The queen was in the parlour...

In the last couple of posts, I've been having a little fun with references to the old nursery rhyme "Sing a song of sixpence"...


The painting above is called “The Queen Was In The Parlour.” It was painted in 1860 by Valentine Cameron Prinsep (1838-1904) and it hangs in the Manchester City Art Gallery in Jolly Olde England. So says Wikipedia, except for the Jolly Olde part, which I added on my own, just because I felt like it. The painter was born in Calcutta, but died in London, which only goes to prove that the saying “All roads lead to Rome” plays havoc with the truth.

Wikipedia also says that in Bahasa Melayu (Malay language), there is a slight variation of the “Sing a song of sixpence” song called “Lagu tiga kupang” (Three penny song). Here’s the Malayan version:

lagu tiga kupang - three penny song
saku penuh padi - pocket full of rye
enam ekor burung - six birds
masuk dalam kuali - go into frying pan

bila sudah masak - when it is cooked
burung nyanyi saja - the birds sing
tentu sedap makan - it must be delicious to eat
beri pada raja - give it to the king

raja dalam rumah - king in the house
buat kira-kira - doing calculations
suri dalam dapur - queen in the kitchen
makan roti gula - eating sugar bread

dayang tepi kolam - maid beside the pond
mahu jemur tepung - want to dry out the flour
datang burung hitam - the black bird come
patuk batang hidung - peck at her nose
hidung, hidung, hidung... - nose, nose, nose...


I would like to stay and play longer, but this raja must be about his kira-kira. I cannot go, however, before pointing out that in translation from English to Behasa Melayu several changes occurred. Six became three, twenty-four became six, pie became frying pan, parlour became kitchen, garden became pond, and hanging out the clothes became want to dry out the flour.

No wonder international diplomacy is so difficult.

When the pie was opened...

All right, here are the answers to the song game in the previous post. I expect each one of you to be singing one or more of the songs all day long (not on purpose, of course -- you just won’t be able to help it). It would have been nice if more of you had played, but that’s all right. I had a grand time all by myself.

1. My bonnie lies over the ocean
My bonnie lies over the sea,
My bonnie lies over the ocean,
Oh, bring back my bonnie to me.

2. Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the range...

3. My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died;
Land of the pilgrims' pride;
From every mountain side,
Let freedom ring.

4. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored,
He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on!
Glory, glory, Hallelujah!
Glofy, glory, Hallelujah!
Glory, glory, Hallelujah!
His truth is marching on!

5. Silent night, Holy night,
All is calm, All is bright
Round yon virgin, mother and child,
Holy infant, so tender and mild.
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.

6. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know,
Where the treetops glisten
And children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow.

7. Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

8. Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
’Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

9. Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear ______,
Happy birthday to you!

10. Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus going on before.
Christ, the royal Master, leads against the foe;
Forward into battle, see his banners go.

11. Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home.

12. There’s a church in the valley by the wildwood,
No lovelier spot in the dale;
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.

13. Alouette, gentille Alouette,
Alouette, je te plumerai...

14. Adeste, fideles, laeti triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem.

15. Oh, beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

16. (There is no number 16. I goofed.)

17. Ol’ man river, dat ol’ man river,
He must know sumpin’, but don’t say nuthin’,
He jus’ keeps rollin’, he keeps on rollin’ along.

18. Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb --
Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was white as snow.

19. Ding dong! merrily on high
In heav'n the bells are ringing:
Ding dong! verily the sky
Is riv'n with angel singing.
Glo-o-o-o-o-oria, Hosanna in excelsis!
Glo-o-o-o-o-oria, Hosanna in excelsis!

20. I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair,
Borne like a vapor on the summer air...


Actually, I goofed twice. First, I left out number 16. I didn’t mean to leave it out. It just sort of happened. And I didn’t even notice the omission until I was writing this post. Secondly, I see now that I missed a perfect opportunity. If there had been 24 songs in the game, it would have fit so nicely with the post’s title, “Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye” (you know the rest: “Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie”).

