Gillian Polack's Blog, page 193
April 9, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-04-09T12:16:00
All the things that I didn't do this weekend have fallen into today's basket. It's not a long list, but it's a gruesome one. Since I may not alleviate my woes with chocolate (five days to go!) I'm alleviating it with books. With one book only, really, but it's a big one: Helen Lowe's The Gathering of the Lost. The first volume in the series was a traditional epic fantasy, with lots of familiar tropes, but with women as important and fascinating characters. This exactly fits my needs today, for I need to be strong and resolute and accept no secondary options when it comes to contracts and taxes and the like. Also, some very sad emails, one about a friend's major lifestyle changes (not sad, actually, but very dramatic) and another about a friend's mother's death. Plus there's the usual study and writing, which is not dire at all, but can't take precedence over taxes and contracts and death.
Watch this space for jubilant as I conquer the epic tasks and return to normal. My normal. Which will include the Middle Ages, of course.
In a less frabjous note, I discovered 3 dozen articles I have yet to read. I must read them before I write up that chapter. They were hidden in a mysterious folder on my computer, "Dissertation" under the obscure label "To check." Also, I found another stack of notes of books I ought to read. I need to cull them, because I really am near the end of research and some of them may not be necessary. I so hope some of them aren't necessary!! The end is still in sight, but more in a seasonal way (I have seen it from a mountaintop) than in a woo-hoo, we're here!" way.
All I can say is that it's just as well I spent that extra time fighting papers and bibliography this weekend. I wouldn't like to be faced with the same amount to be read after I'd completed the last two chapters!!
Watch this space for jubilant as I conquer the epic tasks and return to normal. My normal. Which will include the Middle Ages, of course.
In a less frabjous note, I discovered 3 dozen articles I have yet to read. I must read them before I write up that chapter. They were hidden in a mysterious folder on my computer, "Dissertation" under the obscure label "To check." Also, I found another stack of notes of books I ought to read. I need to cull them, because I really am near the end of research and some of them may not be necessary. I so hope some of them aren't necessary!! The end is still in sight, but more in a seasonal way (I have seen it from a mountaintop) than in a woo-hoo, we're here!" way.
All I can say is that it's just as well I spent that extra time fighting papers and bibliography this weekend. I wouldn't like to be faced with the same amount to be read after I'd completed the last two chapters!!
April 8, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-04-08T19:41:00
There's a chance of rain tomorrow. I'm hoping that it comes, even though my internal weathersense is very uncertain about it. If it rains, then grumpy Gillian who is complaining about chocolate all the time will be able to breathe properly. The source of my grump is the smoke in the air - the food is just an outlet. The combination of autumn allergies and the burning off is icing on the cake after my delightful March and so I grumble at the drop of a pin.
The good news is that my underlying health is so much better than it has been that despite everything, I've done work. Today the brain wasn't working, so most of my interesting tasks had to be postponed. Instead I worked on bibliography. Not the fun bit of bibliography - the tedious checking six different lists to make sure that everything is covered in the right edition. I'm not there yet, but I've made large inroads. Those six lists are all sorted and I only have two other lists to add. I wasn't supposed to be working on it yet, but the bottom line is that I had a choice between thinking poorly and writing worse, or doing something that was mostly mechanical.
I also demolished a lot of paper. I can now start to finish tasks and put things away, in my normal cyclical fashion. This will make the next month easier, and it will also make it simpler to sort out the debris from the burglary. The carpets need cleaning, for instance (they did before, but now I have no choice) so it's important to get enough clear space so that I can get someone in to do it.
Tonight I'm taking it easy. I have a lot of reading to do and maybe some TV to watch. Also many cups of tea to drink. I'm not at home to visitors, but I am certainly at home to phonecalls.
Tomorrow is tax, I think or as much of it as I can do in a session. That will get rid of even more paper, as it goes into the special drawer devoted to dead tax paper. By Tuesday's library visits and teaching, my whole lounge room/study area will be tolerable. Then maybe you'll get fascinating posts. Maybe.
