I decided to take a moment and answer a question that I know has been weighing on you heavily regarding my time so far in Korea. And the answer is, yes, I have been eating spaghetti on my pizza. Along with corn, potatoes, and something that is either cream cheese or something else so similar that the distinction doesn’t deserve to be made. Koreans apparently come from the no holds barred school of pizza theory. If it’s digestible, you can find it on a pizza here. Though I haven’t seen any pepperoni yet. But the spaghetti-cream cheese-corn-ham combo was not actually deserving of the grimace I’m sure you’re making right now. In fact, I had an extra piece the next day for breakfast.
As for the rest of the food I’ve eaten in Korea, I have to say I’ve been pretty pleased. Some things are, of course, pretty spicy, but I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve had so far. Even the tiny octopus. I’m sure it’s lucky that I’m not very picky. I figure if it’ll keep me from starving to death, I probably ought to eat it and enjoy it.
I am also learning the art of tea drinking. (I know certain ones among you will be very proud of me for this. C1 and C2, I’m talking to you.) Actually, to be more accurate, I’m learning the art of consuming whatever is put in front of me. That just usually happens to be tea of some sort. I have to say it’s growing on me. Who knew leaf water could be so pleasant? And I’ve even had a couple of small cups of coffee. Weak coffee, but still. It’s more than I could say before.
And as of today, I’m happy to say, my food consumption has also included two kinds of cake and even some chocolate covered strawberries. Understandably, I’m very excited about this. And I chose the cakes and fruit in question, so I knew I’d like them. You can say whatever you want about Korean pizza, but cakes here are gorgeous.
This cake and chocolatey fruit situation is not an everyday happening around here, but among us foreigners there are two who are having birthdays within the next few days. And if that’s not a good enough reason for a party with cake and chocolate, then you’ll never find one. So I took it upon myself to ensure that joy and gladness would be spread to all and sundry as a result of these happy days. Translation: I wanted cake and found a perfectly legitimate excuse to have some. Some of you may find it ironic that the second newest professor at KNU who has been in country only two and a half weeks is the one doing the party planning, but I think most of you also know what lengths I will go to for chocolate and cake, so maybe it’s not all that surprising.
The bottom line I suppose is that my palate is expanding to include an appreciation for all sorts of ridiculous things that I never would have come up with on my own, but I still know of four bakeries that are within a ten minute walk of my apartment and, if pressed, I’m pretty sure I could recite the entire contents of the candy aisle at the grocery store.
Is that spaghetti on your pizza?
A New Stamp in My Passport
The first bit of Korea that I could see two days ago was a patch of mountains on my right as I sat cocooned safely in my 747 and a purple blanket. They reached up out of a hazy mist, the crinkled edges of their peaks distinguishing them one from another. As we got lower I could see the tall skinny apartment buildings, common to every city town and hamlet in the country. They stood like pale upright dominoes placed in rows and at right angles, daring some giant finger to start them falling. Lower and lower, bridges, roads, cars, and people, all came into view, and the wheels touched down. A flight that had started many hours and many thousands of miles before on a different continent, on the other side of a vast ocean, was finally done but for the taxiing. My anxious airplane neighbor could finally rest easy – we had come to the ground on purpose and without any cause for tears or flotation devices.
Ramps, escalators, lines, customs, baggage – I followed the person in front of me with my passport and immigration form at the ready until I found my bags, wheeled them through one more door and found my name scrawled on a sign held by a very nice young man who spoke very little English. But together Seong-Min and I made it to a van and he started driving us and four suitcases (three big, one little) to Korea Nazarene University.
As we crossed the bridge that connects the island where Incheon International Airport sits to Seoul proper – more than thirteen miles of bridge-y goodness and ten minutes of driving – the evening fog was rolling in off the water, obscuring everything that hugged the ground. The taller buildings rose up out of the mist, a floating city built precariously on a cloud.
Seong-Min and I soon exhausted most of what we had to say to each other. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to offer much in the way of interesting conversation. Between the lack of common language and the jetlag I couldn’t think of much to talk about. But on the two-ish hour drive south I had the time and alertness to notice two things: first, most places look strikingly similar in the dark; second, I was exhausted. That second one came to me as I teetered back and forth on the knife-edge of consciousness.
