Haha - Tom Williams best book review I've read in a good while. Spoiler: it's atrocious!
Oh my gosh, Herculon. That's one of those words guaranteed to take me to a very specific period of childhood, like heatilator. Cool posts, both, and the first link is smart, warm, and very in-depth about the world as some of us remember it - scratchy, brown, not always forgiving, and warm.
Strange Company has been a simmering new favorite for a while now. This post is a great example of why - a nicely written, in-depth look at one of the oddments of history - in this case, a look at the gruesome depths to which vanity can take us . Fun!
Edited to add more from Tom Williams - this post about Ely Cathredral is a wonderful piece of history. Part 2 here. Both have stunning photographs, and the architectural story, as it tends to do, is also the story of politics, people, and the land itself.
Showing posts with label architecture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label architecture. Show all posts
Saturday, July 13, 2019
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
Collection
The epic *advice* of Gilgamesh.
My day is made, I have encountered the word excrementitious, which actually strikes me as one of those "probably a mellifluously beautiful word, if you don't know what it means" coinages ... Also: scatalogical archaeology! Always fun. Thanks, The History Blog.
Brace yourselves: this is me, not even trying to be clever. Just click. The world's most beautiful libraries. You're welcome. (The click beyond.)
Ahhh, the tedium of FASHION as opposed to style. We all know it's not just clothes, or at least in the form of textiles.
Remember when book covers were done by artists? Remember when all too many of them became photos of headless women? (Remember when we laughed at salads?) Apparently the current trend in cover design is flowers. This seems to surprise some people, but the development seems obvious to me, especially timed after November 2016, when stock photo libraries, advertising, entertainment, and so many visual aspects of the cultural landscape finally began to show women in active contexts, not strictly as pretty presentation objects. We were all sick of the ubiquity of book covers featuring decapitated women and sexualized women (the latter not being mutually exclusive of the former, which: ew). What's the next best sexual image? Flowers. Duh.
My day is made, I have encountered the word excrementitious, which actually strikes me as one of those "probably a mellifluously beautiful word, if you don't know what it means" coinages ... Also: scatalogical archaeology! Always fun. Thanks, The History Blog.
Brace yourselves: this is me, not even trying to be clever. Just click. The world's most beautiful libraries. You're welcome. (The click beyond.)
Ahhh, the tedium of FASHION as opposed to style. We all know it's not just clothes, or at least in the form of textiles.
Remember when book covers were done by artists? Remember when all too many of them became photos of headless women? (Remember when we laughed at salads?) Apparently the current trend in cover design is flowers. This seems to surprise some people, but the development seems obvious to me, especially timed after November 2016, when stock photo libraries, advertising, entertainment, and so many visual aspects of the cultural landscape finally began to show women in active contexts, not strictly as pretty presentation objects. We were all sick of the ubiquity of book covers featuring decapitated women and sexualized women (the latter not being mutually exclusive of the former, which: ew). What's the next best sexual image? Flowers. Duh.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Collection
Baby boomers are offloading all kinds of things.
One of the interesting things about the Baby Boom generation, in relation to the "boom" size of the demographic relative to others currently wandering around the globe, has always been its market impact. As these denizens retire and downsize, the latter dynamic is leading to a boom of sorts in museum donations. The interesting part is *what* they are donating. Including "The Butt." Talk about diversifying the archives ... !
American Duchess received the most remarkable treasure recently, a gown on which they're going to do more than one post. Peek #1 at this find includes the fascinating chemistry of reviving 200-year-old textile, and comes with great photos of a dress which is in truly stunning condition. This is a great look at conservation, construction, and style. The surprising scientific side of all this really engaged the geek in me. Can NOT wait for more.
Some buildings are pickled in aspic by the heritage industry, but the best adapt and change, their architecture reflecting the social changes since they were built.
This post from Tom Williams makes a good companion to the AD link above, in a way; the above quote puts it in a nutshell. Over time, conservation and transformation go hand in hand - in our clothing, in our architecture, in many of the material aspects of our lives. Take a trip to St. Helens, Bishopsgate for an 800-year-old example!
