The Little Mermaid

Janet would roll her eyes at the title, recalling years ago when we endured a child swarm to attempt taking our niece Marissa (now all grown up and playing violin) to the eponymous Disney movie. Well, it was a break from her Cinderella fixation. Marissa's, that is, not Janet's. Although she did like the mice.

I'm talking about the darker original version by Hans Christen Anderson, which is part of a round about apology I'm making for not posting more on this blog. As my mother pointed out the other day (as mothers do), I haven't written anything here in weeks. A situation that she fretted, with probable justness, as writing here is a form of therapy for me as well as a way of preserving Janet's memory.

It's the last clause there that is the sticking point. I've been trying to be upbeat, as Janet was, despite her illnesses, largely an upbeat person. Not stupidly Polyannaish, but the kind of person who delighted in the small things of living, be it a cup of tea I'd managed to prepare right for once, a dog's slobbery tongue, or simply a good day teaching.

But I'll have to say that my mood has been anything but. My brain isn't where it should be, and when it works it reminds me of the darker things that won out in the end. I hate polluting Janet's memory with my own moodiness, so the keyboard hasn't been clacking. At least not for things I'm willing to post.

Janet was perfectly aware of those darker things, of course. Arthritis had squelched her orchestral career just as it started. And yet, as I keep pointing out, she'd play through the pain on a regular basis.

And God, she had that expressive tone. Lacking the fireworks of lightning fast dexterous runs, she put everything into the sound. And I would be just as guilty if I were to gloss over the obstacles she faced as if I never spoke of happier things.

Maybe it was her bargain with the Sea Witch. Remember the latter's bargain with the Mermaid? The Mermaid would get to walk and dance but as the Witch said

...you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.

So, today, I'm going to start writing again. And if it's hard for me, I have to think of my Little Mermaid, playing though her fingers felt like knives were passing through them. And she was the prettiest little human being I ever saw.