The good news is that my underlying health is so much better than it has been that despite everything, I've done work. Today the brain wasn't working, so most of my interesting tasks had to be postponed. Instead I worked on bibliography. Not the fun bit of bibliography - the tedious checking six different lists to make sure that everything is covered in the right edition. I'm not there yet, but I've made large inroads. Those six lists are all sorted and I only have two other lists to add. I wasn't supposed to be working on it yet, but the bottom line is that I had a choice between thinking poorly and writing worse, or doing something that was mostly mechanical.
I also demolished a lot of paper. I can now start to finish tasks and put things away, in my normal cyclical fashion. This will make the next month easier, and it will also make it simpler to sort out the debris from the burglary. The carpets need cleaning, for instance (they did before, but now I have no choice) so it's important to get enough clear space so that I can get someone in to do it.
Tonight I'm taking it easy. I have a lot of reading to do and maybe some TV to watch. Also many cups of tea to drink. I'm not at home to visitors, but I am certainly at home to phonecalls.
Tomorrow is tax, I think or as much of it as I can do in a session. That will get rid of even more paper, as it goes into the special drawer devoted to dead tax paper. By Tuesday's library visits and teaching, my whole lounge room/study area will be tolerable. Then maybe you'll get fascinating posts. Maybe.
gillpolack @ 2012-04-08T13:13:00
I have done my check of books to read and it's very cool - I have a day's work at the National Library, I had two books to order (not available in Australia) and I have a few more articles to read and then I'm done! There'll be mopping up and extra checks after drafting, of course, but it means I was as advanced as I thought I was and I can start writing this week, since the last few books are peripheral and checks rather than crucial.
What this shows is that my wonderful note-keeping/research technique that I have used for the last zillion years still works, even with major disruptions and the advent of decent word processing. What this also shows is that I shall finish this degree this year, despite everything. Which is what I'd hoped, of course, but until the research end is close to finished, one can't be certain.
And the magic news? FNAC now ship to Australia. When I ordered the two books (they had both! I couldn't find them when I looked last year - these books were my swords of Damocles*) I also ordered my birthday present, which is the DVD set I couldn't find in France last year. Cover your ears, for I am about to sing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSDQSqe6T_E
*Other people have one sword - I get two. It's the Medievalishness seeping through. When I get time I want to re-read Le chevalier as deus espees - there's something I missed or am forgetting and it's fretting me. Not yet, though, nor for the next six months, I fear. I will probably make two-sword jokes until such time as I check it, though. I apologise in advance for their quality, though not for the jokes themselves.
What this shows is that my wonderful note-keeping/research technique that I have used for the last zillion years still works, even with major disruptions and the advent of decent word processing. What this also shows is that I shall finish this degree this year, despite everything. Which is what I'd hoped, of course, but until the research end is close to finished, one can't be certain.
And the magic news? FNAC now ship to Australia. When I ordered the two books (they had both! I couldn't find them when I looked last year - these books were my swords of Damocles*) I also ordered my birthday present, which is the DVD set I couldn't find in France last year. Cover your ears, for I am about to sing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSDQSqe6T_E
*Other people have one sword - I get two. It's the Medievalishness seeping through. When I get time I want to re-read Le chevalier as deus espees - there's something I missed or am forgetting and it's fretting me. Not yet, though, nor for the next six months, I fear. I will probably make two-sword jokes until such time as I check it, though. I apologise in advance for their quality, though not for the jokes themselves.
gillpolack @ 2012-04-08T12:07:00
I've just attacked another pile of paper.
My problem is that - in the rearrangement of my flat - my piles of finished work that were waiting to be put away or thrown out became hopelessly entangled with my piles of work still to be done and my stray thoughts that had not been classified yet. I sorted the books first (because they were easy) and started working with them and putting them in my 'finished' pile for bibliographing just as soon as my eyes permitted. I've already finished with the ones for my dissertation and am now slowly catching up on critical essays. I'm still a few days behind on dissertation and now I'm 3 1/2 weeks behind on other stuff (except for BiblioBuffet, where I might catch up today, if I'm lucky and clever), but now I finally know where everything is and what needs doing.
Just now, I realised how very much I depend on the safeness of my office space: I'm going to have to spend a large chunk of today going through my work with this final big stack of notes and working out what I need and what I need to do. In short, today I intend to do with my notes what I've already done with my books. Then I have to do the same with articles and books I have not yet checked - find out what they are and finished with them. Then I start writing up. And then I'm back on track.
