A Rip Van Winklian interlude
The story of Rip Van Winkle is set in the years before and after the American Revolutionary War. Rip Van Winkle, a villager of Dutch descent, lives in a nice village at the foot of New York's Catskill Mountains. An amiable man whose home and farm suffer from his lazy neglect, he is loved by all but his wife.
One autumn day he escapes his nagging wife by wandering up the mountains. There he encounters strangely dressed men, rumored to be the ghosts of Henry Hudson's crew, who are playing nine-pins. After drinking some of their liquor, he settles down under a shady tree and falls asleep. He wakes and returns to his village, where he finds twenty years have passed. He finds out that his wife has died and that his close friends have died in a war or gone somewhere else. He immediately gets into trouble when he proclaims himself a loyal subject of King George III, not knowing that the American Revolution has taken place.
An old local recognizes him, however, and Rip's now grown daughter takes him in. Rip resumes his habitual idleness, and his tale is solemnly believed by the old Dutch settlers, with certain hen-pecked husbands wishing they shared Rip's good luck.
Copied from Wikipedia
I feel like old Rip Van Winkle. That quixotic creation of Washington Irving. Only it’s not been twenty years but nigh eight months since I last contributed to this blog. Unlike the old man, I have not been slumbering up the Catskills Mountains.
Life for me, has been hectic and full of change. And will be for the next few months. Luckily for moi, unlike poor Rip, I am not burdened with a nagging other half. Au contraire. And my children too are a joy.
So my e-absence and Winkle's disappearance are similar only in terms of time lost. But here I am now. I will not be in a position to contribute regularly. Not just yet. I have missed a lot. And though I've kept myself abreast with khobor from Goem, I have not been able to comment, because of both time and professional constraints.
Much water has flowed down the Mandovi. Much has changed. Many Moidecars and Goemcars have gone to their final reward.
To mention a few that I knew, liked or admired: Casmiro Cunha, a good and wise man of the world; Prudencia Mendonca, a pious and devout woman ever willing to help those in need; Robert Mendes, he brought much joy to many; Gonzaga Da Gama Pais, a lively, likable lad, much loved by his family and a very decent gentleman; Regina D'Cunha, beloved mother and grandmother, ever popular in her vaddo and the village; and Prof. Olivinho Gomes, an erudite and eclectic genius, a niz Goemcar.
May the ALMIGHTY grant their souls his eternal peace and light.
I shall try to update this blog as often as I can. However, I will not be in full flow for a few more months. My attempts at highlighting Goem, Goemcars and Goemcarponn will continue.
My distaste of all bullies, braggarts and blackguards is unabated and will find expression whenever needed. Mind you due to other priorities, I may be forced to go easy on the brag---- and blackg-----.
Other then that, my readers will have to carry on without my sagacity or pomposity, depending on what you think of me.
Till next time.
Au revoir.
Tumcho ixtt ani ganv bhav
Xanno Moidecar http://help.blogger.com/bin/answer.py?hl=en&answer=104225
One autumn day he escapes his nagging wife by wandering up the mountains. There he encounters strangely dressed men, rumored to be the ghosts of Henry Hudson's crew, who are playing nine-pins. After drinking some of their liquor, he settles down under a shady tree and falls asleep. He wakes and returns to his village, where he finds twenty years have passed. He finds out that his wife has died and that his close friends have died in a war or gone somewhere else. He immediately gets into trouble when he proclaims himself a loyal subject of King George III, not knowing that the American Revolution has taken place.
An old local recognizes him, however, and Rip's now grown daughter takes him in. Rip resumes his habitual idleness, and his tale is solemnly believed by the old Dutch settlers, with certain hen-pecked husbands wishing they shared Rip's good luck.
Copied from Wikipedia
I feel like old Rip Van Winkle. That quixotic creation of Washington Irving. Only it’s not been twenty years but nigh eight months since I last contributed to this blog. Unlike the old man, I have not been slumbering up the Catskills Mountains.
Life for me, has been hectic and full of change. And will be for the next few months. Luckily for moi, unlike poor Rip, I am not burdened with a nagging other half. Au contraire. And my children too are a joy.
So my e-absence and Winkle's disappearance are similar only in terms of time lost. But here I am now. I will not be in a position to contribute regularly. Not just yet. I have missed a lot. And though I've kept myself abreast with khobor from Goem, I have not been able to comment, because of both time and professional constraints.
Much water has flowed down the Mandovi. Much has changed. Many Moidecars and Goemcars have gone to their final reward.
To mention a few that I knew, liked or admired: Casmiro Cunha, a good and wise man of the world; Prudencia Mendonca, a pious and devout woman ever willing to help those in need; Robert Mendes, he brought much joy to many; Gonzaga Da Gama Pais, a lively, likable lad, much loved by his family and a very decent gentleman; Regina D'Cunha, beloved mother and grandmother, ever popular in her vaddo and the village; and Prof. Olivinho Gomes, an erudite and eclectic genius, a niz Goemcar.
May the ALMIGHTY grant their souls his eternal peace and light.
I shall try to update this blog as often as I can. However, I will not be in full flow for a few more months. My attempts at highlighting Goem, Goemcars and Goemcarponn will continue.
My distaste of all bullies, braggarts and blackguards is unabated and will find expression whenever needed. Mind you due to other priorities, I may be forced to go easy on the brag---- and blackg-----.
Other then that, my readers will have to carry on without my sagacity or pomposity, depending on what you think of me.
Till next time.
Au revoir.
Tumcho ixtt ani ganv bhav
Xanno Moidecar http://help.blogger.com/bin/answer.py?hl=en&answer=104225
posted by Xanno Moidecar | Sunday, August 02, 2009
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