Been thinking about our last year, calendar-wise. 2018.

It had its ups and downs, as most years do. I’d have to say, adding them all up, the downs won out. If anything, this last year taught me to really appreciate the normalcy of life – those days where life is just happily lived without worry.

It wasn’t a great year. But it wasn’t that bad, and brighter days are ahead.

There were a lot of upsides, though. My love for Karyn keeps growing deeper and wider. We spent more time together last year than ever before, and I’m happy to report that being together so much, even after 30+ years, it’s only made us a stronger couple. That’s nice! I continue to become prouder and prouder of my son, Cameron, as he dives headfirst into his passion of Island history. Added bonus, I get to perform with him in Popalopalots. I’m so thankful that he’s so great at improv, and that it isn’t just a position of nepotism and patronage that got him the gig. Of course, I could be blinded by that nepotism and only *believe* he’s good. Naw, he’s pretty great.

Late in the year, I got to produce four one-act plays I had written. I managed to gather together a baker’s dozen of talented people and we put on four shows over one weekend! I was/am totally thrilled with the results. Everyone was so great and all a joy to work with. The scheduling of rehearsals turned out to be a bit of a headache, but the rehearsals themselves were lots of fun for me, and I hope for everyone else. The audiences that came seemed to genuinely like it, and that’s always pleasant.

Early in December, we got a dog. A puppy. A Sheltie puppy. He was the fifth of five males in the litter. We named him Dughall, after the fifth son of Somerled, who was the first of the MacDonald clan in Scotland. I was taken totally by surprise at how much work an 8 week old puppy requires, and the first couple of weeks were a real challenge. It was love at first sight, for me, though, and things are going much better now. He loves the snow, but I can’t wait until he experiences spring and summer for the first time. It’s going to blow his mind away!!

I spent a little time wondering what was the best thing that happened to me this past year. And it didn’t take long to realize that the best thing for me didn’t actually happen to me. It happened to my father. Surprise of surprises, my father, 93 years old, got remarried. To a wonderful woman named Mary Alice. Now Mary Alice MacDonald. It’s been a joy to me to see them both so happy together, and a total comfort knowing that my elderly father has someone who cares so deeply about him, and for him.

My father has always been young at heart, but I swear, having Mary Alice in his life has given him so much joy and a renewal of spirit. Living alone in his own apartment, at his age, was a worry for me, and to have Mary Alice there with him now, and to see how well she looks after him, it is a huge and wondrous relief. I am eternally grateful that they found each other.

It staggers me how sharp my father is, especially in making genealogical connections between seemingly random people. He is a walking family tree. A Wikitreedia, if you will. This year, as in years past, I am truly humbled to have him as a father, as a role model, and as a friend.

Not only is Mary Alice a wonderful addition to our family, for my father’s sake. But she’s been instrumental in helping and assisting and encouraging me and my brothers. She’s been amazing in her devotion to helping my brother Kenny, who is battling cancer. Beyond the care she provides to family members, it’s been a true pleasure to get to know Mary Alice, and I’m sure we will remain lifelong friends.

So, let’s see what 2019 brings us.

Hey diddle diddle

The Cat and the Fiddle

The Cow jumped over the Moon

The little Dog laughed to see such sport

And the Dish ran away with the Spoon

Most everyone knows this poem, and assumes it to be a fun and frivolous nursery rhyme from our childhood. But upon doing a fair bit of research, I have discovered it might actually be a paean to female masturbation and empowerment.

Its first noted appearance in print shows up in the late sixteenth century collection entitled “Focke Ye And Th’orse Thou Rode ‘N’Upon and Other Bawdy Recytes“, which includes many risqué and bawdy poems and songs and odes whose content lay very far away from the purity and innocence of nursery rhymes.

Allow me to dig deeper into the interpretation of the lines of the poem.

Hey diddle diddle

This opening line, obviously, is a beckoning to engage in masturbation. Specifically, a beckoning to females. The word “diddle” has long been used as an euphemism for female pleasuring of oneself. (In literature, women tend to diddle while men tend to wank). In the 1548 poem “Ta Fine Ma Hoelay, Shav ma Poosay” by LawRence Benjamin, the speaker – a female heroine (uncharacteristically for the time) – emphatically urges women of all classes to diddle, or masturbate, with the line “Laydees auf all strypes, pull up thyne skorts and diddle thyne quim.” (There are some who say LawRence Benjamin was in fact a woman disguised as a man, in order to pursue her love of writing.)

So, in fact, the first line of this poem can be seen to be saying to women, specifically, “Come along, masturbate and masturbate some more!”

The Cat and the Fiddle

Since even before the rule of Cleopatra, the cat has been a symbol of female sexuality. It is believed the slang term “pussy” (for female genitalia) in fact originates from this era’s feline obsession. In Hierotomy’s epic poem Cleve Unto That Cat (840 BC), we see both inferences as the hero opines “I nary mean to anger the cat by getting it wet, but to moisten a pussy, well, that’s the fairer goal!“.