I would have had to do a big sort of paper eventually anyway, but not as extensively nor as confusedly. There are some very strange mixings in these papers.
What I want to do (which is work on the novel) I can't until my supervisor gets back to me.
Anyhow, my big aim of the day (for I have a big aim of the day) is to get all of this garbage so very much under control that I advance in my work despite everything. I shall make sorting work for me rather than just be another reason for meltdown. I shall have Chapter Six ready to write by the end of the day, in fact, except for the last dozen books and articles that I might need to check. Those will be on a list with where I shall obtain them, and I shall schedule library visits.
And lo, there will be miracles.
Actually, I've been working on the papers all fortnight. The spreading of pantyhose all over the bedroom might have been more emotionally horrid, but the paper problems are the biggest. They were also the hardest to handle until my eye settled. What I'm noticing today is that the end is in sight. I'm almost at the stage when I can tackle one simple thing after another and make my work area behave.
I'm going to celebrate with a library visit and a giant cup of tea.
ETA: The library must wait til Tuesday - there is smoke outside. When will they finish this burning off?
My problem is that - in the rearrangement of my flat - my piles of finished work that were waiting to be put away or thrown out became hopelessly entangled with my piles of work still to be done and my stray thoughts that had not been classified yet. I sorted the books first (because they were easy) and started working with them and putting them in my 'finished' pile for bibliographing just as soon as my eyes permitted. I've already finished with the ones for my dissertation and am now slowly catching up on critical essays. I'm still a few days behind on dissertation and now I'm 3 1/2 weeks behind on other stuff (except for BiblioBuffet, where I might catch up today, if I'm lucky and clever), but now I finally know where everything is and what needs doing.
Just now, I realised how very much I depend on the safeness of my office space: I'm going to have to spend a large chunk of today going through my work with this final big stack of notes and working out what I need and what I need to do. In short, today I intend to do with my notes what I've already done with my books. Then I have to do the same with articles and books I have not yet checked - find out what they are and finished with them. Then I start writing up. And then I'm back on track.
I would have had to do a big sort of paper eventually anyway, but not as extensively nor as confusedly. There are some very strange mixings in these papers.
What I want to do (which is work on the novel) I can't until my supervisor gets back to me.
Anyhow, my big aim of the day (for I have a big aim of the day) is to get all of this garbage so very much under control that I advance in my work despite everything. I shall make sorting work for me rather than just be another reason for meltdown. I shall have Chapter Six ready to write by the end of the day, in fact, except for the last dozen books and articles that I might need to check. Those will be on a list with where I shall obtain them, and I shall schedule library visits.
And lo, there will be miracles.
Actually, I've been working on the papers all fortnight. The spreading of pantyhose all over the bedroom might have been more emotionally horrid, but the paper problems are the biggest. They were also the hardest to handle until my eye settled. What I'm noticing today is that the end is in sight. I'm almost at the stage when I can tackle one simple thing after another and make my work area behave.
I'm going to celebrate with a library visit and a giant cup of tea.
ETA: The library must wait til Tuesday - there is smoke outside. When will they finish this burning off?
April 7, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-04-07T22:58:00
I just had an unexpected evening with family. My adopted sister (and oldest friend) and her family are in town for the folk festival and they dropped round and I played with Lucy for ages. Two children, two nights running. Friends two nights running. Cuddles and hugs and games. My miniature shopping trolley (full of toys) has been very much played with. And I have been given a very culinary birthday present, which I shall play with straight after Pesach. There's a bubble of contentment all around me.
Donna dropped around this afternoon with a cake for me and that cake has now had significant inroads made.
My bleak weekend wasn't at all bleak after all!
This leads to me doing something of grand wickedness. I shall leave the rest of today's work and do it tomorrow.
Donna dropped around this afternoon with a cake for me and that cake has now had significant inroads made.
My bleak weekend wasn't at all bleak after all!
This leads to me doing something of grand wickedness. I shall leave the rest of today's work and do it tomorrow.
On the Trail of Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de la Force
special guest blogger, Kate Forsyth
The primary character in my new book, Bitter Greens, is the scandalous 17th century writer, Charlotte-Rose de la Force, who wrote the version of the Rapunzel fairytale that we know best.
