Tag Archives: old writing series

Old Writing: Part 27::The Lady or the Tiger? Conclusion

Series, Writing,

I remember writing this, but that’s about it. I think I’d heard the story of The Lady or the Tiger before, or perhaps not.

My last line, “it was best for all involved” is really harsh. If I were to write this today, of course the princess would indicate the door the maiden, her rival, was behind. Now that is the best for all involved. Good grief, who was I back then?

May 7, 1973

The Lady or the Tiger?
Conclusion

Which came out — the lady or the tiger?

Judging from the princess’ character, her savage jealousy and hate for the woman behind one of the doors, it would seem as though she would have the tiger come out of the door and devour her lover. It is an “if I can’t have him, no one shall” attitude.

Of course, her “savage” love for the youth may dent her jealousy a bit — but not enough to let him live and marry the maiden.

I don’t think I have a “savage” nature, but I know that I would be awfully jealous in the princess’ place.

The man who loved the princess may have wanted the tiger to come out. Since the story said only that “his eyes asked the question, ‘Which one?'” not “Which one will the maiden be in for me to live?” He may have felt miserable without the princess, a sort of “fate worse than death.”

So my conclusion is that the tiger leaped through the door that the princess indicated and pounced upon her lover and devoured him. It was best for all involved.

Old Writing: Part 26::A Certain Reunion

Series, Writing,

I barely remember writing this but I vision my childhood room and closet when I read it. I always enjoyed books about dolls with inner (or outer) voices, although I didn’t really like to play with dolls all that much.

Strange how my teenage self thought that grownups forgot about things from their childhood.

English 3-4
Period 4
April 30, 1973

A Certain Reunion

Oh goodness, how lonesome one can become in here day after day, night after night, never any company. How I long for the old days back. The days when Cindy would play with me — pick me up and dress me for parties or bed. It ended when she turned 13 — her friends convinced her that playing with dolls was immature.

It wasn’t long ago — perhaps five or six years — that Cindy held me once more — and looked at me strangely. I wondered why she looked so old — but now I know. Cindy left soon after that — she found me while cleaning her closet and remembered her long-gone childhood. Cindy is probably married by now and has children to look after.

Let me introduce myself. I’m Jenny. Well, that’s what Cindy called me. My manufacturer’s name — Betty Wetty — warns people of my bed-wetting habit.

It is about time for my nap. Life is so boring when one belongs to no one, no where…

“Jenny, Jenny, where are you?”

I must have been asleep for hours — is someone calling me?

“I’m here mama, What room is this?”

“This was my room when I was a little girl.”

Hmm, the door is opening. I can’t remember the last time it was open. Who is that little girl standing in the doorway? Is it –? No, it couldn’t be. No it isn’t Cindy the child. Cindy is long gone.

“Mama! Look what I found — a doll! Can I  have it? Please Mama, please!

“Why, it must be my Jenny — I haven’t seen her in years.”

“No Mama, I’m your Jenny!”

“Yes, dear, but this was my Jenny long before you were my Jenny.”

Now I understand. Cindy has grown up and has a child. What  pretty little girl. She looks like Cindy did, and Cindy is a beauty too.

“Mama, can I have Jenny? I will be real nice to her and she will be a good friend with my other dolls. I will love her just like you did. Please!”

Yes, Cindy, please! It will be just like old times — for me anyway.

“Why yes, of course dear. Let’s go home and see if Daddy is there. Maybe he will like to meet Jenny.”

“Okay Mama, let’s hurry home!”

Home, that’s such a nice word.

Old Writing: Part 25::Reflections on a Life

Series, Writing

English 3-4
Period 4
May 21, 1973

I remember writing this. Our teacher took us outside to write about what we saw on the school property. I wrote about a tree.  I think I must have been a little obsessed with Shakespeare at the time since the beginning sounds like the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet, and then I mention a quote from Romeo and Juliet later on.

Reflections on a Life

One solitary tree, alone in its beauty, simple but majestic. This tree, not yet reached adulthood, stands alone, apart from other, older trees. Isn’t it appropriate that this tree be on a high school lawn?

Our tree can pretend to be grown — a giant among dwarfs — for it is surrounded by a forest of elvish tree-like plants. An array of dandelions encircle it. So our special tree is not lonely; it has friends. The sun, the wind and the rain are some. Elements that let it live or die.

What kind of tree is ours? Elm? Locust? Maple? No matter, for to quote William Shakespeare, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.” That which we call a tree by any other word would be as grand. It still, no matter what kind, will give shade to a weary traveler, protection to a squirrel, and a home to a nest of birds.

In time our tree will grow old, and eventually die, as we will, but before then it will, again as we will, see much happening in its life, changes and the same old things time cannot change, remaining constant.

It is possible the tree is one of the two in this photo, although perhaps those are too young. This was written 50 years ago.