Friday, March 18, 2016
Collection
My regular reading seemed to want to concentrate on covers today ...
First, a new post from the Caustic Cover Critic - yay! On returning classics, or "stock photo cover design" - an interesting look at the different ways designers use images to create unique looks.
Then Janet Reid had a word on when to worry about your cover. "While it's not an asshat indicator, it's troubling." Hee!
Interpolating from a post put up after this Collection, but fitting in too well not to put here - Jessica Faust also has some thoughts on covers, and a fascinating angle. How being unable to "picture it" so to speak led to a rejection. Oh dear!
The History Blog takes a look at Dina and Uyan, a pair of preserved cave lion cubs which are likely more than ten thousand years old. And the author of *this* blog scoops up Gossamer the Editor Cat for a soft, warm snoodle.
The HB also tells us about the Diamond Sutra, the oldest printed book known to be preserved. A fifteen foot block-printed scroll found in the Mogao cave temples, which in themselves must make a glorious study, the book dates to May 11, 868. Hooray for the precise date in the colophon!
First, a new post from the Caustic Cover Critic - yay! On returning classics, or "stock photo cover design" - an interesting look at the different ways designers use images to create unique looks.
Then Janet Reid had a word on when to worry about your cover. "While it's not an asshat indicator, it's troubling." Hee!
Interpolating from a post put up after this Collection, but fitting in too well not to put here - Jessica Faust also has some thoughts on covers, and a fascinating angle. How being unable to "picture it" so to speak led to a rejection. Oh dear!
The History Blog takes a look at Dina and Uyan, a pair of preserved cave lion cubs which are likely more than ten thousand years old. And the author of *this* blog scoops up Gossamer the Editor Cat for a soft, warm snoodle.
The HB also tells us about the Diamond Sutra, the oldest printed book known to be preserved. A fifteen foot block-printed scroll found in the Mogao cave temples, which in themselves must make a glorious study, the book dates to May 11, 868. Hooray for the precise date in the colophon!
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Reasearch is Funny
It can be odd, the things you find yourself having to research as a historical fiction author (or the things you just want to research, whethery they have a place in a manuscript or not – research can be a labyrinth of rabbit holes teeming with plot bunnies). Reading up on pattern welded steel swordmaking, brickmaking and architecture, and horse breeding/horseshoes is one thing, but then you find yourself needing to answer the question of whether and what type of scissors may have existed in your period, and confounded as to what exactly such tools might have looked like in use – not as artifacts, but as a part of regimens of toilette long lost to history, because they were *not* historical, and not recorded.
I know that Clovis was one of the reges criniti, the Long-Haired Kings, and I know from grave goods that Franks and so-called barbarians (get a load of the Swabian knot) took meticulous care of their hair and hygeine, even if without suds and “product”. What I don’t know is what the *ritual* looked like. I feel safe in assuming the king had body slaves, that this was not self-administered primping such as I indulge in the morning at my pretty little vanity table. Though there once were scenes of Clovis’ mother, Queen Basina, tending to his hair almost as if it were his power and ambition itself, those are gone – and I cannot say I know that such “service” and personal interaction would align with the real picture of a Frankish queen and the familial interactions of the time. I used the time spent thus to develop the difficult relationship of queen and prince, mother and son, and to draw in broad strokes the character of a woman Clovis wants nothing more than to shed, yet whose influence upon him was at least as powerful – if not moreso – than his father, Childeric.
It is possible that the court of the time was sophisticated and rarefied enough the idea of this kind of tending and touching would have been unthinkable. Yet this sort of maternal “indoctrination” feels authentic to me in a way that, as an author, I just beg off further research and write the story – because, sooner or later, *that* is the point, and (as we have noted before) I am NOT a(n) historian. This is the limit of my responsibility, and my writing is always couched in service to the story above authenticity.