She was one of those fascinating women that have been forgotten by history. She was related to the Sun King, Louis XIV, and became lady-in-waiting to the queen at the age of sixteen, living the next thirty years in the glittering royal courts of Paris, Versailles, Fontainebleau and Marly-le-Roi.
At the age of forty-seven, she was incarcerated by the king in a tumbledown old convent as punishment for her wild and wicked ways. She had had an affair with an impoverished actor, used black magic to try and ensnare herself a husband, disguised herself as a dancing bear to gain access to her much younger lover, and written a series of titillating novels about the king's most notorious ancestors.
While locked away in the convent, Charlotte-Rose wrote the collection of fairytales that included 'Persinette' (later renamed 'Rapunzel' by a German author Friedrich Schultz).
Dramatic and fascinating as Charlotte-Rose de la Force's life was, it was very difficult to research. Usually she is given nothing more than a biographical paragraph in encyclopaedias and fairytale scholarship.
After long months of detective work, I found a biography of her life, Mademoiselle de la Force: un auteur mèconnu du XVIIͨ siècle, by the French academic Michel Souloumiac. However, it was only published in French and despite my expensive and prolonged education, my French is very poor.
So I enlisted the help of a translator, Sylvie Poupard-Gould, who not only translated Michel Souloumiac's biography, but also translated an autobiographical sketch written by Charlotte-Rose and a number of her fairytales, which had never before been translated into English. This took a great deal of time, because the biography was written in dense academic terminology, and the second was written in Old French, complete with the letter 'f' looking like the letter 's'.
Michel Souloumiac's book Mademoiselle de la Force gave me the basic framework for my story, though there were many times when I had to use my imagination to fill in the gaps. For example, he says that Charlotte-Rose "came to the attention of the king" during the infamous Affair of the Poisons, a scandal about witchcraft, satanism, and murder that led to the execution of hundreds of people.
From those seven small words – "came to the attention of the king" - I wrote three whole chapters, in which Charlotte-Rose is interrogated by the terrifying Chambre Ardente and locked in the Bastille.
In April 2011, I packed up my three young children and we travelled to France on the trail of Charlotte-Rose de la Force. We went to the Louvre, where she came as a frightened sixteen year old country girl to work in service of the terrifying king who had locked up her mother against her will. It was easy to imagine the women in their wide silken gowns and tall lace headdresses, strolling along on the arms of men in heavy wigs and full-skirted satin coats, their high heels clacking on the stone floor, their shrill voices trying to fill the vast echoing space of the galleries of that old palace.
The children and I visited the Place des Vosges, where Charlotte-Rose's cousin Henriette-Julie de Murat, another fairy tale teller, had lived with her elderly and aristocratic husband. I sat with my notebook and pen, writing away, while my children played tip in the garden and clambered over the modern climbing equipment.
We went to the Église Saint-Sulpice, the grand and gloomy church in Paris where Charlotte-Rose finally married her young lover, Charles de Briou, a few weeks after he reached his majority at the age of twenty-five. It was no use. They had ten days of happiness before the marriage was annulled, and her husband locked away in a madhouse by his parents.
Of course a trip to Versailles was de rigeur. My children suffered the stuffy, crowded tour of the gilded palace, having been promised bike riding around the lake. By the time we turned back to the train station, our feet were so bruised and swollen from the tiny cobblestones that we could barely walk. What must it have been like to have been a lady-in-waiting to the queen, never permitted to sit in the royal presence, all while wearing ridiculously high-heeled shoes that showed her noble lineage and enormous heavy skirts. Charlotte-Rose's feet must have hurt all the time, I thought.
Finally, we travelled down to Gascony for a week, staying near where Charlotte-Rose spent her childhood. With a French translator accompanying us, we were given a private tour of the Chateau de Cazeneuve by its owner, the Comte de Sabran-Pontevès. One of the oldest privately owned castles in France, the Chateau de Cazeneuve was once the hunting lodge of Henri of Navarre, who became Henri IV of France. When he moved to Paris, he gave his castle to his cousin, Charlotte-Rose's great-grandfather. It is an extraordinary place, built for strength on a bluff overlooking the wild Ciron River. I saw Charlotte-Rose's baptismal records, her pram, and the room in which she had been born. I was able to see where the secret passage where Queen Margot, Henri IV's wife, used to sneak through to rendezvous with her lovers. It was the most amazing and beautiful place, steeped in history and old tales, and the children and I were incredibly privileged to see it.
