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Penny Wagers: Daily Summaries Delivered
by James Hart
Instead of analyzing myths and folklore, it's much more fun to walk through 'em. Why not grab your shoes and come along?
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- 5 days ago17 min
Caoilte’s Rabble
This story’s a fun one, and I’d be interested to hear what you all thought about some of the details. There are a few versions floating around out there, and the modern ones have a very different tone than their predecessors, so I tried for a bit of a middle ground with this one. (Also, you’ll get to hear a dumb college story I still think about some twenty years on.) Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- 1 weeks ago11 min
How to Wake Up at Sewingshields
Labor Day weekend came in strong and fast with a heavy fever, all but obliterating my holiday plans. But, now is roughly the time of year that coincides with this particular story, so I figured I’d share it once I was well enough to give it a go. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what sticks out to you the most as you listen. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- 2 weeks ago14 min
Saint Gall and the Bear
I hope you enjoy this particular story. For a handful of reasons that I get into here, I’ve quite an affinity toward it. I also hope you don’t mind, but the “writing” portion is now in an audio format. This is because I now record this part in much the same way as the story itself: with no writing to read aloud and no notes. It’s my hope it makes the whole experience a little more personal, but let me know how you like it and what you thought of the story. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- 3 weeks ago19 min
Live at the Washington Folk Festival
Apologies for the sound quality; best that could be done on such short notice. All in all, the day’s events were wondrous and spectacular. I shared a ride to the venue with a pair of Morris dancers, some traditional African musicians and a guy with one sweet guitar. As a highlight, my daughter and I got to ride on the carousel together. Thing is, it’s an original: a real, 1921 Dentzel menagerie; the only surviving ride from the site’s amusement park. It features 52 hand-carved animals, all original and maintained by the national park service. There are very few of its kind. Beyond grateful for you lot here, and the folks who invited me to participate. As perfect days go, I can say I’ve had at least one. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- Aug 17, 20268 min
Young Perceval Sets Out for Camelot
Fear not, friends, both the story and the accompanying essay are in the audio for this week’s post. I’m just on the road yet again, so while all is accounted for, it’s just found in the recording. Here’s something I’d love to hear from you about, though, if you can spare a comment: what are the knights like as you encounter them in the story? How do they look to you, and what are they like to be around? I’ve my own thoughts about that, but I’d love to hear from you. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- Aug 11, 202622 min
Hans, the Fisherman's Son
I did a very strange thing some years back.I was still a kid if we’re being honest; about two years into my third office job. It was in a K street high-rise, or what passes for such in downtown D.C. The place screamed “beige open office layout,” and the journey home consisted of a crowded 45-minute metro ride followed by a 20-minute drive from the station. Usually, I’d sleep during the metro leg of the trip. But then The Feeling started creeping in.No real way to describe it other than to say I had ants in my pants. Some generalized anxiety that I had to DO something, and I had to do it NOW.Every afternoon on the metro, The Feeling would return. In a few days, I couldn’t even sit down while on the train. After about a week, I’d shuffle in place because the unclassified discomfort became unbearable.So here’s what I did:I started taking my lunch breaks in the building’s basement, in an old storage room its rusty door couldn’t keep me out of. I went down there because it was quiet, no one could hear me, and I still had cell reception. Then I went through the directory I put together of every single bike shop in the city. I called up a fair many before I found one that was still hiring for the season.This particular one wasn’t ideal. For one, it was located on the opposite end of town. Shifts also started at 3pm, which meant I’d have to leave at 2 to get there on time. But, it was a flagship store. And for reasons I couldn’t articulate, it’s what I needed to do. So I applied and started working.My new routine was a delicate operation. On days I worked in the shop, I would have to sneak out the side entrance of my office building with a gym bag. The side entrance sat near a Starbucks, which provided a bathroom to change out of, along with a seldom-used elevator down to the metro station. I’d be able to change into my alter ego and catch a train with minimal worry about being discovered by my office colleagues.There was still the problem of what would happen if anyone came looking for me between 2 and 5pm, but this was during the Great Recession and journalism’s total implosion. It was commonplace to visit the offices of co-workers and find their stuff had been cleared out. Those looking for me might just figure I, too, had been laid off. It was also likely to happen for real by the odds of it, so what was there to lose?Nine to two Monday to Friday, I was in my office. Afternoons, nights, weekends and holidays, I was working in the shop. It was a grueling schedule, but I saw some things. There’s a guy whose latest movie you likely saw this month who also got sized up by me for some shoes and pedals. Also helped a handful of Senators’ aides get kitted up so they wouldn’t get dropped by their bosses. One particular afternoon, my boss showed up in the store van, which we never used. He tells me to help him unload the back. I was thinking surplus tires or something.“You’re going to want to be very careful with what you pull out of there,” he said.The only thing back there was a bike. But it had the Presidential Seal on it. (The urge to ride it was overwhelming, but I never did.)Distance and understandingPart of the reason fairy stories no longer speak to us like they once did is because we insist on distancing ourselves from them. It’s hard not to do.If our great-grandparents heard about young Hans in the forest, they could feel the bugs buzz their ear as they followed the fisherman’s son into the shady dark. They’d smell the bear droppings that told them danger was closer than they’d wish. Today, we say, “oh yes, oh yes, the quintessential Call to Adventure, indicative of the western Hero’s Journey motif.” We think the distance provides understanding, but I happen to think it cheapens the experience. It prevents us from taking it seriously. Others might simply consider Hans and his journey a nonsense way to pass the time before the world was smart enough to invent Hulu. Either way, we’re loathe to leave the lecture hall or living room.There’s a lot Hans could tell us, though, if only we took him at face value and walked the woods with him awhile.For a start, he’s hungry, right? Hungry on a one-way trip to the wild elsewhere with no support. Passing up a meal when all future meals aren’t guaranteed isn’t a plot conceit. It’s taking a massive risk.Eating the fish would have been more than reasonable, given his circumstances. I notice, too, that no one applauded his conservation efforts after he threw back his catch. No pat on the back from his brothers, no thank-you letter from the World Wildlife Fund. No one even saw him do it. It’s seldom anyone witnesses the act of kindness that can help change everything.Speaking of his brothers, I’m way too much like the oldest than I’d feel comfortable admitting to. Petrified by questions I couldn’t possibly answer t
