The old woman and her pig

My new endeavor with pigs has some rather deep and well-seated roots in my past. 

There was that time that my father, The Surgeon performed backyard surgery on a pair of pigs, just to see if we could prove his theory about meat tenderizer, BBQ and the efficiency of the vascular system. 

And then there was my adopted grandmother and my daughter's namesake, Nanny White.  I don't know why both my grandmothers were called 'Nanny,' except that they always were. We were from the Blue Ridge mountains. Some things just didn't call for explanation. 

Every time I saw Nanny White as a child, I asked her to tell me the same story. She had been a teacher and a librarian; she had plenty of stories, and a knack for telling them. But one stuck out in my young mind, and if she ever tired of telling it, she never let on.

I found out later that it came from one of the books she had gotten some time into her librarian career - a collection of children's literature put out in the first part of the 1950's titled The Arbuthnot Anthology.  I've still got her copy - it is much loved. 

 

 

This story came out of the English folk tales sections. But my grandmother always told it in her soft, north Georgia mountains accent, finishing each round with "...and I shan't get home tonight."

I still hear it when I read it through to my children, and it probably influences the inflection I give to each of the animals and objects that speak to the frustrated little woman in the story.  

 

The Old Woman & Her Pig

 An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. "What," said she, "shall I do with this little sixpence? I will go to market and buy a little pig."

 As she was coming home, she came to a stile: but the piggy wouldn't go over the stile. [EN - I'm pretty sure that Nanny said "fence" here, which is what I say to my kids when I read the story, and what I'll say from now on].

 She went a little further, and she met a dog. So she said to him, "Dog! dog! bite pig: piggy won't go over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the dog wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met a stick. So she said: "Stick! stick! beat dog! dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the stick wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met a fire. So she said: "Fire! fire! burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the fire wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met some water. So she said: "Water! water! quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the water wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met an ox. So she said: "Ox! ox! drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the ox wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met a butcher. So she said: "Butcher! butcher! kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the butcher wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met a rope. So she said: "Rope! rope! hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the rope wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met a rat. So she said: "Rat! rat! gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the rat wouldn't. 

 She went a little further, and she met a cat. So she said: "Cat! cat! kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the fence, and I shan't get home tonight." But the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat." So away went the old woman to the cow. 

 But the cow said to her: "If you will go to yonder hay-stack, and fetch me a handful of hay, I'll give you the milk." So away went the old woman to the hay-stack; and she brought the hay to the cow.

 As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. 

 As soon as the cat had lapped up the milk, the cat began to kill the rat; the rat began to gnaw the rope; the rope began to hang the butcher; the butcher began to kill the ox; the ox began to drink the water; the water began to quench the fire; the fire began to burn the stick; the stick begna to beat the dog; the dog began to bite the pig; the little pig in a fright jumped over the fence. 

 And so the old woman got home that night. 

Gracias, Presidente

Thanks to a quasi-random invitation from a friend, I got to spend the evening listening to Vicente Fox, former president of Mexico, speak about global and domestic trends and events at the Boston Speaker Series.

 

 

Thanks to randomly standing off to the side of the lobby after the event, waiting for my friend to finish using the loo, I got to shake hands with and personally thank President Fox for his speech. 

Once again: dumb luck and random events shape my life in weird and wonderful ways. 

Dear March - I hate you.

 

 

I thought we had a deal, March? 

You were going to get warmer. I was going to go outside more. We had a plan.

Then I woke up this morning to see what you had done.

You go and throw more of that white shit around like you were your short, frigid bitch of a cousin, February. Close to a foot of snow in the second half of the month? Come on, March. Don't do me that way. 

It's like you just don't care anymore, March.  I think you're doing this just to make me cry.

I hate you. 

Me