Writing the story of Charlotte-Rose de la Force was the most extraordinary adventure, both imaginatively and in actuality. I hope that Bitter Greens will ignite new interest in her life and her work, so that her name becomes as well known as the far less interesting Charles Perrault, who published his fairytales only a year earlier than she did.
The primary character in my new book, Bitter Greens, is the scandalous 17th century writer, Charlotte-Rose de la Force, who wrote the version of the Rapunzel fairytale that we know best.
She was one of those fascinating women that have been forgotten by history. She was related to the Sun King, Louis XIV, and became lady-in-waiting to the queen at the age of sixteen, living the next thirty years in the glittering royal courts of Paris, Versailles, Fontainebleau and Marly-le-Roi.
At the age of forty-seven, she was incarcerated by the king in a tumbledown old convent as punishment for her wild and wicked ways. She had had an affair with an impoverished actor, used black magic to try and ensnare herself a husband, disguised herself as a dancing bear to gain access to her much younger lover, and written a series of titillating novels about the king's most notorious ancestors.
While locked away in the convent, Charlotte-Rose wrote the collection of fairytales that included 'Persinette' (later renamed 'Rapunzel' by a German author Friedrich Schultz).
Dramatic and fascinating as Charlotte-Rose de la Force's life was, it was very difficult to research. Usually she is given nothing more than a biographical paragraph in encyclopaedias and fairytale scholarship.
After long months of detective work, I found a biography of her life, Mademoiselle de la Force: un auteur mèconnu du XVIIͨ siècle, by the French academic Michel Souloumiac. However, it was only published in French and despite my expensive and prolonged education, my French is very poor.
So I enlisted the help of a translator, Sylvie Poupard-Gould, who not only translated Michel Souloumiac's biography, but also translated an autobiographical sketch written by Charlotte-Rose and a number of her fairytales, which had never before been translated into English. This took a great deal of time, because the biography was written in dense academic terminology, and the second was written in Old French, complete with the letter 'f' looking like the letter 's'.
Michel Souloumiac's book Mademoiselle de la Force gave me the basic framework for my story, though there were many times when I had to use my imagination to fill in the gaps. For example, he says that Charlotte-Rose "came to the attention of the king" during the infamous Affair of the Poisons, a scandal about witchcraft, satanism, and murder that led to the execution of hundreds of people.
From those seven small words – "came to the attention of the king" - I wrote three whole chapters, in which Charlotte-Rose is interrogated by the terrifying Chambre Ardente and locked in the Bastille.
In April 2011, I packed up my three young children and we travelled to France on the trail of Charlotte-Rose de la Force. We went to the Louvre, where she came as a frightened sixteen year old country girl to work in service of the terrifying king who had locked up her mother against her will. It was easy to imagine the women in their wide silken gowns and tall lace headdresses, strolling along on the arms of men in heavy wigs and full-skirted satin coats, their high heels clacking on the stone floor, their shrill voices trying to fill the vast echoing space of the galleries of that old palace.
The children and I visited the Place des Vosges, where Charlotte-Rose's cousin Henriette-Julie de Murat, another fairy tale teller, had lived with her elderly and aristocratic husband. I sat with my notebook and pen, writing away, while my children played tip in the garden and clambered over the modern climbing equipment.
We went to the Église Saint-Sulpice, the grand and gloomy church in Paris where Charlotte-Rose finally married her young lover, Charles de Briou, a few weeks after he reached his majority at the age of twenty-five. It was no use. They had ten days of happiness before the marriage was annulled, and her husband locked away in a madhouse by his parents.
Of course a trip to Versailles was de rigeur. My children suffered the stuffy, crowded tour of the gilded palace, having been promised bike riding around the lake. By the time we turned back to the train station, our feet were so bruised and swollen from the tiny cobblestones that we could barely walk. What must it have been like to have been a lady-in-waiting to the queen, never permitted to sit in the royal presence, all while wearing ridiculously high-heeled shoes that showed her noble lineage and enormous heavy skirts. Charlotte-Rose's feet must have hurt all the time, I thought.
