote an answer that they should take good care of the queen until his return. The messenger returned with this letter, but he rested at the same place, and again fell asleep. The devil came again and placed a different letter in his bag. This letter said that they should kill the queen with her child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old mother was terribly frightened when she received this letter. She could not believe it, and wrote to the king again, but she got back the same answer, because each time the devil substituted a false letter. And the last letter even stated that they should keep the queen's tongue and eyes as proof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old mother lamented that such innocent blood was to be shed, and in the night she had a doe killed, cut out its tongue and eyes, and had them put aside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she said to the queen, "I cannot have you killed as the king has ordered, but you can no longer stay here. Go out into the wide world with your child, and never come back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old mother tied the queen's child onto her back, and the poor woman went away with weeping eyes. She came to a great, wild forest where she got onto her knees and prayed to God. Then the angel of the Lord appeared to her and led her to a small house. On it was a small sign with the words, "Here anyone can live free."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A snow-white virgin came from the house and said, "Welcome, Queen," then led her inside. She untied the small boy from her back, held him to her breast so he could drink, and then laid him in a beautiful made-up bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the poor woman said, "How did you know that I am a queen?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The white virgin answered, "I am an angel, sent by God to take care of you and your child."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She stayed in this house for seven years, and was well taken care of. And through the grace of God and her own piety her chopped-off hands grew back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The king finally came back home from the battlefield, and the first thing he wanted to do was to see his wife and their child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the old mother began to weep, saying, "You wicked man, why did you write to me that I was to put two innocent souls to death," and she showed him the two letters that the evil one had counterfeited. Then she continued to speak, "I did what you ordered," and showed him as proof the eyes and the tongue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the king began to weep even more bitterly for his poor wife and his little son, until the old woman had mercy and said to him, "Be satisfied that she is still alive. I secretly had a doe killed and took the proofs from it. I tied your wife's child onto her back and told her to go out into the wide world, and she had to promise never to come back here, because you were so angry with her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the king said, "I will go as far as the sky is blue, and will neither eat nor drink until I have found my dear wife and my child again, provided that in the meantime they have not died or perished from hunger."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the king traveled about for nearly seven years, searching in all the stone cliffs and caves, but he did not find her, and he thought that she had perished. He neither ate nor drank during the entire time, but God kept him alive. Finally he came to a great forest, where he found a little house with a sign containing the words, " Here anyone can live free."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The white virgin came out, took him by the hand, led him inside, and said, "Welcome, King," then asked him where he had come from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He answered, "I have been traveling about for nearly seven years looking for my wife and her child, but I cannot find them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The angel offered him something to eat and drink, but he did not take it, wanting only to rest a little. He lay down to sleep, covering his face with a cloth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the angel went into the room where the queen was sitting with her son, whom she normally called "Filled-with-Grief."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The angel said to her, "Go into the next room with your child. Your husband has come."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went to where he was lying, and the cloth fell from his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she said, "Filled-with-Grief, pick up the cloth for your father and put it over his face again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The child picked it up and put it over his face again. The king heard this in his sleep and let the cloth fall again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the little boy grew impatient and said, "Mother, dear, how can I cover my father's face? I have no father in this world. I have learned to pray, 'Our father which art in heaven,' and you have said that my father is in heaven, and that he is our dear God. How can I know such a wild man? He is not my father."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hearing this, the king arose and asked who she was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said, "I am your wife, and this is your son Filled-with-Grief."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He saw her living hands and said, "My wife had silver hands."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She answered, "Our merciful God has caused my natural hands to grow back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The angel went into the other room, brought back the silver hands, and showed them to him. Now he saw for sure that it was his dear wife and his dear child, and he kissed them, and rejoiced, and said, "A heavy stone has fallen from my heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the angel of God gave them all something to eat, and then they went back home to his old mother. There was great joy everywhere, and the king and the queen conducted their wedding ceremony once again, and they lived happily until their blessed end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-1291011156362378564?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1291011156362378564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1291011156362378564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/03/girl-without-hands.html' title='The Girl Without Hands...