Oh, well, live and learn. Hindsight is always 20/20.

Sharp-eyed readers may also note that I continued with the song in the title of today’s post, “When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing...”

Someone simply has to say it, and it might as well be moi:

Now, wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye...

Back on November 5, 2009, we played a little game I invented -- if someone else invented it, I don’t want to know -- and since this seems to be a slow week (one tires of watching the Winter Olympics), I thought we might play it again.

Here’s how it works: I write down the first letters of the words of a well-known song, and you guess the song. By “well-known” I mean songs written before 1950. They might be nursery rhymes or folk ditties or hymns or Christmas carols or patriotic songs. But no pop music. I don’t think any of the following songs ever made it to Your Hit Parade. Oops, one did.

1. MBLOTO, MBLOTS, MBLOTO, OBBMBTM
2. OGMAHWTBR, WTDATAP, WSIHADWATSANCAD (H, HOTR...)
3. MCTOT, SLOL, OTIS, LWMFD, LOTPP, FEMS, LFR (Brits get a pass)
4. MEHSTGOTCOTL, HITOTVWTGOWAS, HHLTFLOHTSS, HTIMO (GGH, GGH, GGH, HTIMO)
5. SN, HN, AIC, AIB, RYVMAC, HISTAM, SIHP, SIHP
6. IDOAWC, JLTOIUTK, WTTGACLTHSBITS (think “Bing Crosby”)
7. RRRYB, GDTS, MMMM, LIBAD (you’ve been singing it your whole life)
8. DTHWBOH, FLLLL, LLLL, TTSTBJ, FLLLL, LLLL (and this one)
9. HBTY, HBTY, HBD_, HBTY (and this one, too)
10. OCS, MATW, WTCOJGOB, CTRMLATF, FIBSHBG
11. SLSC, CFTCMH, SLSC, CFTCMH
12. TACITVBTW, NLSITD, NPISDTMC, ATLBCITV (for Jeannelle)
13. A, GA, A, JTP (this one’s in French)
14. AF, LT, V, VIB (this one’s in Latin)
15. OBFSS, FAWOG, FPMMATFP, A, A, GSHGOT, ACTGWBFSTSS
17. OMR, DOMR, HMKSBDSN, HJKR, HKORA
18. MHALL, LL, LL, MHALL, IFWWAS
19. DDMOH, IHTBAR, DDVTS, IRWAS, G, HIE, G, HIE (especially for Brits)
20. IDOJWTLBH, BLAVOTSA (helpful hint: think “Stephen Foster”)

OK, I mean okay! I think that’s enough to keep you occupied for a while. I’ll provide the answers later.

By the way, today is this fellow’s birthday:


Somebody really ought to finish that portrait.

Dhimitri through the years

The other day I showed you my father-in-law's 1917 passport photo, taken when he was 22 years old and coming to America.

I thought you might enjoy following him on his journey.

Here he is at 35 in 1930 with Ksanthipi:


Here he is at 46 in 1941 with Ksanthipi and their children:


And here he is at 65 in 1960:

A few months later his son married that North Carolina girl. A couple of years after that I married his daughter.

He never made a lot of money. He never became famous. He worked hard to support his family. He was someone the world didn’t notice.

When he died in 1983 at the age of 88, he was loved by everyone who knew him.

He is my idea of a very successful man.

From out our bourne of Time and Place

Today at 11:00 a.m., the funeral of the Rev. Dr. John Linna, 70, who died on Monday, will be held at St. Mark’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Neenah, Wisconsin. I never met Dr. John in person, but for the past year or so I have looked forward daily to reading Dr. John’s Fortress, his blog. His love of words was obvious. His weekday posts could be a bit silly, but they were always inventive and engaging and full of fun. He wrote of dragons and of Pigeon Falls, the little town in his basement. Once you visited Pigeon Falls, you were hooked. He was a master of the cliffhanger. Because of him I even learned a little about Ukrainian (not that Dr. John was Ukrainian; I believe he was Finnish). His Sunday posts were always beneficial and thought-provoking and filled with the love of God. His body may have “waxed old like a garment” but his spirit seemed to grow younger all the time. He fought the good fight, he finished his course, he kept the faith.


