October Thought Day 22: Days Gone By, Give It a Try

Since I seem to be feeling so nostalgic this week, I thought it was time for another classic post, this one about Washington Irving’s Sleepy Hollow. I was stuck in bed all day and had cabin fever something fierce. Since I couldn’t get out, I decided to go in. I put my old VHS tape in and relaxed to the soothing dulcet tones of Bing Crosby. He isn’t just for Christmas you know. Bing took me over hill and dale all the way back to fall in New England in the 1790’s.

Not having lived in New England I tend to have a very romanticized idea of it in my head. To me it is a magical land that is always viewed in dreamy sepia tones. It is always fall there and gentlemen still wear top hats. I know it isn’t like that in real life, but I like to pretend. I once spent a wonderful week in Virginia and the thing about the Eastern seaboard is this, the land is drenched in history, you can feel it. You get the same feeling when you travel to places like Rome, Greece or Paris. The very ground you stand upon is saturated with stories and memories of bygone times. If you sit still and listen you can hear it whispering its secrets. I know I felt that in Virginia.

I like the old stories and the idea of people sitting around the fireside telling tales, not necessarily scary. Electricity wasn’t even a glint in Edison, Franklin or Tesla’s eye and people had to rely on the sun and candles to light the way. It made everyone gather in rather than drift apart. You shared news and told stories, which with that entire unknown world out there beyond the trees; of course superstition would play a role. The unexplainable had to have some sort of explanation after all; otherwise life was too weird and disconcerting. Someone disappeared, ghosts did it. Crops failed, someone forgot to throw three seeds over their shoulder and spit. Lame horse, it was probably pixies. There was an order to things that superstition and stories provided. We may laugh at it but we do the same thing.

I love the tale of the headless horseman, I see him as the only sympathetic figure in the whole tale. He was a Hessian trooper in the revolutionary war who had the misfortune to lose his head. Now I don’t know about you, but if I lost my head and was doomed to come back to haunt the town I’m pretty sure my sole pursuit would be to find the silly thing. I love that he carves a pumpkin for a replacement head and I love that a covered bridge is his barrier. It’s like he is picking all my favorite October things.

Speaking of favorite things, I also love the descriptive language that Irving uses in his story. I wish more people wrote like that. “If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.” “A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.” Now tell me you don’t want to go there. 
 
I like that in the story none of the characters except for the horseman are likeable, or at least that’s how I read it. The only one I feel sorry for is the poor scared horse Ichabod rides. Brom Bones is a stuck up pompous jerk who thinks he is god’s gift to women. Katrina Van Tassel is a shameless flirt who uses the affections of the schoolmaster to make Brom jealous because she wants to play hard to get. Ichabod is a lazy opportunist who only wants to marry Katrina for her money. See what I mean. They all have it coming if you ask me. 
 
At the end of the story you are left to wonder, was it really Brom who chased Ichabod that night or was there really a horseman after all? Did Ichabod really succumb to the horseman, or did he in fact move out of town and settle down somewhere else? Did Katrina and Brom live happily ever after or did Brom end up cheating on her in the end because he got bored with a farmer’s daughter? If Ichabod did survive, did he ever tell the story to others or did he keep it quiet out of shame and embarrassment? There are so many questions left unanswered for such a simple story, which may also be why I like it. The reader gets to fill in the blanks.

The closest we get to scary stories now-a-days are urban legends, but even they aren’t told that much. Perhaps the closest we come are the form letters we get over email and social media. Pass this on to five friends in the next ten minutes and you will get your wildest dream fulfilled. Maybe media is how we experience stories now. Instead of gathering round the fire we all file into the multiplex and have a story told to us. Maybe Star Wars is our shared fireside tale and Marvel superheroes are our version of Greek gods.

