National Beheading Day - Heads Will Roll

I just found this so interesting. This is not really a national holiday (we here in the U.S. prefer to destroy others politically through rhetoric, not actual loss of said head). But at one time it was a great reminder to those in power, that eventually through an act of King or people they could lose it all from the top down.

It really is a gruesome way to go. Famous people known for not escaping the executioner are Anne Boleyn who’s husband was kind enough to have a master swordsman do the deed that was only brought to fruition due to trumped up charges (the others who died at Henry’s hands weren’t so lucky and had an ax and sometimes a very drunk axman who missed a few times maiming the poor souls before they died.)

Of course there was the King and Queen of France and many of their court who fell victim to progress and the guillotine. (A current interest – not the beheading of nobility at the common peoples’ hands, the time period since I am reading Madame Tussaud by Michelle Moran).

Oh and from previous reads, there’s the beheading of Ptolemy brother of Cleopatra by Caesar’s rival and friend, who hoped to make Caesar a closer ally. This act drove the Emperor closer to the arms of Cleo and a disaster for them all.

People used to view these as the American Idol of the day, and I'm sure if we still had public executions, some still would (Makes me think of the 80s TV show Max Headroom and the gruesomeness, but I digress again.) They would make a day of it bringing along food to eat and wine to drink as all the distressing merriment drove the crowd into a frenzy. I couldn't imaging what I would eat or drink at one of these if I had to attend (if was considered inappropriate for a citizen not to attend, meaning you were not supportive of said King's decision and you could be the next on the chopping block).

So whatever you do today, don’t lose your head.

A Better Me: Mind – remember no matter how stressful it is or hopeless it seems, I won’t lose my head about it.

A Bundle of Contradictions-Anne Frank’s Final Diary Entry- August 1, 1944

Anne wrote her final entry feeling the weight of discovering her growing personality. She distinguishes the “nice Anne” that is quiet and thoughtful inside from the “superficial Anne” that is so boisterous on the outside. This contradiction, as she sees it, is confusing and she wants these two sides of her personality to come to terms.

What she thought of as a contradiction, was merely a growing personality. We all have those sides that we show and those that we keep hidden or private for ourselves. This entry is a great reminder that when we make judgments about people, we need to really take a deeper look, or better yet, just allow ourselves to be open to understanding and accept whatever others want to share. It’s not that one is bad or good, we are just human beings.

I have read Anne’s diary more than 10 times and today I feel the urge to read it yet again. When I visited her house in Amsterdam, I was taken aback by the realization that her, her family and friends fought to stay alive in those walls and that she would have been so joyous to know that the world sees both her fun and playful side, as well as the depth of her character she kept hidden from those she was in such close contact with.

I sat outside of the house by the canal and quietly contemplated the moment. This contemplation still sits with me. Not only did Anne show us a heart during such a horrendous period and her profound words live on to remind us that we can never allow this to happen again.

Her most stirring lesson to me: “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” I think of this often and it immediately dispels any negativity I may be feeling.

"The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be."

January 28 - in 1,000 words or less

My first foray onto the Internet this morning brought me to Google and a tribute to Pollock. As a fan of the mixed-up masterpiece artist, I loved the rendition they used on the Web site. It spurred me on to investigate what else significant happened on this day, January 28.

Death of Henry VIII in 1547. I recall spending days learning about Henry and his liasons and frequent alternatives to divorce. Never having been married and subsequently divorced, I really don’t understand the need, but my Catholic-school upbringing made me truly dislike this man who seemed to have a greater desire for turkey legs than human rights. But that said, his name did make a great tune for Herman’s Hermits and inspiration for such movies as “Lady Jane.” That was my initiation into lust for Cary Elwes and the beauty of Helena Bonham Carter.

An along those English period-piece lines, “Pride and Prejudice” was first published on this day in 1813. I have yet to read this Austen novel, but I have attempted to put in on my book club list twice, to no avail. I guess I will just have to read it on my own.

In 1985, the U.S. rode the red coat tails of the British once again with USA for Africa’s “We Are The World” a not quite as hip version of “Feed the World” (my fave), but their heart was in the right place. Michael Jackson, when he was normal, Lionel Ritchie, Cyndi Lauper, Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Wonder and many others lent their voices to this one-hit wonder and raised funds to help the starving in Africa. I just don’t get why Dan Akroyd was there.