- Aug 3, 202614 min
Blood on the Snow
My two favorite knights, meeting at last.As chivalric friendships go, this one’s highly irregular. Then again, you have to remember that neither of these two are O.G. members of the Round Table. You could call these guys part of the New Class; the Warriors of the Realm’s brat pack.One, the Hawk of May, is in all respects a city boy who grew up under the glow of Camelot. He had to make a great deal of sacrifices (and learn a few unkind things about himself) to step out from under his family name and become his own person. The other, whose name means “to pierce the valley,” well… he couldn’t be more different.What strikes me most is that as contrasting as these two are, they didn’t seem to see it.Ted Gioia has mentioned that in his former life, when his job required a lot of tense negotiations and international travel, it would take an average of five conversations to go from being seen as “The American in the room” to “Ted.” My experiences in Australia support this, as likely do so many of those who have moved to America from elsewhere.Sometimes, though, I suppose you just know. When I met my landlady in Oz, we both had our reasons for being a little cagey, but I had an early hunch we’d get along anyway. I still consider her my closest friend.This story’s also got another distinction: between the men of action, and the men of words and wonder.Sagremore and Kay are cetainly of the former. And don’t get me wrong, we need people like that. When the patient is choking and going into a seizure, you need people in the room who know how to use an epi pen, not write missives about the state of modern healthcare. But I wonder how well we understand the need for the wanderers and daydreamers, too. It’s all too easy to see what happens when those folks leave your camp. We mock their silly notions at our peril; they’re the ones who keep the fear, suspicion and finger-pointing at bay.The following wasn’t the first time I met George, although in the past he’s insisted that it was: it was a hot, late spring day and he bolted through the dorm, sweaty and flushed from hoofing it several blocks in the heat. “Does anybody have a bike I can borrow? I have my math final in 8 minutes and I can’t make it without a bike!” Sounded serious, so I unlocked mine and told him the combination was still set on the lock. Later, he said he made it on time and he passed.George and I would go on to have a great many adventures in school, many of which I cannot talk about as I am not as conversant about statues of limitations as I should be. About a decade later, we met up while he was at Walter Reed. (He was getting what was at the time the precursor to LASIK.) We drank, hung out and talked the old talk until very early hours. He reminded me about the bike incident.Hearing his stories, it seemed that his life diverged greatly from my own after college. Only one time did he speak about his military experience. “Man,” he said, “it’s so nice spending time with a guy who would never think to call me ‘sir.’” Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- Jul 27, 202614 min
Saint Collen of Llangollen
I called these “black sheep stories” when talking to Jon Murphy about them earlier.The religious elements can turn some folks away while the fantastical elements tend to make some Christians uncomfortable. I’m fully aware of this.Other strikes against them: they aren’t the Bible, they offer up something else besides moral takeaways, and their purpose isn’t as clear as a bulleted list.It’s not really my intent with these to be preachy, nor is it to bring wooey superstition through the back doors of belief. I do, however, think that Christianity has become a bit monochromatic out there on the digital wires, and it’s no bad thing to revisit abandoned voices. If our ancestors appreciated such stories, what does it say about us and our sensibilities if we find them threatening or ridiculous?Saint Collen lived in an Ireland divided amongst itself. The country by his time was overwhelmingly Christian in terms of belief, but its folk followed customs that long predated conversion. Priests would remind you regularly of Jesus and His Disciples; grandparents would tell you tales of Cú Chulainn and Manannán mac Lir. This tension is evident in Collen’s story.Speaking of, Collen didn’t get his wish entirely, did he? Despite his strong notions and insistences, it wasn’t for him to decide how rational the world actually was.When trying to conjure up older notions about autumnal holidays, we often say that our ancestors believed in a “thin veil” around the time of Halloween or Samhain. This is new language. To those in Collen’s time, there was no veil at all. Reality itself held a spiritual dimension every bit as real as what could be held in the hand. Our reality is no different if we’re honest about it. When viewing children belly-laughing over pizza and soda at a birthday party, you don’t need a PKE meter to notice that there’s love present in the room. It’s also no mere metaphor to say that there’s grief darkening a house that had just lost a loved one.I recently visited my folks down in their retirement house. After a serious amount of searching, we were able to find a collection of family photos that spanned the years before my birth to the early 2000s. My mom insisted they were physical things that only took up weight and space in the closet. Yet she still kept some, and held some to her heart as she came across them in the pile. To me, those sentiments carried a weight every bit as real as the glossy paper they were printed on.Earlier, when we were home, my daughter was looking at some polaroids she had taken. She didn’t find them particularly interesting and wanted to throw them away. I told her that she’s going to want to hold on to those. “Photographs get funny over time,” I told her. “They become more valuable the older they get. You’re going to wish you had those as an adult.”Nothing in life is unilateral. We never get to decide such things anyway. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
About Penny Wagers
Instead of analyzing myths and folklore, it's much more fun to walk through 'em. Why not grab your shoes and come along?
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