But I was just alert enough to know when we turned off the highway into Cheonan, and, as I leaned forward to catch my first impressions of this strange and foreign city at nighttime, the very first thing I caught sight of was a Bridgestone tire store. We came to a stop light and Seong-Min hummed a Kelly Clarkson song while he waited for green. I don’t know what exactly I was expecting from Cheonan, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it. Though I suppose Koreans need good tires and Kelly Clarkson just like the rest of the world does.
After that, however, much less was familiar. The city shone like a cross between a mini Korean version of Las Vegas and Bedford Falls when old man Potter was running the joint. Flashing lights and colors attacked the senses from all directions, drivers blatantly ignored red lights, pedestrians, other drivers, and sidewalks, and more tall skinny buildings connected to each other by low skinny roads.
I was greeted in front of my new building by Tenny and shown to my new room, furnished with a mishmash of left-behind bits and pieces and standards that are common to all foreign professors’ rooms. A desk, a bookcase, a wardrobe, a couch, a chair. Cracked walls covered in old blue sticky tack circles, wood-patterned veneer peeling off the door, construction paper taped to the transom area to keep out the hallway light. A new rice cooker on the counter, a new stripey comforter for the bed, a new bottle for water and a charge not to drink anything from the tap.
Tenny and Seong-Min took me to a nearby Italian (in a Korean way) restaurant and we had dinner. I was more tired than hungry at that point, though, so after Seong-Min finished his own meal and Tenny’s leftovers, he polished mine off as well. He really seemed quite pleased that I wasn’t all that hungry.
And after that, back to my room and to work on unpacking. Just enough to feel like I had accomplished something. Then to bed on the hardest mattress on which I’ve ever had the misfortune to rest my hipbone. But I think I could have slept on the cement floor just as easily – sometimes a person is just too tired to care about anything but eyelids and pillows.
The Oklahoma Ice Storm of 2010: A Survivor's Tale
2:07 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Power goes out due to ice storm. No internet. Annoyed. I want to check my Facebook. Yesterday it was 65 degrees. Would change my status to “Oklahoma is dumb” if I could. Regardless, morale is high.
4:00 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Decide to play piano by candlelight. Feeling bored, but the piano is cheerful. House is still warm, but getting darker. Lights should come back on soon. Morale high.
4:30 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Mom home from work early – no electricity at the bank. Dad builds a fire in the fireplace, Mom is hungry. Cold turkey sandwiches for dinner. The people across the street have power. I wonder what’s on TV. Morale waning.
5:30 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Candles are gathered. The house is cold. Full on nighttime now. My card table has been pulled in from the garage and set up in front of the fire. Skip-bo has been unearthed. We’re making Dad play. He does not seem to be enjoying it. Morale: better, except for Dad.
6:45 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Every time Dad pokes the fire, I say, “Poke it, sir! Poke it!” – a line from Patrick Stewart’s A Christmas Carol. It gets funnier every time. Morale high.
7:30 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
All Snuggies and small blankets pulled into the living room and put to good use. More firewood brought inside. I eat a cookie with sprinkles. Dad refuses to play more Skip-bo. We play Trivial Pursuit instead.
10:00 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saw four long flashes of blue-green light in the sky. Dad said it was a power station. I said it was aliens. I think I’m right. I hope they’re nice aliens. With generators.
10:30 pm, Thursday, January 28, 2010
Dad wins Trivial Pursuit, senses uneasiness in the ranks. Dad: “You guys get mad when you can’t win. You liked me just fine in the last game.” Mom: “. . . No we didn’t!” Morale: mixed.
1:30 am, Friday, January 29, 2010
Time for bed. Wash my face by flashlight. Water still warm – grateful for that. On my bed: two blankets, four quilts, two comforters (one down), one down throw. I can’t move, but I’m warm. Except for my face. Imaginary status update: Oklahoma is dumber than previously indicated. Thomas Edison never intended for me to be this cold. Morale: low.
3:00 am, Friday, January 29, 2010
Face still cold.
8:00 am, Friday, January 29, 2010
Grey light coming through my window. Briefly consider getting out of bed, then consider cold face and think the better of it.
9:00 am, Friday, January 29, 2010
Assured that there is still hot water in the tank so I take a shower. I was lied to. Can feel hypothermia setting in. Bear Grylls said the human body loses heat twenty-five times faster in water than in air. I believe him. Still nice to be clean though. Morale: medium-ish.
9:30 am, Friday, January 29, 2010
Not even Wal-Mart is open. The apocalypse is upon us.
11:00 am, Friday, January 29, 2010
We heat water in a cake pan over the fireplace, one mug-full at a time. Find myself humming “Smoke on the Water.” Swiss Miss and ash mix surprisingly well. It’s nice to hold a warm mug.