Interesting times we live in. If you haven’t already read Mr. Irving’s tale, I encourage you to do so. It is short but beautiful. Listen to it on tape if you really don’t want to read. If you absolutely have to watch the movie instead, make it the Disney version, not Tim Burton. Nothing against Mr. Burton, he is one of my Halloween heroes, but for this tale, Disney runs closer to Washington Irving’s vision. It is a wonderful read on a dark and stormy night. Watch it with the lights off, read it by candlelight and listen closely for the sound of hoof beats on the wind. The headless horseman is coming; he is searching for a head. Maybe, just maybe he might take yours.

Day 5: Epitome of October

If you know me at all, or even a little, you know that I have a love of words. Long ones, short ones. Weird ones or normal. This love of words translates into a love of literature. I have many favorite October writers and genres, but one author above all others can lay claim to being my very favorite. I am talking of course about Mr. Washington Irving, and my favorite work of his is the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. October is not complete without reading or watching this story.
Last year, I got lost in the book. This year it has been the film. I have watched it twice so far and feel repeat viewings in my October future. Normally I like Tim Burton, but I do not much care for his adaptation of Mr. Irving's story. True, there are elements of the macabre in it, but not to that extent. I much prefer the cartoon Disney version of the tale.
The story by Mr. Irving is to me, a perfect encapsulation of all my favorite October things. There is history, lyricism, superstition, calmness, plenty, harvest, stories, romance, comedy, foreboding, and mystery. Each wonderful idea, mixed together to produce a timeless tale. Plus, Bing Crosby is the narrator and the voice of Ichabod. So really, how can one go wrong?
From the very opening of the cartoon book, I am hooked. By the time Bing says "If we could but journey back to that remote period in American History," I am already lost in the story.  I am a rapt listener sitting by the fireside, hanging on every word. "Nestled deep in the low rolling hills, in a sequestered glen sits a quiet peaceful place and yet somehow foreboding. For it abounds in haunted spots, twilight tales and local superstitions." How can one not be transported with words like that? One of my bucket list items is to type out those words, laminate them, and then go on a driving spree in New England during the fall to find just such a spot. Then I will take out my trusty dog-eared copy of the tale and read it by firelight.
I love the fact that Ichabod is not the typical leading man of stories. He is not muscled like Vin Diesel. He doesn't make ladies swoon like Cary Grant. He is not a millionaire playboy like Tony Stark. Instead he is a skinny man with a long snipe nose, shovels for feet and a voracious appetite. As Mr. Irving so eloquently puts it, "one might mistake him for a scarecrow eloped from a cornfield." I think another reason that I like Ichabod so, besides his wonderful name, is the fact that he is a learned man. Schoolteachers were looked on with higher esteem than they are now and he traveled the country lending his learned services to the country folk. It was a different time. A time when they used words like odds bodkins and gadzooks and that suits me just fine.

