Join Diane and me (Delores is on hiatus for now) as we break the seal on our thoughts about this momentous event in history. If you would like to leave a poem on this or any topic, please feel free to post it in the comments on either of our blogs. Or if you prefer to post on your own blog, leave us a comment to let us know where to find you.
As I suspect many of you did, I grew up with a general idea of who King Tut was. I can't remember where I first read or heard of his tomb and its dazzling treasures; it's one of those bits of information that I must have encountered in elementary school because it seems to have been in my brain for a long, long, looooooong time.
I decided to go back and re-read about the famous Boy King. If you would like a refresher, this link will take you to a Wikipedia entry.
In reading about what is known of the young king's health in his short lifetime, I was struck by the suffering he must have endured. DNA studies and x-rays and other tests done on his mummified remains have provided evidence that he likely had some or all of the following: a cleft palate, mild scoliosis, congenital fusion of seven vertebrae in his neck, a deformed foot caused by the death of bone tissue, numerous episodes of malaria, and a compound fracture and infection in one leg.
These are serious health concerns even in today's world. Imagine what it must have been like in a time over 3,000 years ago, when there was no real help for these issues. King Tut died when he was only 18 or 19. There are numerous theories about the cause of his death, but his medical issues alone make one reflect on how fragile his health must have been.
However . . . as often seems to happen to me . . . what stayed in my brain most clearly, despite the serious matter of this young man's short life and early death, is one relatively mundane fact: that his internal organs, like those of many other mummies, were found separate from the rest of his body. They had been removed and stored in jars (called canopic jars). Keeping the mooshy parts of the body apart from the body proper makes sense, I suppose, given the high moisture content in them, but it was one of those bits of information that seems to be now stuck in my head in a more easily accessible spot than I might have wished.
Aaaaaaand . . . that brings us to my poem. This week, a limerick!
Of All The Things About Which I Could Have Excellent Recall, Why Oh Why . . .
King Tut was a very old mummy
His innards were not in his tummy
They'd been put in a jar
OMG, how bizarre
When I die, please don't take mine frummy
(Note: If you have a better last line for this crummy/yummy poem, please please please let me know, because the rhymes for mummy and tummy are few and far between. Thank you. Thank you very much.)
Always read the label. And if it's a question mark? Don't eat the contents.
By the way, this is what King Tut's jars actually look like:
Wishing you a good week, people!
. . . Preferably a week filled with something other than trivia that will get stuck in your head and make you feel squeamish for days . . . . . . .