As Retold by Sadako: Little House in the Big Woods

Many years ago, there lived a little girl in a big house in the woods of Wisconsin. Her name was Laura. She lived with her Pa and Ma and her older sister Mary and baby sister Carrie.

There were all kinds of wonderful things to do in those days. The little house, for example, had a door that could open and close with only the push of a hand. There were shoes that could be put on and laced up and then taken off again before bed. Most fun of all was Pig Carcass day, when Pa butchered a pig and then blew up the pig's bladder for Laura and Mary to play with. There was nothing more fun than a day spent among pig parts.

Unless, of course, there was a day spent playing with Pa's gun.

Oh, how Laura and Mary loved to watch Pa clean his gun.

"Now you watch closely and make sure I do it right." If Pa did something wrong like bring the hammer down quick, the gun would go off and they'd all be killed. But he never did. They also loved to watch him make bullets on the hearth. The little bullets did shine so temptingly that often Laura and Mary couldn't help touching them and getting burned. But of course it was their own fault. And anyway, the blisters were so bright and pretty to look at, they were yet another perk of living in the little house.

Christmas

On Christmas, Laura's Uncle Peter and Aunt Eliza and her cousins came. On Christmas Eve, they hung stockings, and the next morning, they went to see what they got. For Laura, because she was the youngest--a doll! Each child was also given a lick of peppermint candy. Laura was given two licks of hers because she was the youngest. Each child also received one mitten. But not a full set--because only spoiled, privileged Town children were permitted two. And so that was Christmas.

A Tale of Two Bears

Pa had gone to Town to try and sell his furs. Laura was to help Ma with the milking. They went to the barn to milk Sukey, the cow. When they got there, to their surprise, they saw the big brown shape of Sukey at the barn gate. Ma leaned over to open the door. "Get over, Sukey," she said, slapping the cow. Suddenly, Laura saw long black fur and glittering eyes. "Laura, walk back to the house."

Back at home, Ma said, "It was good that you didn't question authority and went straight back to the house, Laura. Real good." It turns out that they had seen a bear!

When Pa got back, Ma and Laura told him all about the bear they had seen.

"A bear?" said Pa. "Well! When I was walking back from Town, I saw lots of bear tracks. I wished I had my gun but I'd left it home for some reason. Then I saw a huge black bear standing on its hind legs, staring at me. I stared back. I picked up a club, and I knew I"d have to rush the bear, or be eaten. I ran and brought the club down on its head! But it was nothing but an old stump."

Pa laughed and picked up the old fiddle as Ma sighed and said, "So, you didn't actually see a bear, then, did you, Charles?"

Sunday

On Sundays, Ma, Pa, Laura, and Mary had to sit and read the Bible to make up for the decadence of the rest of the week. No pig bladders or first degree burns on Sundays. But one Sunday, Laura was bored. She started to play with Jack. She got excited and ran about until she finally let out a whoop and a couple of hollers. Before she knew it, she'd even raised a hullabaloo.

"Laura," Pa said sternly. "Come here." Laura came, knowing she was going to be spanked. But Pa put her in his lap and told her a story about her grandfather, his father. "When Grandpa was a boy, he and his brothers worked on a sled. By the time it was ready, it was Sunday, and they couldn't play with it. They could only read the Bible. Not the more relaxed New Testament, either. Only the Old. But that Sunday, their father fell asleep while reading.

"Grandpa and his brothers looked at each other and off they went, sledding! When they came down the hill, a pig came out of nowhere and they rode down the hill on the sled, too, squealing all the way. Suddenly they saw their father staring at them. He went back into the house. Wordlessly, the boys put the sled away, slaughtered, butchered and dressed the pig, put the pig's bladder away for later, and went back inside to read their catchesism and compose a monologue on the first several books of the Old Testament.

"That night, their father tanned their hides till they could barely sit down.

"So you see, Laura. Back then children were physically abused when they acted out. Today, they just have to hear thinly veiled threats disguised as reminiscing. Isn't that better?"

Laura nodded, and Pa hugged her. "Now, Half-Pint, go cut me a switch."

The Deer in the Woods

Pa set out a salt lick near the house so he could hunt deer more easily. One night he went out to hunt them. In the morning, Laura and Mary went to the window, eagerly, hoping to see a mutilated deer carcass in the tree. But to their shock, there were no adorable butchered animals. Not even a pair of chipmunks for hors d'oeurves.