Finally, we travelled down to Gascony for a week, staying near where Charlotte-Rose spent her childhood. With a French translator accompanying us, we were given a private tour of the Chateau de Cazeneuve by its owner, the Comte de Sabran-Pontevès. One of the oldest privately owned castles in France, the Chateau de Cazeneuve was once the hunting lodge of Henri of Navarre, who became Henri IV of France. When he moved to Paris, he gave his castle to his cousin, Charlotte-Rose's great-grandfather. It is an extraordinary place, built for strength on a bluff overlooking the wild Ciron River. I saw Charlotte-Rose's baptismal records, her pram, and the room in which she had been born. I was able to see where the secret passage where Queen Margot, Henri IV's wife, used to sneak through to rendezvous with her lovers. It was the most amazing and beautiful place, steeped in history and old tales, and the children and I were incredibly privileged to see it.
Writing the story of Charlotte-Rose de la Force was the most extraordinary adventure, both imaginatively and in actuality. I hope that Bitter Greens will ignite new interest in her life and her work, so that her name becomes as well known as the far less interesting Charles Perrault, who published his fairytales only a year earlier than she did.
April 6, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-04-07T08:58:00
Today I have a special celebratory treat for you. It's not for first day Passover. It's not for Easter. It's because I feel like giving everyone a treat, regardless. Also, because, having celebrated Helen's new book, it's time to celebrate Kate's. Watch this space. I'll put it up when I'm awake which is...not yet.
Later today I might also be intelligent. That also is not yet. Awakeness is essential for this, too. Also, dragging my mind away from the folk festival, where bunches of my friends are dancing and some singing or playing. A close friend is in two morris sides this year. "What happens if they are on at the same time?" I asked her and she reassured me "They already have been."
And my Pesach presents may be few, but they are very special. My total hands-down winner is a turquoise pendant. It has special meaning (for it came from special people) and, like the Eleanor ring and the rocks, helps heal. I am extraordinarily lucky in my friends, for without them I would be facing much bigger emotional shortfalls whenever I look round my unit or try to do something. Where some of the holes were, I have brand-new stories..
Life for me is still about stories. Each time a story ends, a bit of me is gone. Each time there are new stories, I grow.
One of the side effects of being in Passover is that I miss family and friends who are gone. This was the time I spent with my two fathers, for instance. I miss Dad and Les and it seems wrong to miss them together, for they were my fathers sequentially. They were comfortable with each other, though, and so I shall think of a happy moment with each of them and I shall take a deep breath. I've lost five friends and relatives so far this year, and another is going. I miss the five each and every one of them and I shall send a hope into the world for a dignified and pain free end for the sixth.
If this weekend also entails you missing someone, feel free to share a story about them with me. For as long as their stories live, a small part of them is still with us.
There ought to be a fourth neshama* just to carry our best stories.
*soul, but not as television defines it. Also, the names of two of the others aren't neshama, but I can never remember what they are - I just know their functions and that none of them is specifically for story. My popular theology is lacking today. I must remind my nephew that when Dad died he went into Dad's bedroom to play with Dad's neshama and was found under the bed, hunting.
Later today I might also be intelligent. That also is not yet. Awakeness is essential for this, too. Also, dragging my mind away from the folk festival, where bunches of my friends are dancing and some singing or playing. A close friend is in two morris sides this year. "What happens if they are on at the same time?" I asked her and she reassured me "They already have been."
And my Pesach presents may be few, but they are very special. My total hands-down winner is a turquoise pendant. It has special meaning (for it came from special people) and, like the Eleanor ring and the rocks, helps heal. I am extraordinarily lucky in my friends, for without them I would be facing much bigger emotional shortfalls whenever I look round my unit or try to do something. Where some of the holes were, I have brand-new stories..
Life for me is still about stories. Each time a story ends, a bit of me is gone. Each time there are new stories, I grow.
One of the side effects of being in Passover is that I miss family and friends who are gone. This was the time I spent with my two fathers, for instance. I miss Dad and Les and it seems wrong to miss them together, for they were my fathers sequentially. They were comfortable with each other, though, and so I shall think of a happy moment with each of them and I shall take a deep breath. I've lost five friends and relatives so far this year, and another is going. I miss the five each and every one of them and I shall send a hope into the world for a dignified and pain free end for the sixth.