12:00 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
After a game of Skip-bo that Dad refuses to play, we gather fixins for lunch. A campfire roasting stick is found and I toast hotdogs in the fireplace to perfection.
2:07 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Power’s been out for a full day now. Seems like longer. Reflect for a moment that this sort of thing never happened in Philadelphia. This sort of think never happened in Ohio or Salt Lake City or anywhere else I’ve lived either, for that matter. Wonder what real people are doing. Dad gets more firewood. Morale: low.
4:45 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Reading The Watchmen by firelight. Things have taken an unfortunate turn for poor Rorschach.
5:15 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Darkness falling again. Candles relit. Briefly try to read a book. Mom briefly tries to break my booklight. Dad adds yet another log to the fire. I say, “Poke it, sir! Poke it!” It’s still funny. After considering UNO, we play Skip-bo.
5:45 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Now the cake pan holds baked beans. Mom likes being Oklahoman. I roast brats, again to perfection. We’re real pioneers now. Mom wishes for coffee. I tell her she should wish for chickaree instead. She agrees.
6:30 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Skip-bo.
7:20 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Skip-bo.
8:00 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
Trivial Pursuit. Question: What animals are believed to have killed a million people in Asia over the last four centuries? Mom: Werewolves!
10:30 pm, Friday, January 29, 2010
I beat my parents at Trivial Pursuit for the first time in my long life. Dad complains that he doesn’t know about Ricky Martin or Beverly Hills 90210 and that they shouldn’t be Trivial Pursuit subject matter. In a show of gracious superiority, I blow a raspberry and smile smugly. Morale: high. For some of us.
1:00 am, Saturday, January 30, 2010
Waiting for the embers to die before going to bed. I only thought the house was cold before. I was clearly mistaken. I begin to think I’ll never know warmth again. No warm water to wash my face tonight. I crack an icicle off my nose. Can’t feel fingers. Two blankets, four quilts, two comforters (one down), and one down throw will not be enough tonight. Hell is neither fire nor brimstone. Hell is a frozen wasteland, frostbite, and sleepless black night. Morale: gone.
9:00 am, Saturday, January 30, 2010
No shower this morning. Cleaned with ice water at the sink. Another day. What I wouldn’t give for a battery-powered hair dryer.
10:30 am, Saturday, January 30, 2010
It becomes clear that the refrigerator has lost every last bit of cold air that it ever had. Colder in the kitchen than in the freezer. How this can be is a mystery. Maybe I should hole up in the fridge for a bit to warm up. All the food is either outside or in the trash now.
11:45 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
We venture out into the wild unknown that is an ice-encrusted Duncan, Oklahoma. No traffic lights. Drivers ignoring stop signs, going through intersections when it’s not their turn. Mom and Dad incensed by such reckless behavior. After two and a half years in Philly, it doesn’t seem so bad to me. Vehicles swarm the Chevron station like big , metal, gasoline-eating locusts with snow-chained tires for legs. Wal-Mart is open again. We get only non-refrigerator essentials: bread, Reese’s cups, granola bars, M&Ms, applesauce, Butterfingers, another kind of granola bars, Walker’s shortbread cookies, chips, tiny Snickers bars, bananas, Oreos, large hoagie sandwich, Baby Ruths, chicken from the deli. Tried to get ingredients for s’mores. No marshmallows in the store. Tried to buy more candles. Shelves bare. Back at the house we have the deli chicken for lunch. I realize what seems strange about the taste – the subtle hint of woodsmoke is missing.
1:30 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
We decide to cordon off the end of the large open area that is the kitchen, breakfast nook (of sorts), and living room to keep the fireplace heat from escaping too far. A hook is fashioned and a rope is looped through it and two cold heating vents at the ceiling. We clothespin plastic drop cloths to it like sheets to a clothesline. The only way in or out is to crawl through a gap at the floor near the middle of our plastic wall. A bit like a cat flap. Not remotely dignified. Mom’s not very careful when she does it.
2:30 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
A couple of guys from the church drop by to see if we have power. They seem very cheerful, presumably because they do have power. I forgive them their cheerfulness since they have brought with them a small generator for us to borrow. We turn on a lamp. It’s like the sun breaking through the clouds on the first morning. I hum a little DC Talk: I want to be in the light/ as you are in the light.