That night, Pa explained what had happened. He took Laura and Mary onto his knees. "I went out into the woods. First, I saw a stag. He was so great and majestic and strong and free, I couldn't kill him. He reminded me of myself before I had Mary and Laura and Carrie and the passel of stillborn babies out back. But then I reminded myself that I had to kill the next animal that came or we'd surely all starve.

"The next one was a huge bear, almost twice as big as a regular bear. I almost shot him, but I got so distracted watching him use a primitive form of toilet paper and then shaking his hindquarters thoughtfully. It wasn't until he was gone that I realized that my children were at home, hungry and waiflike. I had to kill the next one--after all, the forest was full of animals. Finally a mother deer and its baby came over and I lifted my gun to shoot them, and I realized I'd plumb forgotten my gun."

"That's all right, Pa," said Mary. "We can eat bread and butter."

"And that story distracted me from my blurred vision and lowered blood sugar!" chimed in Laura.

Ma sighed. "Charles, you passed out in front of the salt lick again, didn't you?"

Pa smiled and brought out his fiddle and everyone sang Auld Lang Syne.

As Retold by Sadako: Where the Wild Things Are

The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another, his mother called him, "WILD THING."



And Max said, "Stop listening to that Troggs album!"



So he was sent to bed without any supper and without his mother wondering if she needed to cut back on her dating life.



That night in Max's room, as his blood sugar level decreased, a forest grew and grew, until his ceiling hung with vines and the world became a manifestation of his troubled id.

An ocean tumbled by with a boat for Max. He sailed off through night and day till he came to where the wild things are.

And when he came to where the wild things are, they roared their terrible roars. And gnashed their terrible teeth. And rolled their terrible eyes.



And showed their terrible claws. And screened their overrated Matt Dillon/Neve Campbell/Denise Richards threesome scene over and over again.



Until Max tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once.



And they were frightened at his no-blinking skills because no one with access to the prop department of A Clockwork Orange had yet come to their island. And they acknowledged that he was indeed pack leader, even though he hadn't used the phrase, "Tsst!" once. And they made him king of all wild things.



"Now," said Max, "let the wild rumpus start!" And he opened his appointment book to schedule in rumpuses for the next several weeks.

"Now, stop!" Max said and withheld food as discipline as he had been taught, and he sent the wild things off to bed without any supper.

And Max like all wild things was lonely.



So he resigned his post as king of all the wild things.



But the wild things, angry that he hadn't left two weeks' written notice and had refused to stick around for an exit interview, said, "Oh please don't go, we'll eat you up, we love you so!"



Deciding to soften the impending separation anxiety as best he could, Max said, "No."



And he sailed away, through night and day, for over a year, till he reached home, where his Swanson's Hungry Man Dinner was waiting. And it was still lukewarm.

As Retold by Sadako: The Tale of Peter Rabbit

My stuffed toys have been very naughty this past summer. Rosie the Alligator went to Florida and didn't even find one senior citizen to frighten on the golf course. And my teddy bears all had a pizza party and ordered exotic toppings and now my apartment is a mess of honey and salmon and bamboo. Of course, this meant I had to teach them what happened to adorably naughty animals (as I'd already taught them about good, enterprising animals with Corduroy last week). So, it was time to retell them the The Tale of Peter Rabbit!

Once upon a time, there were four anthropomorphic rabbits.



Their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They lived with their Mother, who only bestowed proper Christian names upon her male offspring, in a sand bank under a tree.



"Now, my dears," said Mrs. Rabbit one morning, "you may go in the fields or down the lane but don't go to into Mr. McGregor's garden. Your father had an accident there. And after the McGregors finished mopping that up, they put him in a pie."



Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, who were good little bunnies and coped with the loss of a parent by sublimating their grief into productivity, gathered blackberries.

But Peter, whose predilection for typically lapine behavior could not be suppressed, ran into Mr. McGregor's garden, disregarded the warning about his slaughtered father, and, worst of all, got his beautiful little jacket with the brass buttons dirty.



First he ate some French beans, then he ate some lettuces, and then he ate some radishes.

Round the end of a cucumber frame, who did he meet, but Mr. McGregor!



Farmer McGregor was on his hands and knees planting young cabbages (and making life difficult for 80s parents seeking the number one doll for their kids).



