Dear Frank I.T.S.;

Your last response struck several chords. My husband, a retired civil engineer with a rare concern for the environment has often found himself a lonely voice in the ongoing struggle to preserve wetlands, though time continues to bring belated awareness to the powers that be.

As for Disney, though I confess to liking some of the songs from the older films, I cannot bear the recent butchering of so many classics. Peter T. has put my feelings on the matter emphatically into words. Childhood memories of The Jungle Books (and, though not a Disney casualty, The Just-So Stories), have left me unable to view Uncle Walt's version with anything approaching equanimity; do have some positive things to say about the non-cartoon movie versions, however, -- with reservation.

First memories of folk-songs: grandfathers, one, a homesick Scots/ English pianist, who shared his love of Bobby Burns and trad. folk songs with "th' wee bairns," and the other a French Huguenot descendant whose family settled the VA Blue Ridge long ago, who sang us the songs of the VA hill folk (lustily a cappella), and told us stories like "The Great Bear and The Hunter" (about the constellations), and "B'rer Rabbit and De Tar Baby," evenings after dinner, sitting on the long front porch of the house he built himself, keeping time with his rocking chair.

Will happily admit that The Mudcat has done more to put me in mind of the almost forgotten joys of childhood than any psychoanalytical wallowing could ever hope to do. Recall that the first song I tried to sing was about "Poor Robin," who would "nest in the barn, to keep himself warm, and hide his head under his wing, poor thing!" (Wish I remembered more, think I'll go rummage around in the DT.)

Mention of "Bibbiddy-bobbidy-boo" has reminded me of a little humourous essay I once wrote about a stubborn childhood determination to become a fairy godmother when I grew up. ( Yup, all in all, guess I should be a-tellin' ya to send me a bill long about now, 'ceptin I ain't got no green.) Thanks for the pleasant recollections, anyway.

Guess I've rambled quite enough, sorry.

Shula