09:30 PM, Eastern Daylight Time, St. Albans, West Virginia, USA.
Here, it’s 65º. Perfect sleeping weather.
In Cusco it’s 48º.
It’s 66º in Kiev.
At 9:30 in the morning it’s already 81º in Qingdao.
46 in Soweto.
75 in Tehran.
In Jerusalem, it’s 73.
Some are sitting at their computer.
Some are sleeping.
Some can’t sleep, worried about tomorrow.
This one is lonely.
Another is scraping together loose change for a drink.
A mother is worried about her son.
A father goes to work at his second job.
A child is very sick.
A boy meets a girl, and the world stops.
If it rains tomorrow, I can’t work.
If it doesn’t rain soon, the beans will die.
If it rains tomorrow, there will surely be floods.
If it doesn’t rain, the fires will rage.
If it rains tomorrow, we’ll dance in the puddles.
If it doesn’t rain, I’ll skip school.
If it rains tomorrow, I won’t have to walk to the well.
If it doesn’t rain, I’ll wear my new shoes.
Tomorrow we will rise.
We will go to work.
We will drink coffee.
No one will ask us what to do about
or cyber warfare,
or identity theft,
or human trafficking,
or climate change.
Our world is small.
We just need to know if it’s going to rain.
Hey, boy. I ain’t no boy. Hey, boy. What? Where ya’ goin? Get some coffee. Is that all? It’s all I want. You sure? Don’t play with me. Who says I’m playin? That’s the problem. No problem, boy. I ain’t no boy. I know that. You want coffee? I’m a lady. Ladies don’t drink coffee? Chamomile. Whatever. Can I walk with you? To get some coffee? Tea. Come on. And a biscuit. See. Right there. What? That smile. So? Trouble. Deep trouble.
When I was born, my great-grandmother, Tida, was 72. By the time I was old enough to form any memories about her, she was well into her 80s. I’m sure she had the usual trouble remembering things that older people have, but she had no problem performing at least one amazing feat of memory.
When she was a child in the late 1800s, she learned many things by simple repetition, what they used to call rote. When she was in her 90s, she would sit on her porch swing on a hot summer day and, recalling her lessons of decades earlier, entertain her great-grandchildren with the story of Nanny, a poor girl who ate too much. In today’s culture, we are more sensitive to eating disorders and those who struggle with controlling their weight. And really, the story of Nanny is more about greed than it is about being overweight. Nonetheless, my apologies to anyone who may be offended by this old school-house poem. My presentation of this is not intended to be any kind of commentary about eating or obesity. It’s about my great-grandmother’s amazing mind.
Again, she was in her 90s when she would recite this entire frightening poem by memory. Thanks to Adele for transcribing the poem.
Nanny was a glutton,
not a pretty word, oh well.
But the actions of a glutton
are even worse to tell.
Perhaps there are some children
who know the meaning not.
Well, a glutton is a person
who eats an awful lot.
Nan was fat and chubby
as folks should be who eat.
Her cheeks were like big apples
and she had fat hands and feet.
At the table Nanny always
ate up her own large share.
Then she would eat her brother’s
and hang around his chair.
If anything was left,
twas eaten up by Nan.
All her family said of her,
We don’t see how she can.
She’ll make herself quite sick some day,
her family all said.
She eats of every kind of food,
rather than wholesome bread.
One day some guests her mother had.
She cooked a supper good.
Then she set the table,
and placed on it the food.
But ere the guests should sit them down,
in ran greedy Nan.
She gathered all the nice food up,
and put it in a pan.
Then to the barn she ran away
and hid behind the gate.
She put the big pan in her lap,
and ate, and ate, and ate.
Her mother came and found her,
and sent her off to bed.
“I would not care if shadowbees
came after you,” she said.
As silent on the bed
lay greedy, greedy Nan.
She heard a voice say loudly,
“Get up now, if you can.”
She looked around,
her room was full of many shadowbees.
She wondered much what she could do,
their anger to appease.
“We’ll have to stop you. Hurry up!
This greed we cannot stand!
You are the greediest girl
there is in all the land.”
They put her in a towering room,
and filled it up with food.
“Stay here until you eat it all,”
cried they in language rude.
Now Nan was nothing loath to eat,
so straightway she began
to nibble doughnuts, cakes, and cheese,
and bread bespread with jam.
Till all at once the sight of food
made her so very ill.
“I never can eat all this up.
I never, never will.”
“Go on and eat!” cried shadowbees.
“You must eat more and more.
You haven’t made a passage yet,
but halfway to the door.”
“If I eat more, I’ll surely die.”
“Eat on!” cried shadowbees.
“While you’re eating your way out,
we’ll dance beside the sea.”
So Nan was forced to eat and eat.
She grew so very stout.
That when she reached the little door,
she hardly could get out.
“The time has come,” cried shadowbees.
“To roll her out like dough.
We cannot leave her as she is,
she’s much too fat, you know.”
So off they hurried luckless Nan
and down upon the plain.
They laid her like a heap of dough
to be rolled flat again.
They took a huge, huge rolling pin.
They rolled this way and that.
They rolled her up, the rolled her down,
til she was smooth and flat.
“We’ll round her off about the size
she really ought to be!”
The King said, “I’ll attend to that.
Please leave it all to me.”
So he rounded Nanny off, nice and trim and clean.
She jumped up with a scream,
and found that all this wretched tale,
was just a horrid dream.
“Oh, shadowbees, oh shadowbess,
I will, I wll give heed
to this dream that you have sent me,
I will stop this horrid greed!”