But he jumped up and ran after Peter, screaming, "Stop, tiny humanoid rabbit!"

Peter was dreadfully frightened--and slightly less adorable--for he had forgotten his way out and lost both shoes. He started to run on four legs and then lost his sweet little jacket with the brass buttons.

Mr. McGregor ran up then, and Peter rushed off into the shed.



He leaped into the watering can. And he would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for all that water in the watering can. He sneezed and ran out. After he'd finished being a prop in an Anne Geddes drawing, he ran away.



Out of breath, he still couldn't find his way. He came to a door. An old mouse was rushing around underneath, carrying peas and beans to her family. Peter asked her the way out, but she couldn't talk, having a large pea in her mouth. Peter didn't know how to escape.



And now that his sweet little jacket had come off, he'd have to resit for his portrait that would adorn bowls and cups everywhere. Peter began to cry.

But, much like in sports, there is no crying permitted for long in a Beatrix Potter book. Peter found his way across the garden where there was a pond. A white cat was staring at some goldfish. She sat very still but every now and again, her tail twitched.



Peter thought it best to go away without talking to her. He had heard all about cats from his cousin Benjamin Button who had the complete works of Andrew Lloyd Webber on tape at home.

Finally, Peter wandered aimlessly some more. But as there were only a few pages left, it became convenient for him to find the exit. There, in the distance--the gate! Peter ran after it, with Farmer McGregor on his tail. But he managed to get out and run all the way home.



Mr. McGregor hung up Peter's little jacket and shoes as a scarecrow to frighten blackbirds with a phobia of dapper, headless young gentlemen.

At home, Peter was so tired that he flopped down on the floor. His mother wondered what he'd done with his clothes and how she'd make him some more without the use of opposable thumbs.

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well. Sitting in a damp watering can with no jacket on will do that to wayward little rabbits. His mother gave him a tablespoon of camomile tea and put him to bed.

But I am happy to report that a sense of moral equilibrium is upheld, even among the animals, and Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, the good little rabbits, all enjoyed bread, milk, and blackberries for their righteous, but less marketable in the publishing world, behavior.

As Retold by Sadako: Corduroy

Corduroy is a bear who once lived in the toy department of a big store.



Day after day, he waited with other more exciting toys: a stuffed rabbit with an inviting blue bow, a garrulous giraffe, and a blonde haired blue eyed porcelain representation of oppression to Toni Morrison fans.



The store was full of shoppers. But no one seemed to want a small bear in green overalls. It seemed the public had grown weary of Teddy Roosevelt's old hunting tale that the teddy bear lobbyists had worked so hard to propagate. Alas, stuffed animals of the ursine persuasion went unpurchased.

One day, a little girl stopped and looked straight into Corduroy's eyes. "Oh, Mommy, look. Can I have him?"



"No," said Lisa's mother. "We've spent too much as it is. And that bear is missing a button."

"But," Lisa said, "I could sew it back on."

"No," her mother said, "if I wanted to spend money reassembling a teddy bear, we'd go to Build-a-Bear."

Corduroy looked forlorn.



"I didn't know I'd lost a button," he said to himself. What he had thought was his simple homespun charm, much like Paddington's rakishly tipped hat, made him look like a fixer upper project. Oh, to be able to pull off a wardrobe faux pas, like Winnie-the-Pooh and his whimsically misfitting t-shirt.

But never mind. The enterprising bear reasoned, "Tonight I'll go and see if I can find it."

Late that night, when all the shoppers had gone home, Corduroy climbed carefully down. Suddenly, he found himself on a moving escalator. "This must be a mountain!" he thought.



Letting the escalator be his sherpa, Corduroy went up to the next floor.



He stepped off and found an amazing sight. Tables, chairs, lamps, sofas. "Could this be a Motel Six?" he wondered. "I've always wanted to visit one. Giraffe-Giraffe spent the night in one before he was returned for a toy that didn't have a defective mane."

The impressionable bear wandered about, admiring the furniture, until he spied a button on a bed.



He pulled at it. The button didn't budge. But Corduroy wanted it more.



He yanked again and fell down, making a huge CRASH, and creating an image that would make the uterus of even the most hardened single career girl skip a beat.

