Rudolph Fakelore

Those of you who follow my blogging already know. . . I have a nephew, and at this stage of my life, a nephew is just like a son, only I send him home when he's sick, cranky, or I have a date.

At 25 months, nearly three years old in every other way, we watched Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer for the very first time together. He loves that word, "together" because he hears it on Noggin all the time. "Together" down the water slides at the swim park, "together" on the swing at the neighborhood playground. So he watched, intently, one of my most cherished Christmas traditions play out in stop animation. I'm hoping I pass on a holiday tradition to our family's new generation, no genetic help from me. . . yet. Today, I made sure he got his Hallmark Rudolph collector's plush toy, especially since he clearly appreciated the movie already, clapped at the Abominable Snow Monster's rehabilitation and star-placing rank on his first viewing, while asking to see the movie two times two days in a row. He earned that red-nosed song-singing plush toy toute-suite.

But watching Rudolph got me thinking about its tradition. I knew the stop-animation TV special was created around the time I was born, 1964 in fact, predating me. But I wondered exactly when Rudolph entered the Christmas Collective Consciousness. When did Rudolph join Santa Claus's team?

I began with my own mom, asking her if she had learned the song of Rudolph as a girl. Negatory. No such character in her Christmas Memory. I wondered if he was "born" in that 1964 Christmas special, if I had witnessed, along with the rest of my generation, the birth of a Christmas legend. I was pretty pumped feeling special that the Brady Boomers had produced such an endearing wonder. It was Mom who suggested I look it up on Google.

Sigh. . . . Google ruined my fleeting dream of participating in helping to create folklore in my lifetime. Rudolph was created by an employee of Montgomery Ward and accused of being "fakelore." Now, I've read what "fakelore" is supposed to be, and after two reads, I'm still having trouble identifying "fakelore." Some stupid folklorist has accused Rudolph of being "fakelore" because the reindeer has encroached on the real folklore of the Santa legend claiming genuine folklore status alongside Santa. So Rudolph is fake because he has piggy-backed onto the "real" folklore of Santa Claus? Some folklorists need to have that heart-busting WhoVille nestled down in their frozen valleys because Rudolph is very very real to most of us whose dollars determine a successful Santa season.

Hallmark knows this, and now, so does my nephew.

And as the final bars roll through my mind, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, you'll go down in hi-sto-ry!" I smile broadly that the tradition of Rudolph moves into folklore. . .

The Countdown

So it begins. . . .

I hate cliches, but I love to use them very sarcastically, and so I'll avoid saying how reality can be stranger than fiction and just demonstrate it.

Ever wonder when someone would appear on the scene affecting the course of life? Ohh, and I really hate to say, um, well, Prince Charming Meets the Sheriff of Naughtingham, but sort of like that? How many Cinderellas out there, raise your hands. . . . Just what I thought. You're all too embarrassed to raise your hands albeit no one will see except the people in immediate cubicles around you. lol, whatever. You get to savor this all in the privacy of your own vicarious fantasy world, then.

Well, the invitation isn't exactly to a ball, but close. It's a reunion invitation of sorts where firsts may become lasts, rhinestones can arise from cinders, mice turn into men, and I invest in airline stock. What's cheapest right now?

The countdown's begun, and my job is to prepare myself for firsts to lasts. . . .

Where's a Fairy Godmother when you need her?

Measure Means...

The measure of justice and mercy in The Merchant of Venice, of course, by favorite (oh, how does "author" actually fully describe his genius???) bard Shakespeare.

The Merchant of Venice is by far my fave comedie by Old Bill because of the play's moral and possibly his potentially best female character ever, Portia. She is the embodiment of androgynous personality and beauty, possessing a most logical mind atop a most female physique. Well, desirous enough for her suitor, anyway.

But what I love best about The Merchant of Venice is the lesson in it for us all about mercy and wishes and expectations and justice and, well, you get the idea. I give Old Bill credit for wrapping up so much into one three-act. Shylock wants his pound of flesh, which I'm sure it's a phrase you've heard before. Shylock has taken his debtor to court since he has not repaid on time according to the bond. Portia agrees, despite Antonio being able to pay, though late, that Shylock is entitled to the original covenant in its literal sense. But she provides a graceful opportunity:

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. (IV.i.)

Shylock does not relent, and she then provides the caveat that while, upon his refusal of coin repayment, he is now entitled to the pound of flesh without one drop of blood.

According to more modern standards of racism and bigotry, Jews were horribly treated and villainized in Elizabethan England, and while the conflict's resolution is a clear indication of the cultural bias of the time, the lesson for us all stands through eternity. If true justice were ever done to any of us, we'd really be screwed, and thank GOD for mercy.

The play is a strong testament to Shakespeare's faith, and whether you are faithful or religious, a warning to those of us who cannot extend forgiveness, who follow too closely the letter of any law contrasting with its intent. Karma goes hand-in-hand with this concept, and the Golden Rule which extends beyond religion to foundations of faith: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

And the fact that Portia is sharper than every other barrister in all of Venice yet still desirably feminine is just icing on that sophist's delight for me....