This is not to say I want to have Theodoric nattering away, say, while getting a haircut and receiving dignitaries; or to portray childbirth with willful inaccuracy – which is where those damned bunnies start hopping, and I find my prodigious ass lodged in a burrow too small for my ambitions, and get stuck.
As one of the more irresistibly charming agents I’ve met along my journey so far has insisted, I need to have food in the kitchen and furniture in the rooms. I also need to know when to stop describing every stick of it, and when the recipes are not required.
One of the truisms of historical fiction and other authors working with much research must keep in mind is that research is like an iceberg. Of the mass of what we learn along the way, really only the smallest tip should show itself; the rest is just what we need to gain authority in a period or world we’re building, unseen by any but us as we build it. “Your research is showing” is a dreadful reminder that “show, don’t tell” has limitations.
It may be this that creates the sort of odd dissonance (resonance) between what we look into and what we end up writing. In a way, the tension can be interesting. Mostly, it makes you giddy as a writer – what to do, where to go? You kind of turn into a rabbit yourself, or at least The March Hare, a bit frayed, a bit at loose ends, learning and then having to be your own arbiter: “What, of what I have learned, should I share?”
I think most of us simultaneously love this part – and hate its implications. There can be so much inspiration, yet not all of it is part of The Story … and we are, all of us, in service to The Story …
I know that Clovis was one of the reges criniti, the Long-Haired Kings, and I know from grave goods that Franks and so-called barbarians (get a load of the Swabian knot) took meticulous care of their hair and hygeine, even if without suds and “product”. What I don’t know is what the *ritual* looked like. I feel safe in assuming the king had body slaves, that this was not self-administered primping such as I indulge in the morning at my pretty little vanity table. Though there once were scenes of Clovis’ mother, Queen Basina, tending to his hair almost as if it were his power and ambition itself, those are gone – and I cannot say I know that such “service” and personal interaction would align with the real picture of a Frankish queen and the familial interactions of the time. I used the time spent thus to develop the difficult relationship of queen and prince, mother and son, and to draw in broad strokes the character of a woman Clovis wants nothing more than to shed, yet whose influence upon him was at least as powerful – if not moreso – than his father, Childeric.
It is possible that the court of the time was sophisticated and rarefied enough the idea of this kind of tending and touching would have been unthinkable. Yet this sort of maternal “indoctrination” feels authentic to me in a way that, as an author, I just beg off further research and write the story – because, sooner or later, *that* is the point, and (as we have noted before) I am NOT a(n) historian. This is the limit of my responsibility, and my writing is always couched in service to the story above authenticity.
This is not to say I want to have Theodoric nattering away, say, while getting a haircut and receiving dignitaries; or to portray childbirth with willful inaccuracy – which is where those damned bunnies start hopping, and I find my prodigious ass lodged in a burrow too small for my ambitions, and get stuck.
As one of the more irresistibly charming agents I’ve met along my journey so far has insisted, I need to have food in the kitchen and furniture in the rooms. I also need to know when to stop describing every stick of it, and when the recipes are not required.
One of the truisms of historical fiction and other authors working with much research must keep in mind is that research is like an iceberg. Of the mass of what we learn along the way, really only the smallest tip should show itself; the rest is just what we need to gain authority in a period or world we’re building, unseen by any but us as we build it. “Your research is showing” is a dreadful reminder that “show, don’t tell” has limitations.
It may be this that creates the sort of odd dissonance (resonance) between what we look into and what we end up writing. In a way, the tension can be interesting. Mostly, it makes you giddy as a writer – what to do, where to go? You kind of turn into a rabbit yourself, or at least The March Hare, a bit frayed, a bit at loose ends, learning and then having to be your own arbiter: “What, of what I have learned, should I share?”
I think most of us simultaneously love this part – and hate its implications. There can be so much inspiration, yet not all of it is part of The Story … and we are, all of us, in service to The Story …
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Kitchen Ripping
There are those who might not find the following photos to look much like an "improvement" - but, for me, it's another in a year which so far has been one of outstanding blessings and great thanksgiving.
