Grandkids' tchotchkelehs

At Long's this afternoon browsing around for some little things to take to my granddaughters tomorrow, I found these: miniature (but working) school supplies—pencil sharpener in the shape of a mouse, scotch tape dispenser, stapler (and staples), tiny pens, a tiny notebook on a ring chain, two caribiners, a retractable eraser, magnetic clip, scissors, folding ruler, and a pack of post-its. And the best part: They were two for $1!

Growing up Mongol

Saw Mongol yesterday, a recounting of the youth of Genghis Kahn. Here's what I learned about the requirements for growing up as a successful Mongolian male: a) ride a horse well; b) love fur hats; c) be ready to fight any one of a random number of enemy clans at any time; and d) choose a good wife (make sure she has strong legs). You should also be prepared to be enslaved, tortured, run long distances, and find someplace to get those fur hats.

The film has plenty of blood—swords slashing, long sharp impaling things impaling, etc., etc.—but it seemed so stylized that it didn't make me cringe or even feel any squeamishness. What the movie does have in great quantity is loads of magnificent scenery, each landscape different than the last, all photographed beautifully. The land is so large, so vast, that the human figures look small and insignificant by contrast. Maybe that feeling of inconsequence in comparison to their surroundings was what made the Mongols so fierce . . . I did laugh, though, at the name of one of Khan's enemy clans, the Merkits. All I could think of was that Animal Planet show, Meerkat Manor.

Jane, Jane, Jane . . .

I've resumed listening to Jane Eyre this week after the camping-trip hiatus. Here's what's happened since my last post . . .

A month after accepting his proposal, Jane and Mr. Rochester hie themselves off to the local parish church early one morning to be wed; Mr. Rochester is in such a hurry that Jane has no time for breakfast. Back at Thornfield, the coach awaits, packed and ready, to whisk the newlyweds off to London and thence to the south of France.

At the church, the parish priest begins the service, the only witnesses the clergy and two strangers who have wandered in. As the priest speaks the words, "If anyone has cause to show this marriage should not take place, let him speak now . . ." one of the strangers steps forward. He can show cause: Mr. Rochester is (gasp!) already married to another! Jane stunned. Mr. Rochester orders the priest to carry on. Priest refuses. Mr. Rochester then orders the group back to Thornfield, where he will, indeed, produce his wife.

Up to the third floor, behind the secret door, there is Grace Pool! Is she the wife? No, not at all; she is the wife's caretaker. There is the wife! Crawling on the floor, snarling like a dog, hurling herself at Mr. Rochester and clawing at him, uttering vile epithets! She is criminally insane. Mr. Rochester married her in Jamaica many years before. For some reason he has not divorced her but keeps her locked in that room, from which she periodically escapes and wreaks havoc before being recaptured.

Shock and horror ensue for Jane. She goes to her room, locks herself in. What shall happen now? Her hopes, her love for Mr. Rochester, his love (she assumed) for her, all a sham. She weeps not; she cannot. Late in the day, she opens the door to find Mr. Rochester seated outside, waiting for her. They descend to the parlor. Mr. Rochester explains his plight, how he is trapped in this unspeakable, untenable marriage, how much he loves Jane, will she come with him to the south of France, live with him, be his love and the light of his life forevermore?

Jane cannot bear it. She loves him, oh yes, she loves him—truly, madly, deeply! But she will not be his mistress! Mr. Rochester pleads, he begs, he rails, he grows angry. Jane will not relent. She must leave Thornfield, leave him and her love for him forever! She returns to her room.

But she does not sleep. She prepares. Very early the next morning, she leaves the house with but 20 shillings and a few meager possessions tied in a small bag. On foot, she crosses a field until she comes to a road where a coach is passing. Yes, the coachman will take her as far as her 20 shillings will allow. She is put down in a tiny village, forgetting her small reticule in the side of the coach. No money, no resources. She wanders a bit. It grows late. She beds down in the heather for the night.

Next morning, she is hungry and weak. She walks some more, begs some bread at a bakery but is turned away because she has nothing to offer except her handkerchief and her gloves as payment. Night comes again and she once again sleeps al fresco. The morning brings no relief. She walks again and comes upon a small church. Believing she may find succor there, she inquires. No, the minister is not in and won't be back for a week or so.

Exhausted, desperate, as night begins to come on again Jane espies a dwelling. There is a light! She approaches and looks in the window. Two young women sit by a fire. She can hear them speaking. She goes to the door and knocks. The housekeeper answers. Jane asks for a bit of food. Housekeeper rebuffs her. Jane perseveres. Asks to speak to the young ladies. Housekeeper continues to bar the door. At last, one of the women appears and takes pity, invites her in.

Jane will not account for herself except to say she cannot say where she has come from. She gives as her name "Jane Elliott," fearing that Mr. Rochester will seek her, find her. She cannot have that happen. The two young women have a brother, Mr. Rivers, who, it transpires, is the minister at the church Jane inquired at. The family takes her in. The young women, Diana and Mary, are soon to leave to become governesses in a large family. Mr. Rivers offers Jane a post as the mistress of a girls' school he is just starting. The position comes with a two-room cottage and an orphan child to help with the scutwork. Jane accepts. Thus begins a new chapter in the life of Jane Eyre.

Will Mr. Rochester find her? Will he free himself from his lunatic wife? Will Jane succumb to his ministrations if he does? Or even if he doesn't? Stay tuned . . .