Crossing the Bar
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.


I have that same hope. Rest in peace, Dr. John. We will miss you.

Dhimitri Kuçi

It is 1917. You are a 22-year-old man named Dhimitri Kuçi. You were born in Vlonë, Albania, on February 15, 1895. When you were twelve you were sent to Italy to attend school. Now you are on your way to America to try to find your older brother. Someone took this photograph and put it on your passport.

Although you search, you will not be able to find your brother. Eventually you will settle down in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Seven years from now you will become a naturalized citizen of the United States and your name will change. Two years later, when you are 31 years old, a friend who runs a butcher shop will persuade you to return to Albania to marry his 19-year-old niece, Ksanthipi Rista, and bring her to the United States. Her widowed grandmother will come along on your honeymoon.

When you are 36, Ksanthipi will bear a son, who will be named after her uncle. When you are 40, she will also give you a daughter, whose godmother decides should have the same name as the wife of the President of the United States.

During the Great Depression, you will move your family to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. To support them, you will make and sell snow cones from a pushcart. During World War II, Ksanthipi will also become a naturalized citizen of the United States and her name will also change. You both will work in a defense plant for a while until you decide to open a restaurant outside a Marine base in Philadelphia. After the war ends you will move your family to North Carolina. Your son will graduate from college there and marry a North Carolina girl. Your daughter will graduate from nursing school.

When you are 66 years old, you and Ksanthipi will move to Orlando, Florida. Your daughter will marry a Texas fellow who joined the Air Force and was sent to McCoy Air Force Base. He will take your daughter to exotic places like Bellevue, Nebraska, and Poughkeepsie, New York, and Boca Raton, Florida, and Marietta, Georgia.

You will tend to the citrus trees in your backyard and every day you will walk around the block with Ksanthipi. Eventually your children will give you five grandchildren.

You will live to be 88, a ripe old age, and when you die you will be buried in what was once an orange grove. Three years later Ksanthipi will join you there. Eventually there will be six great-grandchildren.

But today you know nothing of this. It is 1917 and you are 22 years old and you are on your way to America.

Today -- the real today -- is the 115th anniversary of the day you were born.

Happy birthday, Pop!

Everything you ever wanted to know about Valentine’s Day but were afraid to ask...

Years ago when Mrs. RWP and I lived in Palm Beach County, Florida, our pastor tried to make a little joke one Sunday while referring to various Concordances of the Bible. He said, “Young’s for the young; Cruden’s for the crude; Strong’s for the strong.”

I hadn’t thought about that remark in years. It popped into my consciousness as I was doing research for this post, which, as you might guess from the title, is going to tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Valentine's Day but were afraid to ask. You won’t have to wonder about Saint Valentine or Valentine’s Day ever again. I am indebted once more to Wikipedia, which, if it is wrong, is certainly misleading a lot of people.

Here goes:

Valentine’s Day for the young

Valentine’s Day for the crude

Valentine’s Day for the strong

I’m only joking that the links are for the young, the crude, and the strong. They’re all for you, the readers of this blog. That was just a way of breaking up a lot of information into bite-size chunks.

In these times of extreme political correctness, let me make it perfectly clear that in the previous sentence I was not suggesting or advocating in any way that anyone bite anyone else on Valentine’s Day.

Although, if you are a vampire....


P.S. - A shout-out to my good friend Ernie (Ernest Valentine Cziraky), who was born on Feb. 14, 1931, in Ohio and died on Nov. 12, 2006, in Florida after a long battle with mesothelioma. Thirty-five years of knowing you was not enough, my friend. The rhymeswithplagues send love today to Ruth, Ron, Dan, Jenny, all the grandchildren, and all the great-grandchildren.