When I moved into my home, every single inch of the floor, both storeys, was carpeted. 1970s red deep-pile shag in the former-porch/now-office wing room. Pea green, thick carpeting through the other wing, dining room, foyer, and living room - and on up the steps and into the master bedroom. In the guest bedroom, faded-lime green deep-pile shag again.
The bathrooms were carpeted. And my home was previously owned by a widowed 86-year-old man. With all the best of intentions, over the course of 30-odd years, a man will ... miss. I will not forget the day I came home from work to find the carpet removed from one of the bathrooms, and a note from my brother (my family used to work on this house even when I wasn't here - wonderful people), saying, "No greater love hath any mother ... than that yours removed your peepee carpet!"
Good times. Hee.
All these years later, she and I got together yesterday (I took a few hours off work this time), and tore out the kitchen carpet.
Which - given the rather trying training period with Penelope - was itself a bit of a peepee carpet, I can admit.
Anyway - no greater love hath any mother and daughter than when we get to do a grubby job together - every year or two, we find our way to spend a few hours fixing up my yard, cleaning my basement ... tearing up carpet that never should have been in the first place ... (Yes, the work always tends to be at/on my home. Mom's home is perfection, you see!)
My dad would love it - well, does, I have little doubt. He always did like when his girls found some way to work together, figuratively *or* literally.
Beneath the carpet was not, as you might imagine, a simply stunning alternative, pristine and clean and ready for the decorating magazines. But it's hardwood exactly like the rest of the house.
A lamentable detail is that, in the 1970s when all the carpeting went down, hardwood was so passe' they apparently figured it would never, ever, ever, ever, ever see the light of day again - and so did some painting without benefit of dropcloths, and so on. The entire house, most of which has had its floors exposed for many years now, needs sanding and refinishing. The kitchen merely represents the most obvious need - the black glue and partially ossified carpet padding here and there.
But the boards are solid upstairs and down, but for two slender strips in the foyer, which have termite damage at least a generation old which clearly got dealt with in a hurry. Two little boards, out of an entire house. And one loose one, at the wall under the refrigerator. That's the worst of it.
Maybe next time, mom and I rent floor sanders.
Hah!
When I moved into my home, every single inch of the floor, both storeys, was carpeted. 1970s red deep-pile shag in the former-porch/now-office wing room. Pea green, thick carpeting through the other wing, dining room, foyer, and living room - and on up the steps and into the master bedroom. In the guest bedroom, faded-lime green deep-pile shag again.
The bathrooms were carpeted. And my home was previously owned by a widowed 86-year-old man. With all the best of intentions, over the course of 30-odd years, a man will ... miss. I will not forget the day I came home from work to find the carpet removed from one of the bathrooms, and a note from my brother (my family used to work on this house even when I wasn't here - wonderful people), saying, "No greater love hath any mother ... than that yours removed your peepee carpet!"
Good times. Hee.
All these years later, she and I got together yesterday (I took a few hours off work this time), and tore out the kitchen carpet.
Which - given the rather trying training period with Penelope - was itself a bit of a peepee carpet, I can admit.
Anyway - no greater love hath any mother and daughter than when we get to do a grubby job together - every year or two, we find our way to spend a few hours fixing up my yard, cleaning my basement ... tearing up carpet that never should have been in the first place ... (Yes, the work always tends to be at/on my home. Mom's home is perfection, you see!)
My dad would love it - well, does, I have little doubt. He always did like when his girls found some way to work together, figuratively *or* literally.
Beneath the carpet was not, as you might imagine, a simply stunning alternative, pristine and clean and ready for the decorating magazines. But it's hardwood exactly like the rest of the house.
A lamentable detail is that, in the 1970s when all the carpeting went down, hardwood was so passe' they apparently figured it would never, ever, ever, ever, ever see the light of day again - and so did some painting without benefit of dropcloths, and so on. The entire house, most of which has had its floors exposed for many years now, needs sanding and refinishing. The kitchen merely represents the most obvious need - the black glue and partially ossified carpet padding here and there.