Ichabod is a fish out of water. We learn with him as the story goes. We see how the town runs, who the popular players are and how country life moves. People work, but they also play. They gather together rather than isolate themselves behind things. One of my favorite scenes is when Ichabod is daydreaming behind his school desk. His classroom is run riot, but as Bing puts it "Ichabod filled his mind with many sugared thoughts and hopeful suppositions." Swoon. I would love to call my daydreams that, many sugared thoughts and hopeful suppositions. Language has been lost I think. We need to bring back those hopeful suppositions.
But words aside, lets get to the good part. Ichabod attends the Van Tassel annual Halloween frolic. Never before have I so wanted to crawl into a book. The dancing, the merry making. The people, the food, the cold night air, kept at bay by the lantern light and barn doors. Ahhhh. We get to be a fly on the wall as Brom Bones spins his tale of the Headless Horseman. We get to separate ourselves from Ichabod and wander the room. This story is not new, it is an oldie but goody. People lean in to hear more and let their imaginations run away with them. Some laugh, some are wary, some are waiting for Brom to get to the good part. But poor superstitious Ichabod. He is not in on the joke. He is getting more frightened by the minute. He won't have the luxury of going home in his nice safe minivan, with the doors firmly locked and the windows rolled up. No, he has to travel by ancient steed through a darkened forest all alone.
Brom spins his story well and we follow Ichabod out into the night. "The sky grew darker and darker as one by one the stars winked out their lights and the clouds obscured the moon from sight." This is the story Ichabod has found himself in. He is in a waking nightmare. He could just shrug off the story, but what fun would that be? His imagination has run away with him far before he even ventured out. It is not a matter of if things will happen, only when.
My favorite part is when poor Ichabod starts to hear things. The reeds along the route sound like hoof beats. The frogs sound like they are croaking him a warning. He scars himself silly only to find that it is nature and not a phantasm. He beings to laugh at his own foolishness. It is that unhinged laughter that only comes about when you know you are being ridiculous. But sadly, he isn't. His laughter turns to screams of fright as the Horseman finally makes his appearance. Over the roads they fly. Gaining ground and losing it. Soon the covered bridge is in sight. Safety at last. Contrary to what we think will happen, Ichabod makes it across the bridge and the specters power is evaded. But the story has one more turn, the Horseman flings his fiery pumpkin head and we know no more of Ichabod.
This vague ending is one of my favorite things. Usually unresolved stories drive me crazy. But this, this one seems right. The next day, only Ichabod's hat is found, next to the shattered remains of a pumpkin. Realists say that he found love a few towns over and is living a good life with a fine family, but those superstition loving Sleepy Hollow folks know better. The Horseman got him and let that be a lesson to all unbelievers. The reader simply has to choose which story to believe and be satisfied. Did Ichabod survive? Was the Horseman really Brom Bones, or was it a true specter? No one knows and that is what makes it delightful.
 It is a great tale and does not diminish with the years or multiple readings. As Bing says,  "He had a way with the yarn did Mr. Irving. " and I couldn't agree more.

The Delights of Washington Irving: OT Day 6

The moon was out tonight keeping watch over the blackened countryside. While I adore full moons, I am also quite partial to the half lidded lunar face. When the moon looks as it does tonight, it reminds me of a giant eye in the sky. The dark side is slanted just right, so that the shadow looks like a black eyelid. It peeks in through my window as if to check and see how I am doing. Some nights it kinda creeps me out, but tonight it was nice to have a friend up as late as I was.

I took a stroll out in the darkness and listened to the silence. Normally there is a frog chorus backing up the noisy cricket choir, but tonight it is in the mid 30s and no animal melody can be heard. Silence comes in different flavors and tonight it is composed of a light breeze on the grass, the whoosh of cars way down on the highway and my own breath. It is the perfect October night to dust off my copy of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. There are many stories and authors that fit well with this wonderful month, but it absolutely can’t be October without Washington Irving and his tale of an ill fated school master.

I suppose it was fate that lead me to Mr. Irving’s door. I was first introduced to him in the middle of the Halloween decoration aisle in a Payless. Mom had drug me along on errands and left me to peruse the holiday goodies while she did something elsewhere in the store. The aisle was set up underneath a long black piece of fabric that made it seem like one was in a spooky tunnel. Bats and various other seasonal decor hung from the material and on the top right shelf was a small black TV that played a video in an eternal loop. I ignored the TV and its noises for a while and examined the spooky bits and bobs for sale. At some point, the tape started over from the beginning and I heard Bing Crosby speaking. Now I was a weird little kid (who grew up to be a weird big kid) and really REALLY liked Bing Crosby. He was my Justin Bieber. So when I heard that smooth, easy voice I stopped what I was doing and began to watch the screen. As der Bingle talked I got more and more interested in the story. It had all the components I liked; a swell narrator, something to do with a school, an imaginative main character and spooky woods. At some point, I don’t quite know when, I gave the video my undivided attention and just sat down in the middle of the aisle to watch. I think I watched it twice through. It is only 34 minutes long. Mom came back eventually and I think I made her sit through it once, but I can’t be sure. It sounds like something I would do. Then we paid for our purchases and left the store.

But the story stuck with me. I don’t know when I found out that it was actual literature. But once I did, I had to have my own copy and ever since it has been an October tradition that I read the book and then watch the movie. It can’t be October without it. Some people like to read the Night Before Christmas or the Christmas Story before Christmas, well reading the Legend of Sleepy Hollow before Halloween is my equivalent.