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S57mB64sbDI/AAAAAAAAAak/PSRS3Wr0ZUo/s72-c/The_Girl_Without_Hands_by_Tsururadio.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-7309606193823846953</id><published>2010-03-15T15:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T21:59:02.336-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ghost'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='born in a bottle rocket'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='neutral milk hotel'/><title type='text'>And She Was Born In A Bottle Rocket, 1929...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3m0AJ5vX7I/AAAAAAAAAZk/MoF0BCXwvZE/s1600-h/Born_In_A_Bottlerocket_No__2_by_Tsururadio.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3m0AJ5vX7I/AAAAAAAAAZk/MoF0BCXwvZE/s400/Born_In_A_Bottlerocket_No__2_by_Tsururadio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438575939777683378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And She Was Born In A Bottle Rocket, 1929&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. 1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3mz_6hgqpI/AAAAAAAAAZc/yMLozpSyGuA/s1600-h/Born_In_A_Bottlerocket_No__1_by_Tsururadio.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3mz_6hgqpI/AAAAAAAAAZc/yMLozpSyGuA/s400/Born_In_A_Bottlerocket_No__1_by_Tsururadio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438575935649524370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And She Was Born In A Bottle Rocket, 1929&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Inspired by "Ghost" by Neutral Milk Hotel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ghost, ghost I know you live within me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Feel as you fly&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In thunderclouds above the city&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Into one that I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Loved with all that was left within me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Until we tore in two&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Now wings and rings and there's so many&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Waiting here for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And she was born in a bottle rocket, 1929&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;With wings that ring around a socket&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Right between her spine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All drenched in milk and holy water&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pouring from the sky&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know that she will live for ever&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She won't ever die&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She goes and now she knows she'll never be afraid&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To watch the morning paper blow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Into a hole where no one can escape&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dee, de de de de...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And one day in New York City baby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A girl fell from the sky&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;From the top of a burning apartment building&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Fourteen stories high&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And when her spirit left her body&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;How it split the sun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know that she will live for ever&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All goes on and on and on and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She goes and now she knows she'll never be afraid&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To watch the morning paper blow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Into a hole where no one can escape&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dee, de de de de...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-7309606193823846953?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/7309606193823846953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/7309606193823846953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/and-she-was-born-in-bottle-rocket-1929.html' title='And She Was Born In A Bottle Rocket, 1929...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3m0AJ5vX7I/AAAAAAAAAZk/MoF0BCXwvZE/s72-c/Born_In_A_Bottlerocket_No__2_by_Tsururadio.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-5040166210425443710</id><published>2010-02-20T16:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T21:22:04.435-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the lady of gollerus'/><title type='text'>The Lady Of Gollerus...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S4CYvlu57bI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/lSsiSI6ok1M/s1600-h/DSC_0173+Lady+Of+Gollerus+sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S4CYvlu57bI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/lSsiSI6ok1M/s400/DSC_0173+Lady+Of+Gollerus+sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440516293213679026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.humanity.org/voices/folklore/mermaids/lady_of_gollerus/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Lady Of Gollerus&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The Merrow sits in discontent and thinks of the time &amp;amp; the tide, of her childhood under the sea, of her father, the King of the Sea, of the life she leads now that is not her own.  She will leave her husband and children to return home soon...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-5040166210425443710?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/5040166210425443710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/5040166210425443710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/lady-of-gollerus.html' title='The Lady Of Gollerus...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S4CYvlu57bI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/lSsiSI6ok1M/s72-c/DSC_0173+Lady+Of+Gollerus+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-3165929206740432310</id><published>2010-02-14T12:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T12:43:14.595-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bluebeard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='la barbe bleue'/><title type='text'>La Barbe Bleue (Bluebeard)...