Corduroy didn't know it but there was someone else present for his little misadventure. The future producers of Pixar, looking for a children's book to inspire a CGI franchise. Also, the night watchman, who in between studying for his mall cop exam, took it up on himself to investigate.



"Now who in the world did that?" asked the watchman, when he saw Corduroy.



The watchman picked up Corduroy under his arm and took him downstairs to the other stuffed animals, making sure to rest him securely against the clown, in case Corduroy had any further shenanigans in mind.



Nestled under the maniacal toy jester, Corduroy's body dysmorphic issues were soon a distant memory.

Corduroy was just waking up. There, looking at him with a smile was the same girl from the day before.



"I'm Lisa, and you're going to be my bear. My mother said that if I had my heart set on throwing away money on a cash poor bear with a sob story when we didn't even have enough money for me to wear a different outfit two days in a row, it was my life. So I counted what I had in my piggy bank and here I am."

The sales lady said, "Shall I see if we have any bears with unbroken shoulder straps in the back?" But Lisa said no thank you and carried Corduroy in her arms out the store.



She ran four flights up the stairs in her family's four story walk up apartment to her room. The room was much smaller than the Motel Six-size room he'd seen last night.



"A cheery room that makes up for size or cost effectiveness by tugging at the heart strings. This must be home!" he said. "I have a home with Lisa!"

Corduroy saw that next to a girl sized bed was a bear sized bed for him. An owner who, conscious of the ever growing risk of Sudden Stuffed Bear Death Syndrome, provided him with his own sleeping arrangements! Corduroy smiled.

Lisa sat down with Corduroy on her lap and began to sew a button onto his overall strap.



"I like you the way you are," she said, "but you'll be more comfortable like this."

"You must be a friend. I've always wanted a friend," Corduroy said as he nestled into her shoulder. "But while you've got the sewing kit out, could you redistribute some of the padding around my waist? And would you mind making my eyes look more even?"

As Retold by Sadako: Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret

Growing up in this culture, I don't think I quite understood what it meant to be a girl. I came late to clothing and makeup, getting my period didn't mean anything to me, and I only get a C- in bitchery. That's why I had Judy Blume, to teach me what it meant to be a girl/woman in American culture. So, let's do a few selected (retold) readings of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, the book that is essentially a love letter to menstruation. Let's see what we can learn about being a preteen girl.

Be proud of your body!

"Oh, you're still flat," Nancy said when she saw me changing into my bathing suit. "You haven't got your period yet, have you? I bet you haven't even had a yeast infection."

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "I'm growing already," Nancy continued. "I haven't gotten my period but I'm already getting a viscous vaginal discharge associated with ovulation. And I almost had a UTI once, too."

At school, Nancy and I were in the same class. The first day I saw a tall girl who I thought was the teacher. She was really pretty and she was wearing a bra--a big one. I stared at her bra through the shirt but I couldn't figure out the exact size. (Later, Nancy told me it was a 36B--she was sitting closer and had managed to get close enough to read the tag that was just sticking out.) The girl's name was Laura Danker. For some reason, she seemed shy and didn't talk to anyone.

You don't have anything unless you have your friends!

Nancy, and her friends, Gretchen, Janie, and I all met at Nancy's house after school to form a club.

"Did you see Laura Danker?" giggled Nancy. "You stay away from her--she has a bad reputation. Men can't help looking at her."

"But do you think she looks that way on purpose?" I asked.

The others laughed. "Oh, Margaret," said Nancy. "She's not like an actual person--she's a dumping ground for our insecurities."

I stayed quiet then.

"Let's come up with rules," said Nancy. We'll call ourselves the Pre-Teen Sensations. Or PTS's. That's a great name because it rhymes with PMS--the most glorious time in a woman's life. Now, the first rule: we have to wear bras every day."

Gretchen added, "We never wear a tank top more than twice in a row."

Nancy interrupted, "We also make a pact to recite our mantra--We must we must increase our bust every day. But we also resolve not to get a cup size bigger than any of the other PTS's. Or risk being called a slut."

Menstruation is marvelous!

I found out that Nancy and Gretchen had already gotten their periods. It wasn't fair, I thought. I couldn't be the last one, God, I just couldn't! Later, Nancy's family took me on a trip into the city. We had dinner and then Nancy and I went to the bathroom together.

Nancy suddenly locked herself in the bathroom stall, crying. "Get my mother!" she yelled.

