wildaspie

I’ve never really been a “joiner.”  As I browse blogs I see all kinds of affiliation badges: Mommy Bloggers.  Eco Carders.  Christian groups; divorce support networks; single parents; weight loss; crafters …

Although I have children, I don’t consider myself a “mommy blogger” – I am definitely not one of those women who feel their lives revolve around their little darlings.  I love my children and they are important parts of my life.  But only parts: I am still a *person* with my own interests and goals.  Being a mother is not the end-all, be-all of my day.

I also have a Husband, but again, I do not stop being me because I am a wife.  We unschool the kids, but the other homeschoolers near us are too different (most are using Christian curricula, and a few that aren’t have family-raising views too different from our own to make me comfortable with the thought of interacting with them).

I’m mostly agnostic, as is my Husband; the children are largely undecided, although the eldest finds Buddhism agreeable most of the time.  (Not always; she likes meat too much to become a frugavore.)

I suppose I just don’t understand the “join” mentality.  When I was young I never fit in with my peers, and perhaps that failure in those formative years set the pattern I have today.  Whenever I find a group of people I have something in common with, I find myself focused more on the inevitable differences.

The only exception to this has been the drum circle I attend during the warm months.  I think, mostly, I have been able to participate because they only meet once a month and because it’s a very casual affair.  I can show up or not, and it doesn’t mean I do or not belong.  And, most everyone there also self-identifies as not being able to belong anywhere else, so it is that very comfortable environment of a group that does not like groups.

The irony is delicious.

In North America, and particularly in the Midwestern States, the Thunderbird is a crypto-zoological curiosity, or cryptid.  From the legends of the indigenous people to more modern reports, these huge, predatory birds have swept the skies in search of the unwary.

In Europe and Asia, these mythic raptors are known as Rocs (a name given to them by Greco-Roman storytellers); in North and Central African nations proof of their rapacious daring can be found in bone piles beneath their huge nests.

With wings reportedly spanning twenty feet and more, the Thunderbird can easily make away with a sheep, calf, or even a human child.  One incident details the experience of a boy in Lawndale, Illinois, that was attacked by a monstrous bird, with witnesses.  Though “experts” insist his description indicated an Andean condor, and that the species does not get as large as described, the attack remains characteristic of Thunderbird strikes.

Urban legends and friend-of-a-friend (FOAF) stories are today’s incarnation of folklore.  Folklore that endures becomes a culture’s mythos, preserving a society’s values, perspectives, and fears.

Many of these tales are familiar; some are updated versions of older lore and legend, and others are current stories shared all across the country as fact.

Sometimes, a legend will start with a fact – usually something spectacular, gruesome, bizarre or ironic – and in the retelling be embellished, inflated, or otherwise “bettered” to appeal to the audience.

Email and the Internet have improved the ease and speed with which folklore is shared.  Many recipients know the story is false but forward it anyway, because of the moral, the style of telling, or simply because the telling and retelling of our myths is a way to keep connected with each other and our common experiences.