But the boards are solid upstairs and down, but for two slender strips in the foyer, which have termite damage at least a generation old which clearly got dealt with in a hurry. Two little boards, out of an entire house. And one loose one, at the wall under the refrigerator. That's the worst of it.
 |
| Before Still Life with Kong Toys |
 |
| After! |
Maybe next time, mom and I rent floor sanders.
Hah!
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Building Castles in the Mind
Speaking as an author who's made up an unrecorded building or two in my world-building: it's a pleasure to know there *are* buildings in the world (even quite large ones) which have gone unrecorded. I give you the previously unknown Gallo-Roman edifice at Oise.
Okay, actually the BBC and connexionfrance.com do, but still.
Okay, actually the BBC and connexionfrance.com do, but still.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Collection
Most of these one star book reviews will make you want to shoot yourself (or, perhaps, their "authors") in the neck. Some of them are slyly hilarious, though! Thank you, Zuba, for sending me down this rabbit hole!
Kristi Tuck Austin has some words on rock stars and authors - and no patience for the reticent writers who ignore and short-shrift their fans. Me neither, lady!
18th century France is NOW - in San Francisco. A great piece again from The History Blog, with videos worth a look if you're curious about how to move your gilded historical salon across a couple continents and an ocean. The clips on gilding and wood carving are the best, short and illuminating. So to speak!
Finally: Gossamer would like to assure you, "It's all all right. You'll be okay. Promise."
Just needed to get a photo in, keep the visual interest.
Kristi Tuck Austin has some words on rock stars and authors - and no patience for the reticent writers who ignore and short-shrift their fans. Me neither, lady!
18th century France is NOW - in San Francisco. A great piece again from The History Blog, with videos worth a look if you're curious about how to move your gilded historical salon across a couple continents and an ocean. The clips on gilding and wood carving are the best, short and illuminating. So to speak!
Finally: Gossamer would like to assure you, "It's all all right. You'll be okay. Promise."
Just needed to get a photo in, keep the visual interest.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Video Sunday #1: 1940s Chicago
The History Blog once again has an excellent post about the video below, not least of which is a little investigation into exactly when it was produced.
The clip is not short; it's a full length (nearly 32 minutes) promotional film, extolling the architecture, infrastructure, and industry of Chicago. The footage is worth taking in the full length, if you're interested. And, as our friend at HB is, I kind of enjoy the stentorian delivery of a good old mid-century educational film. We were still watching these in the 70s when I was in school; the style is pretty unmistakable - and everything about this video takes you back!
Friday, February 14, 2014
Collection
Thinking recently about pretending away the people of color in history, there is a good post at The History Girls introducing a site I will follow, Medieval People of Color on Tumblr. The post on top today includes not only diversity in peoples, but also a remarkable sampling of material arts - the sculptural bust is a breathtaking piece of art, and there is also a couture costume and an array of paintings as well. What an excellent resource, and a beautiful curation online of aspects of history we are too often blind to. The page is clearly not limited to *medieval* people of color - the feature right now is the 19th century. Looking forward to seeing more, and doing some exploring.
Two Nerdy History girls has found a short clip looking at the (literal ...) foundation of The New Look. Worth the minute or so to watch the video - the old way to build the New Look!
Marie Antoinette's Diamonds has a good read about The Lockkeeper's House in Washington, DC. She links further on to information at the Library of Congress - and the photos turned out well.
Mojourner defends the much-maligned month of Feburary ... when the days finally grow longer, when birds begin chipirping (when I just saw my first cardinal of the season yesterday!) - and when we have forty-two day! It's a great month - not least because it's least.
Two Nerdy History girls has found a short clip looking at the (literal ...) foundation of The New Look. Worth the minute or so to watch the video - the old way to build the New Look!
Marie Antoinette's Diamonds has a good read about The Lockkeeper's House in Washington, DC. She links further on to information at the Library of Congress - and the photos turned out well.