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3g1wA-6rSI/AAAAAAAAAY0/hokWQ3rV_B8/s1600-h/DSC_0031+Bluebeard+sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3g1wA-6rSI/AAAAAAAAAY0/hokWQ3rV_B8/s400/DSC_0031+Bluebeard+sm.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bluebeard"&gt;&lt;b&gt;La Barbe Bleue (Bluebeard)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You better lock your doors, make sure those windows are shut &amp;amp; locked tight.&amp;nbsp; Bluebeard has a taste for blood and he's coming for you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-3165929206740432310?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/3165929206740432310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/3165929206740432310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/la-barbe-bleue-bluebeard.html' title='La Barbe Bleue (Bluebeard)...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3g1wA-6rSI/AAAAAAAAAY0/hokWQ3rV_B8/s72-c/DSC_0031+Bluebeard+sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-6193354600633784531</id><published>2010-02-13T15:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T16:59:37.383-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='red riding hood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='big bad wolf'/><title type='text'>Red Riding Hood &amp; The Wolf...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3B3gyrH48I/AAAAAAAAAXM/XPj7T_uXbAk/s1600-h/Red_Riding_Hood_by_Tsururadio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3B3gyrH48I/AAAAAAAAAXM/XPj7T_uXbAk/s400/Red_Riding_Hood_by_Tsururadio.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Red Riding Hood &amp;amp; The Wolf...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Red, making her way through the woods.&amp;nbsp; Little did she know that the big bad Wolf was right on her trail!&amp;nbsp; Be careful Red!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-6193354600633784531?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/6193354600633784531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/6193354600633784531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/red-riding-hood-wolf.html' title='Red Riding Hood &amp; The Wolf...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3B3gyrH48I/AAAAAAAAAXM/XPj7T_uXbAk/s72-c/Red_Riding_Hood_by_Tsururadio.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-8473616225417658224</id><published>2010-02-11T16:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T17:00:04.800-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the death stone'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chinese folk tale'/><title type='text'>The Death-Stone...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3B8SAhTgtI/AAAAAAAAAXU/G_x2Ig9Fee8/s1600-h/The_Death_Stone_No__2_by_Tsururadio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3B8SAhTgtI/AAAAAAAAAXU/G_x2Ig9Fee8/s400/The_Death_Stone_No__2_by_Tsururadio.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.kitsune.org/stories/The%20Death%20Stone.htm"&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Death-Stone&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Jewel Maiden, now exposed as the shape-shifting fox she truly is, escaped the palace of the Mikado via the woods to ultimately let her spirit become one with a stone, perishing anyone who touches it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-8473616225417658224?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8473616225417658224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/8473616225417658224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/death-stone.html' title='The Death-Stone...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3B8SAhTgtI/AAAAAAAAAXU/G_x2Ig9Fee8/s72-c/The_Death_Stone_No__2_by_Tsururadio.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-1065638234869620478</id><published>2010-02-10T15:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-10T15:06:29.169-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the elephant&apos;s child'/><title type='text'>The Elephant's Child...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3MRpLhyXHI/AAAAAAAAAX8/j7m4viDxfAc/s1600-h/The_Elephant__s_Child_by_Tsururadio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3MRpLhyXHI/AAAAAAAAAX8/j7m4viDxfAc/s400/The_Elephant__s_Child_by_Tsururadio.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.online-literature.com/kipling/165/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Elephant's Child&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The curious Elephant, maybe too curious for his own good.... How DID he get such a long nose???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-1065638234869620478?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1065638234869620478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1065638234869620478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/elephants-child.html' title='The Elephant&apos;s Child...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3MRpLhyXHI/AAAAAAAAAX8/j7m4viDxfAc/s72-c/The_Elephant__s_Child_by_Tsururadio.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447724643462138439.post-1507312061823177779</id><published>2010-02-09T17:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T17:00:22.438-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fantastic mr fox'/><title type='text'>Fantastic Mr. Fox...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3SD_1bVugI/AAAAAAAAAYM/ZAlSs72YiOc/s1600-h/Fantastic_Mr__Fox_by_Tsururadio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3SD_1bVugI/AAAAAAAAAYM/ZAlSs72YiOc/s400/Fantastic_Mr__Fox_by_Tsururadio.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fantastic_Mr_Fox"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Fantastic Mr. Fox&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Mr. Fox...&amp;nbsp; You really are fantastic, but your ego got the best of you, didn't it?&amp;nbsp; Or at least the "end of you"....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8447724643462138439-1507312061823177779?l=www.borninabottlerocket.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1507312061823177779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8447724643462138439/posts/default/1507312061823177779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.borninabottlerocket.com/2010/02/fantastic-mr-fox.html' title='Fantastic Mr. Fox...'/><author><name>Tsuru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14959750152150450677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S6kaqiFHCzI/AAAAAAAAAas/2UzX73sCE6I/S220/drew-tsururadio2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S0HL3iZ46hk/S3SD_1bVugI/AAAAAAAAAYM/ZAlSs72YiOc/s72-c/Fantastic_Mr__Fox_by_Tsururadio.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry></feed>
