"Bilibong the Carpenter".. a modern fable
Once upon a time Bilibong lived in a little house with his Mother and Father.
It was a nice little house except when it rained. Then, it leaked, and things got wet. Bilibong, his Mother, and his Father got wet too.
The family was accustomed to this; it had always been such. They – just like the soggy napkins on the kitchen table - would dry out eventually. You never heard anyone complaining in this household; it was all just part of life.
Now, of course, that is not to say that Bilibong’s parents were negligent when it came to the problem. No, his father, who had been to university, had – for years – applied his learning to it, but without success. New windows had done nothing to stop the flood. Newly plastered ceilings seemed to offer hope for a while, but always succumbed in the end. Increased use of oil lamps, potpourris of salt, a fire constantly blazing on the hearth, portraits of the King hung in every room – nothing worked.
If the truth be told, Bilibong’s Grandfather – who had not been to university -had tried many of these same things in his own day (then, they were called “folk remedies”). You see, all the houses in the village had the same problem and had had it throughout more generations than anyone could report.
And Bilibong’s house was old; it had been built by his Great-Great-Great Grandfather and passed down, but as old as Bilibong’s house was, the drenching rain was older; and in all those years no real progress was ever made against it. True, in some ways the invention of rubber pajamas made life a little less unpleasant during the wet season, but nothing kept out the rain.
Perhaps it was the obvious failure of the intellectual and scientific communities that early-on turned a moldy society to religion for solace. In any case, as far back as anyone knows, the clergy had energetically done its part.
Bilibong’s Mother, a pillar of the parish, found herself moved to recite holy scripture and relevant quotations from recent homilies during every downpour. She was an inspiration to the drenched family as well as to houseguests, visitors, or passers-by caught in the tempest.
“Embrace thee the rain! And be washed clean!!” - That was her favorite, and she always repeated it - four times for emphasis - before wiping her face and continuing.
She had an amazing repertoire which she shared with her appreciative family whenever the rain came; and always with variety, almost never repeating herself – save for her “favorite” - with which she always started and always – when the rain finally ceased – ended.
Like the rubber pajamas, though; religion, while ameliorating the discomfort, did no more than science to end it.
And so it continued throughout Bilibong’s life, and the wet-but-happy little boy grew up, learned the carpentry trade, married, and had children of his own - laughing little ones who loved listening and dancing to Grandmother's recitations in the rain.
To please his family, Bilibong emulated his Great-Great-Great Grandfather and built his own house. He was a carpenter, after all, and a modern man. True to his craft, he’d thought long and hard regarding the advancement of the ancient construction methods.
Only the best timbers and the finest plastering mud would do. And he made sure the rooms were more efficiently arranged for daily living than any in the village. He was most proud, however, that his house honored not only the days of the week with the traditional seven, moon-shaped holes in its roof!!
His roof boasted an additional twelve square holes!! One for each of the twelve blessed months of the year!!!
- Uke Man
It was a nice little house except when it rained. Then, it leaked, and things got wet. Bilibong, his Mother, and his Father got wet too.
The family was accustomed to this; it had always been such. They – just like the soggy napkins on the kitchen table - would dry out eventually. You never heard anyone complaining in this household; it was all just part of life.
Now, of course, that is not to say that Bilibong’s parents were negligent when it came to the problem. No, his father, who had been to university, had – for years – applied his learning to it, but without success. New windows had done nothing to stop the flood. Newly plastered ceilings seemed to offer hope for a while, but always succumbed in the end. Increased use of oil lamps, potpourris of salt, a fire constantly blazing on the hearth, portraits of the King hung in every room – nothing worked.
If the truth be told, Bilibong’s Grandfather – who had not been to university -had tried many of these same things in his own day (then, they were called “folk remedies”). You see, all the houses in the village had the same problem and had had it throughout more generations than anyone could report.
And Bilibong’s house was old; it had been built by his Great-Great-Great Grandfather and passed down, but as old as Bilibong’s house was, the drenching rain was older; and in all those years no real progress was ever made against it. True, in some ways the invention of rubber pajamas made life a little less unpleasant during the wet season, but nothing kept out the rain.
Perhaps it was the obvious failure of the intellectual and scientific communities that early-on turned a moldy society to religion for solace. In any case, as far back as anyone knows, the clergy had energetically done its part.
Bilibong’s Mother, a pillar of the parish, found herself moved to recite holy scripture and relevant quotations from recent homilies during every downpour. She was an inspiration to the drenched family as well as to houseguests, visitors, or passers-by caught in the tempest.
“Embrace thee the rain! And be washed clean!!” - That was her favorite, and she always repeated it - four times for emphasis - before wiping her face and continuing.
She had an amazing repertoire which she shared with her appreciative family whenever the rain came; and always with variety, almost never repeating herself – save for her “favorite” - with which she always started and always – when the rain finally ceased – ended.
Like the rubber pajamas, though; religion, while ameliorating the discomfort, did no more than science to end it.
And so it continued throughout Bilibong’s life, and the wet-but-happy little boy grew up, learned the carpentry trade, married, and had children of his own - laughing little ones who loved listening and dancing to Grandmother's recitations in the rain.
To please his family, Bilibong emulated his Great-Great-Great Grandfather and built his own house. He was a carpenter, after all, and a modern man. True to his craft, he’d thought long and hard regarding the advancement of the ancient construction methods.
Only the best timbers and the finest plastering mud would do. And he made sure the rooms were more efficiently arranged for daily living than any in the village. He was most proud, however, that his house honored not only the days of the week with the traditional seven, moon-shaped holes in its roof!!
His roof boasted an additional twelve square holes!! One for each of the twelve blessed months of the year!!!
- Uke Man
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