"She's getting her period," Nancy's mother told me after she'd spoken to Nancy. I must have looked strange because she explained, "It's her first time."

"Where are the unicorns and glitter?!" I heard Nancy cry.

I couldn't believe it. Nancy had lied about getting her period! And if I hadn't been here, I would never have known.

Another screech came from the bathroom stall. "And why aren't the bloodclots accompanied by a capella bursts of Girl you'll be a woman soon!"

Sometimes all is not what we think it is!

Laura Danker and I were in the same group for our final class project. I couldn't believe it. Nancy had told me all about how Laura, Nancy's brother, and his friend Moose went behind the A&P. It was disgusting. One day when Laura and I were taking notes in the library, Laura told me not to copy word for word. "We'll get in trouble if our report is plagiarized."

"Laura, you ignorant slut!" I said to her.

"Excuse me?"

"You go behind the A&P with Moose and Evan. And you're practically a 36C! You're almost a D! Couldn't you show a little shame and stick to a B cup while we're in sixth grade? And do you have to have the perfect body and face? Couldn't you be a butterface or something? It's not fair how all the guys want to dance with you and not with the rest of us during square dancing!"

"You liar! You...pig!" Laura stared at me, in shock. "You think it's fun being stared at and called a slut for having huge breasts?"

"Well. Yeah. Isn't that the point of being a girl?"

"I'd gladly trade places with you," Laura told me. Then she stormed off while I tried to apologize. Later I found out from Moose that it was all lies, about Laura and the A&P. I felt bad for making fun of Laura. I'd learned an important lesson that day. Only gossip about girls behind they're back if you're sure--and I mean absolutely sure--they do bad things with boys.

Good things come to those who wait!

It was right after I found out about Laura that I got my period! I was so relieved. I wasn't the last one in my group! There was still Janie. Poor flat, uterus-lining challenged Janie, I thought to myself. It was so wonderful to have a friend less developed than me, whom I could brag to about having the right brand of pad--Teenage Softies, of course.

I was so glad to have gotten my period before I left for camp. Now there would be shorts to worry about ruining, cramps to agonize over, and there would be an increased chance of being attacked and eaten by bears on nature hikes. Thank you, God, thank you.

As Retold by Sadako: Madeline

After the success of my recent Eloise post, I decided I would do a Madeline one. On y snark!

In an old house in Paris
All covered in vines
Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.



They received quite a formal education
In learning how never to break formation.



In two straight lines they broke their bread
Brushed their teeth
Channeled Adrian Monk
And went to bed.

They left the house at half past nine
In two straight lines
In rain or shine

Never once did they break routine in all their lives
To alter the schedule would give them hives.

They smiled at the good
And frowned at the bad.
And moral ambiguity made them very sad.



The cutest one was called Madeline.
She wasn't afraid of living in a vermin infested house



She befriended each and every mouse



To the tiger in the zoo, Madeline said, "Honh honh honh, silly bourgeois tigre!"



And of all the girls at school,
Madeline was always first
In the orphanage death pool.



In the middle of one night
Miss Clavel put on her light
And said, "Something is not right."



Little Madeline sat up in bed.
Surely she might be dying
To engage in unscheduled crying!



Dr. Cohn came and dialed: DANton-ten-six
"Nurse," he said, "I've figured out a way to rhyme appendix!"



Everybody had to cry
Not a single eye was dry
For to engage in nonconformity
Would have been quite a travesty.

Dr. Cohn took Madeline away in the night and
in two hours,
Madeline woke up in a room filled with flowers.



Ten days passed.
One day Miss Clavel said, "Isn't this a fine-
day
to visit Madeline?"



The girls nodded: it was time!
But oh, they sighed,
To appear in a book free of stilted rhyme!

In they walked and then said, "Ahh"
Candy, toys, and a dollhouse from Papa
But the biggest shock by far,
Was the mark of individuality: a stomach scar!



That night the girls broke their bread
Brushed their teeth
And went to bed.

All of a sudden Miss Clavel knew something was not right
Sensing a disaster, she ran fast and then faster
She asked,
"Please children, do, tell me what is troubling you?"



"Boohoo, we want to have our appendix out, too!"

Said Miss Clavel,
"I'm sorry, little girls
But I'm afraid I haven't another rhyme
For appendix this time."