Mojourner defends the much-maligned month of Feburary ... when the days finally grow longer, when birds begin chipirping (when I just saw my first cardinal of the season yesterday!) - and when we have forty-two day! It's a great month - not least because it's least.
Seasonal Migration
There come several points in every year, when I cannot take my domicile quite the way it is anymore, and must begin shoving the furniture around. The focus of these transformations tends to be the living room, but it does happen around the house. The living room, though, is a spacious and long room, which gets excellent light with a southern exposure timed such that the longest rays reach in to warm certain furry inhabitants in the winter, and in summer time the sunshine retreats agreeably, only poking in a little way but always keeping everything bright.
It does happen that these periodic redecorations follow a general pattern, but on occasion innovations creep in, when I am exceedingly bored. The couch may go (gasp!) under the window before it moves to the far side of the fireplace, in preparation for the smaller-circumference, cozy setups of winter weather. In warm weather, the furniture backs away from the room’s center, filling the ends of the space, opening up to cross-breezes from opposing windows.
In nearly fifteen years here (holy crud), it’s been possible to time and refine the seasonal deployments. I can’t take much more than three weeks of the Christmas tree and decorations, for instance. September is too soon to pull the furniture in tight for the cold-weather, huddled configuration. But interestingly – Valentine’s Day is not too soon to open things up again, to stretch out the seating and widen the room for warmer weather, to anticipate spring’s advent and enjoy a new space without having to waste money on a decorator or even new furnishings.
I discovered the date’s utility some years ago, when my mother and I spent the day moving an inheritance. My best friend TEO’s father was moving out of his apartment, and I was extremely grateful and happy to receive his red slate coffee table. It’s a gorgeous thing, warm and wide, masculine in the best decorative sense of the word (if that phrase isn’t too much an oxymoron for certain sentiments, heh), distinctively earthy. It also, as you might imagine, is heavy as hell. Fantastic for inviting friends over and enjoying Chinese takeout, or several pizzas. Beautiful just standing there, just the right books in a nice stack, a plant, a wooden bowl. (For years, it held a beautiful pottery bowl also given to me by TEO, but that came to a crashing and incredibly upsetting end when Gossamer, all of three ounces, leapt onto the table and knocked it for a loop. Alas.)
And so, spending the lovers’ day of red hearts and candies with my mom, manhandling a table between the two of us (I did send her home in time for supper with stepfather)_, I learned – Valentine’s is a good day to shake up the house a bit.
This year, I cheated a little bit, and did most of the shoving last night. This on top of the snow-shoveling duties out front and behind the house have not damaged me too badly, but do seem to provide the gentle reminder that my back is not what it should be (and here begin the fantasies of finishing my basement with a floor, and purchasing used gym equipment, so I can work on my core strength …). I’d alas about that, but am just grateful I can live on my own, and CAN shove these things around.
Some women get bored and change their haircolor or cut. Some people get a tattoo. I am my mother’s child, and I poke at furniture. Don’t put it past me not to take a shot in the bedroom, too.
But it is nice to spruce up your personal environment. It’s a good feeling to clean on Saturdays, but it’s good, too, to come home one day and feel a fresh new room, all for the price of an hour’s exertion (or even less). It’s invigorating just to keep things from stagnating … but, the February move carries with it the promise that spring is coming. That the reason for opening things up, taking a deep breath that fills the room a little more, is the crocuses are coming, the daffodils (… the pollen, the allergies …).
I'd be hard put to live in a place without seasons. I've been to Hawai’i, and know those who have lived there for years. It is marvelous and beautiful – but I know, too, some who've missed autumn leaves and even winter’s chill and grey. At least a little, anyway.
I'm nesting for spring time. While I worked from home yesterday, calling and calling the airline over and over about travel problems born of the winter storm, I washed the wall in the kitchen next to the stove, and tweaked where my little convection oven sits, smaller redeployments as I thought about the larger one for the living room (yes, I think about these moves in advance; for a couple of weeks now, I've been looking forward to the longer days of February, to the change of seasons – and the change of room). I may take all the pictures and coupons off the fridge next, wash it down, and put them back up. I may scrub the cabinets. You never know, with me …
Or, I may just paint my nails some bright and spring-like color. It’s always fun driving mom insane, going turquoise or age-inappropriately sparkly.