4:20 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
Power shudders through the wires and lights and furnace come on. We stay very still and try not to let the electricity know that we noticed. Ten glorious minutes before Mom jinxes it by saying we can let the fire die now. Power gone again. We continue our Skip-bo game in silence.
4:45 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
Dad goes out to the church to see if power has been restored there yet. It hasn’t. No church in the morning.
5:30 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
We have some of the large hoagie sandwich and chips for dinner in front of the fireplace and force Dad to play a game of Skip-bo that he did not agree to and complains about. It’s good for him, though he would probably argue that it isn’t. Mom and Dad go outside to refill the generator’s gas tank with somewhat messy and grumpy results. Morale: inside next to the fire – high; outside, beside the generator – not so high.
6:00 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
We hear that the President has declared this part of Oklahoma to be in a state of emergency. I could have told him that. I begin to wonder if I’ve somehow wandered into some forsaken corner of the Twilight Zone and soon I’ll realize that I’m trapped in a giant dollhouse town and we all suffer at the whim of a huge alien child. Remember, Dad said it was a power station but I said it was aliens.
7:30pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010
We unplug the lamp and plug in the TV to watch Ghost Town. Ricky Gervais dressed up like a dentist has never been such a welcome sight. Feeling festive so I have another cookie with sprinkles. Morale: high.
10:00 pm, Saturday, January 30, 2010 – 12:30pm, Sunday, January 31, 2010
More Trivial Pursuit after Mom badgers Dad into staying up past his bedtime since there’s no church in the morning. Another question about Hanoi. Mom, pleased, uses her “I’m so Hanoi-ed” joke again. Dad pokes the fire. I say, “Poke it, sir! Poke it!” It’s difficult to calm down after such hilarity, but we manage eventually and go to bed. Mom and Dad sleep downstairs next to the fire. With grim determination I burrow under my two blankets, four quilts, two comforters (one down), and one down throw. Stupid ice.
8:45 am, , Sunday, January 31, 2010
Mom tells me to get out of bed. My face feels the air and I refuse.
11:30 am, Sunday, January 31, 2010
Lunch: leftover hoagie, leftover deli chicken, leftover baked beans. I finish off with a cookie with sprinkles and wonder if I should call it a leftover just to keep things simple.
12:30 pm, Sunday, January 31, 2010
Dad comes back from checking the church again with tales of electricity and warm water. I bully him into taking me out there so I can finally take a shower. The water is not anything like warm, but it is a few degrees better than we have at the house. I’m beginning to be able to distinguish between subtle levels of coldness. And I think I am becoming desensitized to lesser cold. Days ago the coldness of my church shower would have sent me scurrying. Today I take the time to shave my legs. I dry my hair with my hair dryer. Another small victory. Morale: inching higher.
5:30 pm, Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Golden Corral still isn’t open so we go to Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. Dad grumbles noncommittally something about too much chicken. Good biscuits. I sit in a decidedly chilly draft, but don’t get goosebumps or feel the need to put my coat back on. More evidence that my nerves’ cold receptors are on the fritz.
8:00 pm, Sunday, January 31, 2010
I make my parents watch the second part of a three part version of “Emma” on PBS. Dad follows it well enough, but Mom is playing a game on her phone and keeps asking who Frank is, whether or not the woman on the screen is Emma or “the friend,” and where Mr. Knightly (who she does not recognize) has gotten to.
10:00 pm, Sunday, January 31, 2010
The news is full of footage of broken tree limbs, crushed cars, and fallen power lines. A power company spokesperson says people may be without power until Friday. The weatherman says there’s a Freezing Fog Advisory on through tomorrow. I’m having trouble envisioning it. It sounds stupid so I’m sure it happens here regularly. I get depressed and change the channel to “Are You Being Served?” Young Mr. Grace mistakenly buys his own coat from Mr. Lucas and Mrs. Slocomb won’t eat the cheese buns. Much better. Morale: desperate, then determinedly oblivious.
11:30 pm, Sunday, January 31, 2010
“The Vicar of Dibley” comes on – a good way to end the day, electricity or no.
12:15 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
The furnace rumbles to life and light bulbs begin to glow. “Vicar of Dibley” still on. Probably a sign from God. Richard Armitage’s face was on the screen when the power comes back. That’s probably a sign, too.
12:25 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Power off.
12:26 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Power on.
12:31am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Off. Inconveniently, I had chosen 12:30 for a potty break and had neglected to take a flashlight with me.
12:33 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
On.
12:54 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Flicker.