Likewise, the verb “to fiddle” can mean to bow or rub the strings (or fingers) of one’s hand vigorously across one’s genitalia. (To “hold the fiddle” means “grab the rigid penis – like a bow”)

So far, we now have this as a translation “Come along, masturbate and masturbate some more! Rub (or play) your vaginas with vigor, women.”

The Cow jumped over the Moon

Quite simply, this is a reference to a woman achieving a female orgasm.

In much in the same way it is impossible to imagine a cow jumping over the moon, in literature (and even science) before the 20th century, it was deemed impossible to imagine a female achieving orgasm. To imply such a thing was very much frowned upon, and so the more daring writers had to create phrases of innuendo when writing about the female orgasm. Phrases such as “rhyming orange”, “waking the dead”, and “jumping the moon” are but a few.

An example of this can be seen in this excerpt from the 1894 play by Rutger Tassleman, “Look Who I Found Under The Table“, banned until 1959 for its sexual and homosexual undertones.

Madame Chivesdale: I failed to see you at the Regency soiree last evening, my dear. Are you quite alright?

Lady Quincy: Quite! I became sidetracked and lost track of the time, shall we say. Such is the way with me when I jump over the moon. And last night my cow jumped twice!

Madame Chivesdale: Oh you lucky girl! If I could do that I’d never leave my boudoire! Who needs men then!

The little Dog laughed to see such Sport

Whereas the cat became synonymous with females, the dog is likened to the male of our species. “Little Dog”, then, means little man, or penis. For a little dog to laugh means it ejaculates. And why is it ejaculating? Because it is voyeuristically and excitedly witnessing a female orgasm. Here, the word sport can also mean spurt.

And the Dish ran away with the Spoon

An attractive woman is often referred to as “a dish”. “She’s quite a dish!”

It is believed this comes from the notion that the slightly concave nature of the vagina somehow resembles other concave items, like a dish. So, when someone says “she’s quite the dish”, what it really means is “she has an attractive vagina”.

So here, the dish is an obvious reference to a woman. And the spoon reference is most likely meaning a young girl, a smaller concave vagina.

Here, though, it’s used in a quite interesting, perhaps unexpected way. Here, the dish (woman) is running away. And it is taking the spoon (daughter) with it.

Does this mean the lady of the household is leaving her husband and taking their daughter with her? Quite an act of bravery or desperation for a 16th century woman!

Is this poem, then, an early example of a plea for female empowerment? Is it imploring women to take pleasure into their own hands? To live their own lives, outside of the constraints of male-dictated society?

I can’t answer that for sure, but it surely seems certain that Hey Diddle Diddle is a bit deeper and more meaningful than we originally believed, wouldn’t you say?

Come along, masturbate and masturbate some more!

Rub your vaginas with vigor, women.

It IS possible for you to achieve orgasm!

And while your lecherous, voyeur of a husband gets off on it

Take your daughter and run away! Free yourself!

Wherein Rob Decides Not To Date His Daughter

When I die, many things could happen. My son Cameron could either simply delete the multitudes of files of unfinished, unstarted, half-notioned, or unseen stories, sketches, ideas that populate my Google Drive, or he could go through them all, one by one, and discover what a mad genius I was.

I suspect he’ll read through a couple of them, wonder how I ever made anyone laugh with my words, and then delete them all.

Perhaps that is why I’m presenting to the public some of the words I’ve written, before I die. Not to prove I’m a mad genius, but to have at least some of my unseen stories witnessed before Cameron callously deletes the oeuvre of my existence.

So, yes, I’m producing “Four One-Act Comedies Did By Rob MacDonald”, November 22nd to 25th at The Guild. Two of them have never been seen by anyone. One was seen by a smallish crowd one night over a dozen years ago, and part of one was added into a Sketch-22 season.

So, that’s the news. Other news is that I am not acting in any of them. I am only directing, and producing.

“Why are you not acting in any of them?” You may ask. I will answer.

I’ve written, and for better or worse, directed a lot of sketches over the years. I’ve acted in most of them. I’ve acted in productions that have been written, and directed, by other people. I’ve enjoyed all those experiences.

But I’ve never “just” directed. I’m curious to see how this affects the rehearsal process, and the end result.  I’m also curious to see how stuff I’ve written gets perceived when I’m not on stage to make goofy faces if the words don’t get laughs.

It’s kind of like letting your teenage daughter go out on her first dates.

A part of you would like to be at the restaurant table with them to influence the experience, to make sure it goes okay. To offer up a topic of conversation if there is a dip in the energy.

But another part of you wants your daughter to be her own person, to live her own life. In this situation, the plays are my daughters, and the actors are the dates I’ve entrusted to respect her and help her grow.

I guess the audience would be the waiter? Or maybe an Uber driver?

I admit it’s not a perfect metaphor. But just be sure of this: this time around I’ve made the conscious choice not to date my own daughters. Hmm, that doesn’t really sound too good does it?

See, it’s a file exactly like this one that Cameron might read when I am dead and decide “…nope, not worth saving.”