CINDERELLA
G David Schwartz
Cinderella lived in a kingdom where people were given such names as Wantonleesoup, Burntnortonpie, Abracadabrabreath and Cinderella. She was a lovely girl and might have possessed any man she desires. Hers was the typical case of a young woman not permitted to go to celebrations who nevertheless ends by marrying the prince. We have all heard of such cases and Cinderella's is identical except for the change of scenery required to make such tales interesting.
In fact, Cinderella's case is identical to the tale of the old woman who had to trudge to market every morning for lentil beans. The old woman, of course, eventually arrives, make her purchase, and returns home without any money. She does this in spite of the now classical argument that before one can make a complete purchase one must make half a purchase, yet before one can make half a purchase one must make a quarter of a purchase. It follows that before one can make a quarter purchase, one must make an eighth of a purchase, yet before this must make a sixteenth of a purchase. The purpose of such logic is to attempt to prove that buying things in the grocery cannot be accomplished; is, in the words of the logicians, logically impossible. Nevertheless, the woman was poor and bought anything she wanted without the aid or detriment of logic. Next morning, in fact, the old woman has new shoes, a new basket, and a new bag of gold with which to make new purchases. Again, at the end of the evening, she returns home poor. And the logicians call this magic!
The whiles and wherefores of Cinderella herself ought to be exposed for the precise whiles and wherefores, which they were. She was a screwed vixen, cunning and slippery. A number of the village folk -- both those who went to the ball and those who did not -- went so far as to call her sly and mischievous. I called her attractive. I was not able to go to the ball, me being a real character and this being a fictitious story, but I will go to bat for her.
The question I wish to address is this: why could Cinderella have any man in the kingdom she desired? The subsequent question, why did she choose the prince, will not be addressed. In the first place, gasoline costs over a dollar a gallon, war may break out momentarily, a head of lettuce is ridiculous -- both in prince and composition. In the second police, inflation is rampant, the peace is threatened, and cabbage is a tasteless imitation of salad fixings. Anyone with their correct mind would marry a prince.
Our question is more complex. I cannot explain the complexity of the question. So complex is it that I am utterly baffled. Consider: the question itself begins with a question. So questionable is the first word that it might easily be termed an interrogative. Everything is suspect. Everything is jealously uneven and open to enigmatic vagueness. The second word in our question, 'could,' is an imperative. One can see, given only these two fist words that our question commits an interrogative followed by an imperative. Put in the language of simple physical components, then, the first two words essentially assert: possibility/actuality. In the language of the post-modern deconstructionists (or the old fashioned surrealists): what?/yes! Again, in the language of the sanitation engineer speaking with the humanities student: garbage/art. Finally, in the language of the civil engineer: Stop/go.
Once we leave the first two words, we have a proper noun, a verb, an adjective-pronoun-or-adverb (depending on how we hear the word in the sentence),and a common noun (or, as certain feminists would say, an improper noun). Next are a pronoun and, finally, the word 'wanted.' The perplexity of the question is double, if not multiplied, when we consider hat Cinderella was a fairy type person and the fact of wanting or desiring is a fairly complex phenomenon of our rotary bi-polarized quantified universe. Wanting is a redundant fact of life. Fairies are fairly restricted to late evening hours. The question is indeed completing and construing. \
The answer, on the other hand, is simple. Cinderella could have any man she wanted because she first insured that the men in question met and fall in love with one of her wicked step-sisters. I have no idea how she arranged this to occur so consistently. I do know her step sisters were vain, self-centered, arrogant and, after a certain amount of time, energy, money and non-negotiable bond were invested in them, eventually found to be repulsive. They never gave to charity, their fingernails were more important than their education, they were prone to distorting truths (even simple truths like one plus one is two) and they did not keep their promises, of which they made many. This characterization is quite nearly a definition of what we mean by the word 'wicked.' I do not say this about them to be mean spirited, but as a factual report. I do not intend to be sued for libel or defamation of character, but do think my report makes me suitable to win the Nobel prize for journalism.
Having met the wicked step-sisters ('step' obviously being a technical term suggesting that the only way from here was up), Cinderella stepped into the picture as helpless as they were vicious; as enchanting as they were arrogant; as kind as they were establishing their presumed best parts inside the tiny hand-held mirrors; as gay and bright as they were haughty and indignant. Nearly everyone in the kingdom fell in love with Cinderella, one by one and in multiples. Love is nothing like dice, which can only be used by one thrower at a time. Indeed, her life was frequently like the very dice, which are the universe. She should remember this next time she does bouncing or careening on the discombobulated arms of time and freewill. Several notes were found in the suitcases of young suicides, which read: Everything, which is not Cinderella, is oblivion.
For my part, I will hang onto her majesties gown for dear life; even though I know she is a folklorist illusion (and therefore very real to the people who tell of her). I know that if I let go, I shall either cease to exist, or flail off into the beguiling nothingness of questions with no answers, which randomly bang up against the corresponding number of answers without questions. Third, and worse of all, I might become the serene story-like presence of the notably absent member of the family. Lord help me. My fingers are loosing their grip, my head is getting light, and I feel the castle disappearing each time I close me eyes.
- - -
G. David Schwartz - the former president of Seedhouse, the online interfaith committee. Schwartz is the author of A Jewish Appraisal of Dialogue. Currently a volunteer at Drake Hospital in Cincinnati, Schwartz continues to write. His new book, Midrash and Working Out Of The Book is now in stores or can be ordered.