1:15 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Flicker and a boom in the distance. Ominous.
1:30 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Power still on. Hot water for face washing. I burn my fingers twice and dance a little happy dance each time. Feeling cautiously hopeful, but still suspicious. The two blankets, four quilts, two comforters (one down), and one down throw stay where they are. Morale: pretty decent.
Sometime between 1:30 am and 4:30 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Off.
7:15 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Dad wakes me up to make sure I know the power is off again. Understandably, I grumble a bit. Possibly more than a bit. The generator is off and there’s no fire in the grate. I determine to stay under my covers until the electricity comes back. Jerkface Electricity. Morale: low.
9:00 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
I wake up from a dream in which I jump out of the shower and run sans clothes through an apparently Bavarian town looking for my towel. Not so concerned about running around in my birthday suit, I seem mostly annoyed about being cold. I run into a hotel to find my towel and clothes in an elevator. There’s also a very placid horse in the elevator. My standoff with the electricity is not producing the desired results. I get up, but have no real desire to take a shower at this point. Don’t’ bother with the generator or a fire, either. Just doesn’t seem worth it. Either the will to live or the will to stay warm is leaving me and I feel wearied by it. Morale: whatever, man.
11:00 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Dad comes back for lunch, shovels a bucket full of ash out of the fireplace.
11:10 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
I decide to suffer through a shower, hopeful that last night’s respite warmed the water heater enough to keep my shower warmish. Not all the way hot, but good enough.
11:15 am, Monday, February 01, 2010
Power comes back on again. Too jaded now to believe it will last.
12:27 pm, Monday, February 01, 2010
Have a Braum’s milkshake with my lunch. Standing around in a non-fireplace room in a t-shirt, holding a cold cup and I’m not even cold. Still determined to move somewhere warm next. Milkshake is good.
2:00 pm, Monday, February 01, 2010
Dad puts some things back in the refrigerator. I help, though I doubt the wisdom of it. Electricity and I have a rocky relationship right now.
3:52 pm, Monday, February 01, 2010
Flicker.
4:15 pm, Monday, February 01, 2010
Five hours of nearly continuous power. I’m willing to give Electricity the tentative benefit of the doubt and believe he’s trying to be good, but I’m not taking the covers off my bed. Feeling rather ill-treated. Also I think I may have lost the ability to distinguish the smell of woodsmoke from the smell of regular air. And I’m pretty sure I have a substantial coating of ash all through my insides. I wonder how much character I’ve built over the last five days and whether or not the ability to grimly endure can go on my resume somewhere. Morale: holding steady.
Don't lie. You're jealous.
I ate Thanksgiving dinner in a Denny's somewhere in Missouri. At least it seemed like Missouri. This is not something I've made a habit of doing, but I was moving across the country at the time and I was hungry. And, shockingly, both McDonald's and Taco Bell were closed. When I stopped driving that night I was in Oklahoma and there I stay. For a while anyway. And, as I've never lived in Oklahoma, I suppose at least occasionally, I will chronicle the many things I have to get used to here in the dust bowl.
Not exactly trading up, a couple weeks ago I packed up my things in Philadelphia and carted them 1,500 miles west to budding metropolis that is Duncan, Oklahoma. I assume we’re all familiar with Duncan. You remember – the Texoma town somewhere between Oklahoma City and Dallas where you can find no fewer than three snow cone stands in town, a statue of Earl Halliburton, and an old train engine festively decked in half a string of Christmas lights and a wreath. It’s next to the mini tilt-a-whirl in the park. The next nearest town is 40 minutes away so if the Wal-Mart on Highway 81 doesn’t have what you need, you probably don’t need it. At any rate, you certainly can’t have it. The tallest building in town is four stories high and if you stand outside in the wind for long you’ll begin to understand why. Tiny tumbleweeds tumble down the sidewalks and there seems to be an inordinate amount of plaid and trucker hat mesh about. Breathe deep – that’s oil you smell. And probably cow. There might be some cow in there, too. (More later on how much I'm learning about cows.)
After living back east these last few years, being in Duncan is a bit of an odd adjustment. I was in the post office last week and the person in front of me in line turned around when I came in to smile and say hello. Everywhere I go people are looking at me in the eye for no good reason and trying to talk to me. I don’t know what they mean by behaving in such a way, but it’s unnatural. If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a hundred times – quit looking at me and mind your own business.