February – Valentine’s day. It means spring is coming, y’all. You ready for short sleeves? Or for a new spot for your couch??
It does happen that these periodic redecorations follow a general pattern, but on occasion innovations creep in, when I am exceedingly bored. The couch may go (gasp!) under the window before it moves to the far side of the fireplace, in preparation for the smaller-circumference, cozy setups of winter weather. In warm weather, the furniture backs away from the room’s center, filling the ends of the space, opening up to cross-breezes from opposing windows.
In nearly fifteen years here (holy crud), it’s been possible to time and refine the seasonal deployments. I can’t take much more than three weeks of the Christmas tree and decorations, for instance. September is too soon to pull the furniture in tight for the cold-weather, huddled configuration. But interestingly – Valentine’s Day is not too soon to open things up again, to stretch out the seating and widen the room for warmer weather, to anticipate spring’s advent and enjoy a new space without having to waste money on a decorator or even new furnishings.
I discovered the date’s utility some years ago, when my mother and I spent the day moving an inheritance. My best friend TEO’s father was moving out of his apartment, and I was extremely grateful and happy to receive his red slate coffee table. It’s a gorgeous thing, warm and wide, masculine in the best decorative sense of the word (if that phrase isn’t too much an oxymoron for certain sentiments, heh), distinctively earthy. It also, as you might imagine, is heavy as hell. Fantastic for inviting friends over and enjoying Chinese takeout, or several pizzas. Beautiful just standing there, just the right books in a nice stack, a plant, a wooden bowl. (For years, it held a beautiful pottery bowl also given to me by TEO, but that came to a crashing and incredibly upsetting end when Gossamer, all of three ounces, leapt onto the table and knocked it for a loop. Alas.)
And so, spending the lovers’ day of red hearts and candies with my mom, manhandling a table between the two of us (I did send her home in time for supper with stepfather)_, I learned – Valentine’s is a good day to shake up the house a bit.
This year, I cheated a little bit, and did most of the shoving last night. This on top of the snow-shoveling duties out front and behind the house have not damaged me too badly, but do seem to provide the gentle reminder that my back is not what it should be (and here begin the fantasies of finishing my basement with a floor, and purchasing used gym equipment, so I can work on my core strength …). I’d alas about that, but am just grateful I can live on my own, and CAN shove these things around.
Some women get bored and change their haircolor or cut. Some people get a tattoo. I am my mother’s child, and I poke at furniture. Don’t put it past me not to take a shot in the bedroom, too.
But it is nice to spruce up your personal environment. It’s a good feeling to clean on Saturdays, but it’s good, too, to come home one day and feel a fresh new room, all for the price of an hour’s exertion (or even less). It’s invigorating just to keep things from stagnating … but, the February move carries with it the promise that spring is coming. That the reason for opening things up, taking a deep breath that fills the room a little more, is the crocuses are coming, the daffodils (… the pollen, the allergies …).
I'd be hard put to live in a place without seasons. I've been to Hawai’i, and know those who have lived there for years. It is marvelous and beautiful – but I know, too, some who've missed autumn leaves and even winter’s chill and grey. At least a little, anyway.
I'm nesting for spring time. While I worked from home yesterday, calling and calling the airline over and over about travel problems born of the winter storm, I washed the wall in the kitchen next to the stove, and tweaked where my little convection oven sits, smaller redeployments as I thought about the larger one for the living room (yes, I think about these moves in advance; for a couple of weeks now, I've been looking forward to the longer days of February, to the change of seasons – and the change of room). I may take all the pictures and coupons off the fridge next, wash it down, and put them back up. I may scrub the cabinets. You never know, with me …
Or, I may just paint my nails some bright and spring-like color. It’s always fun driving mom insane, going turquoise or age-inappropriately sparkly.