Check out my book on Midrash: [link][link]
G David Schwartz
Cinderella lived in a kingdom where people were given such names as Wantonleesoup, Burntnortonpie, Abracadabrabreath and Cinderella. She was a lovely girl and might have possessed any man she desires. Hers was the typical case of a young woman not permitted to go to celebrations who nevertheless ends by marrying the prince. We have all heard of such cases and Cinderella's is identical except for the change of scenery required to make such tales interesting.
In fact, Cinderella's case is identical to the tale of the old woman who had to trudge to market every morning for lentil beans. The old woman, of course, eventually arrives, make her purchase, and returns home without any money. She does this in spite of the now classical argument that before one can make a complete purchase one must make half a purchase, yet before one can make half a purchase one must make a quarter of a purchase. It follows that before one can make a quarter purchase, one must make an eighth of a purchase, yet before this must make a sixteenth of a purchase. The purpose of such logic is to attempt to prove that buying things in the grocery cannot be accomplished; is, in the words of the logicians, logically impossible. Nevertheless, the woman was poor and bought anything she wanted without the aid or detriment of logic. Next morning, in fact, the old woman has new shoes, a new basket, and a new bag of gold with which to make new purchases. Again, at the end of the evening, she returns home poor. And the logicians call this magic!
The whiles and wherefores of Cinderella herself ought to be exposed for the precise whiles and wherefores, which they were. She was a screwed vixen, cunning and slippery. A number of the village folk -- both those who went to the ball and those who did not -- went so far as to call her sly and mischievous. I called her attractive. I was not able to go to the ball, me being a real character and this being a fictitious story, but I will go to bat for her.
The question I wish to address is this: why could Cinderella have any man in the kingdom she desired? The subsequent question, why did she choose the prince, will not be addressed. In the first place, gasoline costs over a dollar a gallon, war may break out momentarily, a head of lettuce is ridiculous -- both in prince and composition. In the second police, inflation is rampant, the peace is threatened, and cabbage is a tasteless imitation of salad fixings. Anyone with their correct mind would marry a prince.
Our question is more complex. I cannot explain the complexity of the question. So complex is it that I am utterly baffled. Consider: the question itself begins with a question. So questionable is the first word that it might easily be termed an interrogative. Everything is suspect. Everything is jealously uneven and open to enigmatic vagueness. The second word in our question, 'could,' is an imperative. One can see, given only these two fist words that our question commits an interrogative followed by an imperative. Put in the language of simple physical components, then, the first two words essentially assert: possibility/actuality. In the language of the post-modern deconstructionists (or the old fashioned surrealists): what?/yes! Again, in the language of the sanitation engineer speaking with the humanities student: garbage/art. Finally, in the language of the civil engineer: Stop/go.
Once we leave the first two words, we have a proper noun, a verb, an adjective-pronoun-or-adverb (depending on how we hear the word in the sentence),and a common noun (or, as certain feminists would say, an improper noun). Next are a pronoun and, finally, the word 'wanted.' The perplexity of the question is double, if not multiplied, when we consider hat Cinderella was a fairy type person and the fact of wanting or desiring is a fairly complex phenomenon of our rotary bi-polarized quantified universe. Wanting is a redundant fact of life. Fairies are fairly restricted to late evening hours. The question is indeed completing and construing. \
The answer, on the other hand, is simple. Cinderella could have any man she wanted because she first insured that the men in question met and fall in love with one of her wicked step-sisters. I have no idea how she arranged this to occur so consistently. I do know her step sisters were vain, self-centered, arrogant and, after a certain amount of time, energy, money and non-negotiable bond were invested in them, eventually found to be repulsive. They never gave to charity, their fingernails were more important than their education, they were prone to distorting truths (even simple truths like one plus one is two) and they did not keep their promises, of which they made many. This characterization is quite nearly a definition of what we mean by the word 'wicked.' I do not say this about them to be mean spirited, but as a factual report. I do not intend to be sued for libel or defamation of character, but do think my report makes me suitable to win the Nobel prize for journalism.
Having met the wicked step-sisters ('step' obviously being a technical term suggesting that the only way from here was up), Cinderella stepped into the picture as helpless as they were vicious; as enchanting as they were arrogant; as kind as they were establishing their presumed best parts inside the tiny hand-held mirrors; as gay and bright as they were haughty and indignant. Nearly everyone in the kingdom fell in love with Cinderella, one by one and in multiples. Love is nothing like dice, which can only be used by one thrower at a time. Indeed, her life was frequently like the very dice, which are the universe. She should remember this next time she does bouncing or careening on the discombobulated arms of time and freewill. Several notes were found in the suitcases of young suicides, which read: Everything, which is not Cinderella, is oblivion.
For my part, I will hang onto her majesties gown for dear life; even though I know she is a folklorist illusion (and therefore very real to the people who tell of her). I know that if I let go, I shall either cease to exist, or flail off into the beguiling nothingness of questions with no answers, which randomly bang up against the corresponding number of answers without questions. Third, and worse of all, I might become the serene story-like presence of the notably absent member of the family. Lord help me. My fingers are loosing their grip, my head is getting light, and I feel the castle disappearing each time I close me eyes.
- - -
G. David Schwartz - the former president of Seedhouse, the online interfaith committee. Schwartz is the author of A Jewish Appraisal of Dialogue. Currently a volunteer at Drake Hospital in Cincinnati, Schwartz continues to write. His new book, Midrash and Working Out Of The Book is now in stores or can be ordered.
Check out my book on Midrash: [link][link]
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