At any rate, after the post office debacle I also made the two minute trek to the Duncan Public Library to acquire my very own library card. (Incidentally, I am pleased to announce that with my new Duncan card I now have five active library cards in four states. I wonder if there’s a record.) I think you can learn a lot about a town from spending some time in its library. What I learned about Duncan no library loving person should ever have to know.
This does not bode well.
Ode to a Box, upon Moving
Oh noble Box of mighty tree’s descent,
Grant me again your organizing skills.
My underpaid and madcap soul laments,
And in the basement you wait to be filled.
With you and yourn I trust my worldly goods,
Faithful friends and worthy, come what may.
We’ll set off soon ‘cross yonder hill and wood
So I can find a nicer place to stay.
Protecting junk that should have been yard sold,
Lid awash in scribbled Sharpie black,
Crammed with clearly more than you should hold,
Ride shotgun proud and brace for railroad tracks.
Though some may wish to think outside you,
None make square look half as hip as you do.
Robbing My Past to Give to My Present
Despite the fact that neither Kevin Costner nor Christian Slater seem to care much for sounding English when playing English characters, I’ve always liked Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Morgan Freeman, Alan Rickman, and that ribald Friar Tuck – what’s not to like? And, though it has its doubtful moments, Robin Hood: Men in Tights is also a fairly enjoyable flick. (“We didn’t land on Sherwood Forest. Sherwood Forest landed on us!”) I have even quite enjoyed the several episodes I’ve seen of the recent BBC incarnation of Robin Hood. Richard Armitage stalking around a Olde English town in black leather and a scowl trying to catch Jonas Armstrong’s Robby H. – that’s just good television.
I have to confess, though, the version of the Robin Hood legend nearest and dearest to my heart is the underrated Disney classic featuring Baloo the bear from The Jungle Book as Little John. That film became the second reason for me to love Baloo the bear, the first reason for me to love Peter Ustinov, and the last reason I’d ever need to learn to climb that big tree in our back yard (to escape from the Sherriff’s men, of course). Though I did learn to scamper up that tree like a monkey, I will admit that I was never quite as graceful as a cartoon fox when I was about it.
As I got older I watched fewer cartoons and clearly discovered other Robins Hood, but every so often, however many years it may have been since last I watched the Sherriff bop Trigger and Nutsy, I would find myself humming one of my two favorite songs from the film. If I was feeling particularly cheerful, strains of “Ooh-de-lally, ooh-de-lally, golly what a day” might grace those fortunate enough to be near my happy self. But if I was feeling a little more solemn it would be the jail song, “Not in Nottingham.”
When I was eight I got a three octave Casio keyboard for my birthday. And, after “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” one of the first songs I plunked out was the jail song. “Every town [plunkplunkplunk plunkplunkplunk]/ has its ups and downs. [plunkplunkplunk plunkplunkplunk]/ Sometimes ups [plunkplunkplunk plunkplunkplunk]/ outnumber the downs. [plunkplunkplunk plunkplunkplunk]/ But not in Nottingham. [plunkplunkplunk plunk flourish plunk]” I don’t remember being a terribly melancholy child, but I really liked that song. “Ooh-de-lally” was more fun just to sing really fast. I could still sing either song (or a host of others) for you now, given the proper motivation. The proper motivation being, of course, a willing or at least tolerant audience.
I rewatched Robin Hood the other day and let myself slip again into the familiar rhythms of dialogue long ago memorized. Moments twenty years gone, people and places lost to the fickleness of childhood remembrance, drifted back to watch with me over my eight-year-old shoulder. Stick-on earrings from a friend, waiting for my dad to pick me up and hoping he’ll be just a little late, snow falling perfect for a snowman, my pink coat with the so-smooth buttons, and a Cam Jansen and an Encyclopedia Brown in my book bag.
And maybe that’s the reason I’ve never been able to get behind the Disney-Will-Steal-Your-Soul movement that’s so popular with the kids these days. Walt’s mammoth empire may have plenty of faults, but all those stories and songs have been inextricably wound through a thousand other bits and pieces pasted all over the insides of my memories of growing up. They’ve served as social adhesive, celebratory activities, gifts given and received, escapes into imagination and from worry. And now they’ve become triggers, springing dusty fragments of childhood out of forgotten crannies and into nostalgia. Like the song says, “Reminiscin’ this and that and having such a good time, / Ooh-de-lally, Ooh-de-lally, golly what a day.” And I can’t help but thank poor, dead, possibly cryogenically frozen Walt for that.
Next week I’m watching The Little Mermaid.