If this weekend also entails you missing someone, feel free to share a story about them with me. For as long as their stories live, a small part of them is still with us.
There ought to be a fourth neshama* just to carry our best stories.
*soul, but not as television defines it. Also, the names of two of the others aren't neshama, but I can never remember what they are - I just know their functions and that none of them is specifically for story. My popular theology is lacking today. I must remind my nephew that when Dad died he went into Dad's bedroom to play with Dad's neshama and was found under the bed, hunting.
gillpolack @ 2012-04-06T17:43:00
I have done the bare minimum of everything and I'm ready so much in time that I can sit down for twenty minutes. The lack of alcohol has changed the flavour of things, but they still taste good.
It's a very strange Pesach, but Pesach it is - this is better than I did for Purim. In fact, one of the cleaning things I did for Pesach was to give up on the medlar liqueur I had taken out for Purim before I was forced to cancel it (the nice wine I was going to feed friends then didn't need giving up on, cos it was the three bottles the thief took) and I put it away. If you need to drop in in, say, a week or so, there is much medlar liqueur that needs drinking. Now, though, there is no wine for eight days, which is *so* wrong. But if the only wine I could get was a close relative of bad vinegar, then I am a grape juice person for this festival.
I logged on to wish you all a happy weekend, however you spend it. Eat Easter eggs and hot cross buns for me if you're having them, please. I promise to do the dieting afterwards!
Now I go to admire my seder plate and sit down for 20 minutes. Rachel and Mia are my family for this minimalist seder and it will be an early night, for we're all tired.
Have a lovely festive season, or long weekend, or time out from idiots, or, for some of you, all of the above.
It's a very strange Pesach, but Pesach it is - this is better than I did for Purim. In fact, one of the cleaning things I did for Pesach was to give up on the medlar liqueur I had taken out for Purim before I was forced to cancel it (the nice wine I was going to feed friends then didn't need giving up on, cos it was the three bottles the thief took) and I put it away. If you need to drop in in, say, a week or so, there is much medlar liqueur that needs drinking. Now, though, there is no wine for eight days, which is *so* wrong. But if the only wine I could get was a close relative of bad vinegar, then I am a grape juice person for this festival.
I logged on to wish you all a happy weekend, however you spend it. Eat Easter eggs and hot cross buns for me if you're having them, please. I promise to do the dieting afterwards!
Now I go to admire my seder plate and sit down for 20 minutes. Rachel and Mia are my family for this minimalist seder and it will be an early night, for we're all tired.
Have a lovely festive season, or long weekend, or time out from idiots, or, for some of you, all of the above.
gillpolack @ 2012-04-06T16:32:00
I am all slowed down.
I have slashed through the list of things I wanted to do and reduced my list to the kitchen floor being (vaguely) washed* and charoset made. This is because I took a look at my next week's calendar and realised that one of the reasons for the meltdown was three half days of appointments and another of meetings and a half day of teaching over three days. And I don't know how to get to J's 60th while teaching. And I still have to do all the things I was doing before. Except now I've melted down, I've realised I will just have to minimise on housework because it's either that or forget how to sleep.
The truth is that the stuff that's happened over the last few weeks has happened at one of my two very busy times of year. And of course there is the burning off. So I have to slow down. I shall sit for a few minutes before I wash that last floor and then for a few minutes more before I do the seder plate stuff. The world won't end if my place is a mess and if I can't do everything instantly. It may not be my family tradition for Passover, but life got in the way of this being a family Passover ages ago and I should just accept it. And if Elijah comes, then he can drink grape juice.. Maybe he'll appreciate it.
In other news, to cheer myself up for the festive season, I'm wearing slinky harem pants. You quite possibly don't want to see them. Slinky harem pants on a nearly fifty-one year old is subversive.
*since I was just reminded by the state of my lungs that vigorous washing is beyond my capacities
I have slashed through the list of things I wanted to do and reduced my list to the kitchen floor being (vaguely) washed* and charoset made. This is because I took a look at my next week's calendar and realised that one of the reasons for the meltdown was three half days of appointments and another of meetings and a half day of teaching over three days. And I don't know how to get to J's 60th while teaching. And I still have to do all the things I was doing before. Except now I've melted down, I've realised I will just have to minimise on housework because it's either that or forget how to sleep.
