Is That a Rock in Your Pocket?

Santino at the Furuvik Zoo, AP photo

Apropos of nothing, I want to share a few stories that tickle my mind.

Is That a Rock in Your Pocket?

A chimpanzee at a Swedish zoo has been planning. Those who know (?) say that animals are not capable of planning for future events; they work more on instinct and spontaneous action.

Previous chimp spontaneity has included throwing pooh. This chimp, Santino, shuns bathroom humor. Each day before the zoo opens he calmly gathers rocks from around his enclosure, carefully stacking them in pre-selected spots. He even watches for places in his compound where the concrete is crumbling so he can gently knock on the loose parts and gather more rocks. Later in the day when an audience has gathered, he launches his missiles. He has terrible aim, so no one has been seriously injured. All the people I know who have heard of the Rockin’ Chimp immediately express their total support for his actions. I wish Santino could get into spring training and develop a good breaking fastrock.

Harping On

I have been reading Ireland, a book by Frank Delaney. The tale is of an old bard passing along his craft and is intertwined with the myths and history of Eire. Here’s how the Irish invented the harp:

A chieftain’s lady liked to walk the broad sands of a nearby bay. During one of these solitary perambulations she heard faintly, then louder, then faintly again, a glorious music. She looked for the source of the sounds carried on the wind towards her. She came upon the bleached skeleton of a whale. The silvery notes came from the wind as it blew through the ribcage. The lady insisted that her musicians make an instrument to recreate this lovely sparkling music. Well, they tried, but what they came up with would not fit through the door and would not play unless the wind came from just the right direction.

It was the son of the housekeeper—a clever lad who had learned early the power in observation—who saw that vibration caused the music and one needed something pliable to recreate an echo through the bones. The musicians replaced the wooden staves with greased cow gut that would vibrate with the slighted wind and over time the size of the instrument was reduced and would be played by hand. Lady Breffni O’Rourke of Sligo was delighted and dined nightly to the music of the harp.

What?

Those who have visited London may remember an area bearing the odd title of the Elephant & Castle. My mother used to tell me this story of how the place got its name.

Prince Arthur, Henry VIII’s older brother, needed a wife. England and Spain had not yet entered into their years of endless belligerence, so the Infanta de Castille, Catherine, was offered up as a grand way to solve the problem and consolidate the wealth. The little Infanta landed on the cold damp island where she would spend the rest of life and proceeded to travel by road to London. When she reached the southern outskirts of the capital, the procession paused to await her betrothed who was riding out to meet her.

The British public at this time were as inept in their mastery of a foreign language as George W. Bush, in fact they barely had command of English, which was still in quite a formative phase. When people on the street inquired of the name of the great personage passing through their midst, an early game of telephone ensued. The last person in line heard “it’s the elephant and castle.”

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