I am really quite fond of it truth be told. In college I even did a historical report and pop culture comparison on it. It is more than just a semi scary tale to tell the kids. It is a reflection of early New England folk lore and way of life. It is a mini history lesson on how superstition starts. From Sleep Hollow you learn about the Hessian soldiers who rode through the land during the Revolutionary War, and can delve into the real reason early settlers hollowed out foodstuffs and lit them. The tale is as rich with history as it is with entertainment.


When I first read the tale I fell in love with Mr. Irving’s writing. It is so descriptive and lovely that it makes me jealous. I want to write like that. Sometimes you can read a writers words and only get half of the world they are trying to describe. But with Irving, one is transported quite readily into the middle of the story. You can see the local taverns, hear the hoof beats and taste the bountiful spread at Van Tassels estate. Someone at Disney must have fell into the story the same way that I did, because when I watched the video it mimicked exactly the way I saw the book in my mind. The way the crickets chirped Ichabod’s name. The way the horseman laughed. The quaintness of the town.

I am a lover of words and from the first page it hooks me. Follow the Tapaan Zee down to Tarry Town. Such a lazy sounding river obviously leads to a sleepy place. Of course you would want to linger in Tarry Town, it’s a foregone conclusion. And then the Hollow itself. Not being an easterner I had no idea that the world Hollow was as common as it was. There are hollows all over. The fact that this one is sleepy, just makes me want to move there immediately. I don’t imagine life is all that stressful in a place like Sleepy Hollow. Granted, some strange things do happen there, but by and large I think life moves at a more sedate pace. Just listen to the description "There is a little valley, or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull you to repose, and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquility."

As I writer I like to find the best spots to plunk down my words, literally and figuratively. Sleepy Hollow sounds tailor made for me. "However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to imbibe the bewitching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative– to dream dreams..." Sounds perfect, sign me up. You would most likely catch me in camouflage gear hunkered down behind a rotting log at midnight with a pen, pad, flashlight, Big Carl my trusty super sized wrench and a camera, all in hopes of catching the Horseman unawares. Sleepy Hollow is a place out of time and that suits me just well. As long as they have internet connection, Starbucks and a FedEx man, we are golden.

Sometimes I think I am an old soul born into the wrong time. Each time I read the story I get a little jealous of the kids who got to attend such a wonderful little school. How interesting to be taught in a one room school house. To have the stove to heat the room and to share your lessons with other grades at the same time. I’m sure children back then didn’t think it was so very wonderful, but I do. But then again I am the weirdo who likes school and all that book learnin’ so mayhaps I am the only one who likes this idea in the first place. I would have made a lousy pioneer, but I think I would have made a great school mistress.

While the school house and countryside appeal to my sense of charm, Ichabod by far steals my heart. His funny appearance and surprising snobbery. The way that he charms the ladies so that he can get a good meal and his pathetic vanity all make me laugh. Bu it is Ichabods imagination that really makes us kindred spirits. More often than not, he lets his imagination quite run away with him. I remember two instances of my own, where I quite clearly let the very same thing happen. One was when I spent the night at a friends house. She liked to go to bed early, so I had brought a book with me to kill the time before I finally got sleepy enough to go to bed. It truly was a dark and stormy night and for some reason my book of choice had been about ghost stories. I scared myself so silly that I ended up calling my mother at some unheard of time of night so that she could come get me. Boy did I feel dumb the next day. My other instance was with a spooky movie that I had already seen in the theater. I was in my room and decided to watch the special features DVD. It was all behind the scenes work and the actors weren’t even in full make up, but for some reason it freaked me out so much that I had to turn it off and ended up sleeping with the lights on for at least two days. The funny thing was, the movie itself didn’t scare me, but somehow the extra features did. Yup, me and old Icky sure do have the same overactive imagination.

Headless horseman, old school houses, harvest bounty, waving wheat fields, fireside tales, imagination, spooky woods, mystery, and old church yards. Yes, the Tale of Sleepy Hollow is definitely one of my favorite October things.