A year later, I was sitting in my Home Economics Cooking class when my teacher with tear-stained eyes told us that the space shuttle, Challenger, had exploded on take-off. Death wasn’t something new to me, but this really stunned me since I still was unaware of true mortality. We kept the lights off, all 30 of us sitting heads down at tables listening to the radio announcer tell us that all the astronauts and one teacher had been killed in the blast. When I left class, I bumped into a friend who had been at lunch and hadn’t heard. “The space shuttle blew up.” I said. “No way.” She doubted. In anger I repeated myself, “No it blew up, they all died.” My voice stunned me. Why did I care so much? What really drew me to this sorrow? A group of friends and I converged at Stephanie’s house and watched the accounts over and over again. CNN was new and they milked it for all they could. I recall that there was an After School Special I was supposed to watch that day for my Child Development class about teenage pregnancy staring Renee Estevez, but it was postponed do to the tragedy. Nothing stirred me like this until September 11, 2001, but then I realized there was a true threat and my fear was justified.

Let’s move on to something more uplifting: Birthdays.
Today is the birthday of the French writer, Colette. One of my favorite writers, Colette was more woman than most could handle, at the time. Sexually free, she loved the vigor of life and seemed to live each day fully. Artist, actress, performer, writer and ahead of her time, Colette penned the classic “Gigi.” I visited her grave at Le Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris and even have a picture of the site in my den.

A few years later came Pollock. I don’t know much about him, but I did like Ed Harris in the movie, plus I have a puzzle of his work and I have yet to attempt that feat.

Other notables: Barbi Benton, Playboy Bunnie, Hugh’s GF back in the 70s and lingerie model and sales person on the Home Shopping Network; Dave Sharp from the Alarm, which used to be one of my favorite bands in that whole New Romantic phase in the 80s and opening act to the first concert I went to headlined by The Pretenders; Mo Rocca, satirist and “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” personality, I just love his wit; Chris Carter, member of the bands Throbbing Gristle (very industrial), and Chris and Cosey (very ethereal), worth a listen if your haven’t already; and Henry Mortensen, son of actor Viggo Mortensen and X singer Exene Cervanka who was rumored to have a sister living here in St. Pete, but when I asked Nancy Cervenka if she was related she laughed and denied it, though I wasn’t the first to inquire.

Lastly back to those who left us and who still hold a place in my heart, in one regards or another. Head of the Holy Roman Empire, as well as France and Germany, Charlemagne is one of those leaders you hear about repeatedly in school and can never get the full scope of until later in life. My fascination with him erupted as I pondered his statue outside of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. The morning was rainy and I had the day to myself. I followed the nuns in for mass and gave in to my Catholic upbringing even accepting communion. After the service, with the rain still spitting down, I paced in circles around the kings statue and let the true feeling of history enwrap me. Being American, our sense of history is pretty short, unless you bring into account all the non-whites that have a lingering history of a few thousand years or so (this is something I have been looking to more and it is truly fascinating.) My hour spent at his statue seemed probably like a crazy persons as I talked to myself about the realm of his might. But then again, Paris, like other big cities I have come to discover, didn’t seem to notice me or find me crazy since there are always those a lot more loony than moi. I got a children’s book about Charlemagne at one of the book stalls along the Seine, along with “Cinderella”, both in French, so I could learn the language and have yet to put my nose in either one. (This is one of my goals for the new year, improve my French and learn Spanish.)

This was also the day the world lost a great poet, William Butler Yeats. I had my Yeats phase in college when I came across a drawing of him from the early 1900s. He seemed thin and sad, the perfect person to adore for a goth kid like me. I read all of his works that I could find and longed to be the cute young thing that he adored enough to marry. I was a heart-felt romantic, as was he and his Shelley style of slow poetry touched me deeply. This period only lasted about 3 months when I moved on to stalk other dead romantics. Yet writing this, I long to read some more of his words and ponder his life, perhaps when I am done penning this piece.

Lastly another writer of note to honor in this long babble, though she used her words perfectly, Zora Neale Hurston. “There Eyes Were Watching God” is one of my favorite books (and another on my list for a second read). Being from Florida, she is also a local icon with her place in the Harlem Renaissance. She is buried in Fort Pierce on the east coast and that makes me think that a good day trip is in order. Maybe Renee will want to join me for Zora Fest in early April, sounds like a plan.

Well this really filled a need for the history buff inside of me. It’s interesting when all these thoughts and things collide. I hope no one got hurt.