In times very remote and a land far away, there lived an old peasant couple without children. The old man collected wood and his wife was a washerwoman. They wanted very much to have children but now they were getting on and all their child-rearing aspirations had faded They were having difficulty caring for themselves. They worried how they were to continue getting along. They were mutually dependent and not doing so well for themselves and there was some problem with trolls rampaging the village besides.
You're having the short version.
The old couple is out for the day separated doing their separate work to earn their rice for the day. That's how poor they are. The old woman is down by the riverside washing clothes in the river slapping textiles around on the rocks when she sees a large peach floating toward her, she thinks man, that's a meal right there, so she goes to the middle of the river and retrieves the peach and brings it home to have for dinner when suddenly a boy springs out of it.
They are delighted. The household is now filled with love and joy. The boy grows up big and strong. And fast. It's a thin book. He goes out and deal with the trolls. Permanently. He brings love and happiness to the old couple and their village and that's about it.
The basis of the story details the distribution of dumplings prepared by the woman for Peach Boy's journey to Ogre Island. A dumpling is doled one dumpling each to an animal Peach Boy encounters along the way, a dumpling to a pheasant, a dumpling to a dog, a dumpling to a monkey, for this distant land is well-populated with exotically comingling fauna. The animals all voluntarily enlist in the project of kicking ogre butt by the power that millet dumpling-cogency holds for animals and the magnetism of Peach Boy's personality. There are traces of Dr. Doolittle.
And the story is also like Oz. In fact, Frank Baum might be based Oz on Peach Boy. The group arrives at the island and makes it to the gate but the gate is locked. And here is the critical moment where all of their individual animal resources of the various animals come into play all at once. The pheasant flies over the gate and retrieves the key to the gate. They go through the gate and are attacked by an ogre, the monkey jumps on his back scrambles around pulls and tugs and rips and tears and causes havoc, and the dog bites up his legs, the pheasant pecks at his eyes and Peach Boy completely rolls him. The ogres sue for peace, hand over their misbegotten treasure, and left the village alone.
There is an element of luck that Peach Boy had the right number of millet dumplings to take care of the job and also ran into capable animals. That whole trip could have been a disaster had Peach Boy encountered, say, a goat and a turtle and an armadillo.
So this son of theirs turned out to be quite the hero.
But I don't know why it is my doll. I am not connected with this story but I am with this doll.
Peach Boy, Momotarō, is the doll my mother made for me. It looks exactly like this other person's doll, and I mean exactly.
I wasn't particularly special, a doll was made for everybody, several were sent back directly to the U.S., and she made the Momotarō for me. I have no idea who has the doll now. Last seen at my parent's house. I think one of my sister's most likely has it. Probably Beverly, she's always into my stuff.
Do you know why he is holding that sign?
That sign says Ni hon ichi and it means sun book one. BANG "Japan #1". It boldly avers, "I'm the best damn thing in Japan!" Boastful.
The dolls come in kits. Heads, torsos, arms, somewhat moveable with wires inside. Different elaborate period wigs. Exceedingly elaborate costuming. Mostly female. It's all about sewing the costumes and setting up a vignette. The dolls are set on lacquered bases and displayed inside glass cases with black lacquered frames and delicate glass doors. Each doll has its own protective box.
Mum made dozens.
It was a thing to keep busy to prevent from going nuts in a gated base amidst a hostile world. Women form doll-making groups led by locals who make a mint off the kits, and the women crank out some really beautiful dolls too. Peach Boy is among the worst. Among the best choices for boys, but still worst among dolls. Design-wise. The other show people playing Japanese instruments, most are women in kimonos striking Japanese poses, voguing there inside their glass boxes.
They are delighted. The household is now filled with love and joy. The boy grows up big and strong. And fast. It's a thin book. He goes out and deal with the trolls. Permanently. He brings love and happiness to the old couple and their village and that's about it.
The basis of the story details the distribution of dumplings prepared by the woman for Peach Boy's journey to Ogre Island. A dumpling is doled one dumpling each to an animal Peach Boy encounters along the way, a dumpling to a pheasant, a dumpling to a dog, a dumpling to a monkey, for this distant land is well-populated with exotically comingling fauna. The animals all voluntarily enlist in the project of kicking ogre butt by the power that millet dumpling-cogency holds for animals and the magnetism of Peach Boy's personality. There are traces of Dr. Doolittle.
And the story is also like Oz. In fact, Frank Baum might be based Oz on Peach Boy. The group arrives at the island and makes it to the gate but the gate is locked. And here is the critical moment where all of their individual animal resources of the various animals come into play all at once. The pheasant flies over the gate and retrieves the key to the gate. They go through the gate and are attacked by an ogre, the monkey jumps on his back scrambles around pulls and tugs and rips and tears and causes havoc, and the dog bites up his legs, the pheasant pecks at his eyes and Peach Boy completely rolls him. The ogres sue for peace, hand over their misbegotten treasure, and left the village alone.