The truth is that the stuff that's happened over the last few weeks has happened at one of my two very busy times of year. And of course there is the burning off. So I have to slow down. I shall sit for a few minutes before I wash that last floor and then for a few minutes more before I do the seder plate stuff. The world won't end if my place is a mess and if I can't do everything instantly. It may not be my family tradition for Passover, but life got in the way of this being a family Passover ages ago and I should just accept it. And if Elijah comes, then he can drink grape juice.. Maybe he'll appreciate it.
In other news, to cheer myself up for the festive season, I'm wearing slinky harem pants. You quite possibly don't want to see them. Slinky harem pants on a nearly fifty-one year old is subversive.
*since I was just reminded by the state of my lungs that vigorous washing is beyond my capacities
gillpolack @ 2012-04-06T15:33:00
Gaaaah!
Sorry. I just needed to vent. All done. I feel better for it.
It's almost impossible to get things properly ready for Passover when I haven't finished working through the remnants of the burglar's mess. I've been doing things in order of importance (identifying stuff for police and insurance, teaching, meeting other deadlines, putting the worst of the mess away then finally checking my tax records and my study notes) but there's still a lot undone. I've done a vague clean for Passover, but I still haven't crawled on my knees to find lost beads from the necklace the burglar broke and spread everywhere so I can't vacuum the bedroom, and I can't do all the flat surfaces - in eight days, yes, but now, no - and there are just a couple of areas that still require close attention but the income-earning thing got in the way last week (imagine, having to buy groceries and pay bills!). And when I get too tired*, that spider leaps across my right eye - it will probably be a signal of fatigue and stress for the rest of my born existence. The spider is dancing wildly across my vision at this very moment. Hence the venting.
It got to me because I am not yet at an end of things. I will be. I *will* catch up. But not everyone is equally sensible in how they explain the last few weeks back to me. Someone called the last few weeks 'drama' - it wasn't drama, it was just a total, total pain. Too much time in medical places and on the phone to the insurance people and tidying the layers of personal possessions that were spread everywhere. Drama has less tedium and more results.
I've done a bare sufficiency, but it just didn't feel like enough for a moment. Spider and 'drama' made me have to go 'gaaaah!" which I have, and I've sat down for a moment and I can now get back to doing what must be done.
Now it's time to finish the kitchen, so that I can grate apples for my wine-free charoset.
* which is now, for all the usual chronic health problems apply and have applied throughout the last few weeks and are creeping up and hurting
Sorry. I just needed to vent. All done. I feel better for it.
It's almost impossible to get things properly ready for Passover when I haven't finished working through the remnants of the burglar's mess. I've been doing things in order of importance (identifying stuff for police and insurance, teaching, meeting other deadlines, putting the worst of the mess away then finally checking my tax records and my study notes) but there's still a lot undone. I've done a vague clean for Passover, but I still haven't crawled on my knees to find lost beads from the necklace the burglar broke and spread everywhere so I can't vacuum the bedroom, and I can't do all the flat surfaces - in eight days, yes, but now, no - and there are just a couple of areas that still require close attention but the income-earning thing got in the way last week (imagine, having to buy groceries and pay bills!). And when I get too tired*, that spider leaps across my right eye - it will probably be a signal of fatigue and stress for the rest of my born existence. The spider is dancing wildly across my vision at this very moment. Hence the venting.
It got to me because I am not yet at an end of things. I will be. I *will* catch up. But not everyone is equally sensible in how they explain the last few weeks back to me. Someone called the last few weeks 'drama' - it wasn't drama, it was just a total, total pain. Too much time in medical places and on the phone to the insurance people and tidying the layers of personal possessions that were spread everywhere. Drama has less tedium and more results.
I've done a bare sufficiency, but it just didn't feel like enough for a moment. Spider and 'drama' made me have to go 'gaaaah!" which I have, and I've sat down for a moment and I can now get back to doing what must be done.
Now it's time to finish the kitchen, so that I can grate apples for my wine-free charoset.
* which is now, for all the usual chronic health problems apply and have applied throughout the last few weeks and are creeping up and hurting