There is an element of luck that Peach Boy had the right number of millet dumplings to take care of the job and also ran into capable animals. That whole trip could have been a disaster had Peach Boy encountered, say, a goat and a turtle and an armadillo.
So this son of theirs turned out to be quite the hero.
But I don't know why it is my doll. I am not connected with this story but I am with this doll.
Peach Boy, Momotarō, is the doll my mother made for me. It looks exactly like this other person's doll, and I mean exactly.
I wasn't particularly special, a doll was made for everybody, several were sent back directly to the U.S., and she made the Momotarō for me. I have no idea who has the doll now. Last seen at my parent's house. I think one of my sister's most likely has it. Probably Beverly, she's always into my stuff.
Do you know why he is holding that sign?
That sign says Ni hon ichi and it means sun book one. BANG "Japan #1". It boldly avers, "I'm the best damn thing in Japan!" Boastful.
The dolls come in kits. Heads, torsos, arms, somewhat moveable with wires inside. Different elaborate period wigs. Exceedingly elaborate costuming. Mostly female. It's all about sewing the costumes and setting up a vignette. The dolls are set on lacquered bases and displayed inside glass cases with black lacquered frames and delicate glass doors. Each doll has its own protective box.
Mum made dozens.
It was a thing to keep busy to prevent from going nuts in a gated base amidst a hostile world. Women form doll-making groups led by locals who make a mint off the kits, and the women crank out some really beautiful dolls too. Peach Boy is among the worst. Among the best choices for boys, but still worst among dolls. Design-wise. The other show people playing Japanese instruments, most are women in kimonos striking Japanese poses, voguing there inside their glass boxes.
5 comments:
That's a great story Chip.
I have a friend who had a Mom who collected stuffed birds. You now from a taxidermist. Regular song birds. Cardinals. Blue Jays. Parakeets. Stuffed and displayed under glass.
Whenever you went to his apartment it was like you were in an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
I believe I mentioned my Dad was stationed at Iwakuni for about a year. He sent each of us three girls and our mom what we called 'geehsa girl' dolls. Also music boxes and one robot.
My doll is in pretty bad shape. Her base is gone and her hair doesn't completely cover her hair arrangement (it's slid over on the cardboard in places). Her hair ornaments and parasol are all gone. Only recently it occurred to put her in the basket with all my old dolls.
My daughter has become fascinated with the geisha life and has read the current geisha novels...the one autobiography and the knock-off of same, called 'My Life as a Geisha.' The author of the autobiography sued and won against the knock-off author because she'd been told that details wouldn't point to who she was, but they did.
Recently I got down my basket of dolls to look at the Barbies. A week or so later my daughter and I were discussing that Amazon had never delivered the latest geisha-life book, ordered at Christmas. Then I remembered the geisha doll, and brought it to her. She was charmed and amazed.
Oh for this one rare occurrence
Gladly would I give ten thousand pieces of gold!
A hat is on my head, a bundle on my back,
And my staff, the refreshing breeze and the full moon.
That's an American hobo poem. No one knows who wrote it. So it's a universal desire, to hit the road like Peach Boy. Killing ogres is just a bonus.
Sorry, the knock-off novel was Memoirs of a Geisha. The real autobiography is 'Geisha, A Life.'
The one my daughter wants to read now is 'A Geisha's Journey.'
"From the cobbled streets where Komomo walks in her elaborate dress to the inner sanctums of her dressing room, these pages offer a rare look at a contemporary teen's journey to becoming a geisha, photographed in full color by Naoyuki Ogino.
From the Publisher:
This is the story of a contemporary Japanese teenager who, in a search for an identity, became fascinated with the world of geisha, and discovered in herself the will and the commitment to embark on the many years of apprenticeship necessary to become one.
It is also the story of a young Japanese photographer who grew up overseas, and who also was captivated by the traditional lives of these women who choose to dedicate themselves to their art. He began following and documenting the life of teenager Komomo as she studied and grew into her role.
Naoyuki Oginos photographs follow Komomos entire journey, from her first tentative visits after finding the geisha house on the internet through her commitment to the hard schedule of an apprentice, learning arts that go back centuries, all the way to the ceremony where she officially became a geiko, as Kyotos geisha are known and beyond. From the cobbled streets where she walks in her elaborate dress to the inner sanctums of her dressing room, these pages offer a rare look at a unique, living art.
The photographs are accompanied by autobiographical text and captions by Komomo, as she shares her thoughts and emotions, and describes the day-to-day existence of a Kyoto apprentice. It is an illuminating view of seven years in the life of a very special young woman."
Don't diss the goat, he could have picked the lock.
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