February – Valentine’s day. It means spring is coming, y’all. You ready for short sleeves? Or for a new spot for your couch??
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
But Wait ...
European and Eastern ruins have fascinated us for centuries (perhaps in much the same way swords do – crumbling castles and all those sites on which we’ve done battle … or Henry VIII simply did “dissolution”). American ruins, though, have barely passed beyond our daily life. Many of our ruins still make a home for the homeless – or, at least, a night’s squat out of the worst of this winter’s deadly cold. There is a sense, in images of our ruins, of “but wait” … that these places, or their contents, are not wholly irretrievable.
That there may be redemption. The beauty in our ruins is that our past is still so close, still so small we must surely be able to bring it back, to take back our failures, to NOT obliterate memories still sighing their last.
This is the reason one of my new favorite shows is Rehab Addict – perhaps the only series on HGTV which doesn’t glory in unrecycled destruction of the material parts of our lives which have sinned no further than to go out of style. Rehab Addict is about a woman who buys decaying homes and restores them – not as artistic antiques, but as functioning domiciles, which may still function very much on their own original terms. She holds up tiny artifacts – a tooth brush holder, the hardware of a generations-old window – and revels in the workmanship, finds life and beauty in bringing them back to their own little life, letting them do their own little jobs. Some of her completed works still show pockmarks and scars. But all of them end up fresh and lived-in again. They don’t crumble away.
As beautiful as crumbling-away may seem … when you look at the scope of this country, if we let everything go that could be on its way out, we will waste resources beyond monetary, and even cultural calculation. We will become the most prodigious archaeological site in history.
That there may be redemption. The beauty in our ruins is that our past is still so close, still so small we must surely be able to bring it back, to take back our failures, to NOT obliterate memories still sighing their last.
This is the reason one of my new favorite shows is Rehab Addict – perhaps the only series on HGTV which doesn’t glory in unrecycled destruction of the material parts of our lives which have sinned no further than to go out of style. Rehab Addict is about a woman who buys decaying homes and restores them – not as artistic antiques, but as functioning domiciles, which may still function very much on their own original terms. She holds up tiny artifacts – a tooth brush holder, the hardware of a generations-old window – and revels in the workmanship, finds life and beauty in bringing them back to their own little life, letting them do their own little jobs. Some of her completed works still show pockmarks and scars. But all of them end up fresh and lived-in again. They don’t crumble away.
As beautiful as crumbling-away may seem … when you look at the scope of this country, if we let everything go that could be on its way out, we will waste resources beyond monetary, and even cultural calculation. We will become the most prodigious archaeological site in history.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Collection
Have you ever heard of Jan van Rymsdyk? An artist of the most arresting work and a most intriguing life as well. His most famous works depict the unborn ... as drawn, not from life, but from death. Theirs and their mothers. Eighteenth century ethics may make this link a squick-inducer - yet the work is undeniably arresting, and poignantly skillful.
Believe it or not, murder holes and other castle defenses may make for a lighter post. A quick study in Castles 101, from English Historical Authors - and the second link here, this week, courtesy of Maria Grace.
"Why ... do we continue to airbrush black Africans out of Tudor England?" This is a good question, as their presence in Tudor England is undeniable and very interesting; as an American, I had no idea the population included enough for records to indicate actual complain about there being "too manie" (the implications of which are a study unto themselves, especially for an American; this inescaspably brings to mind the image below).
(In searching for the image above, I found this one, which is beautiful. Completely unrelated to this post - but very much worth a peek.)
I don't always find "bloodthirsty Roman" portrayals any more persuasive, if I'm honest, than I do the portrayals typically bandied about for "barbarians" - yet, because Romans even a couple of millennia on, still seem to induce a state of breathless fandom for so many, I do give less glowing assessments of their worth equal time. Here we have them as headhunters, courtesy science, a lot of skulls out of Londinium, and the BBC. Charming lot, those Romans. Still, getting past the tendency to put white or black hats on or favorite or least-favorite historical populations, the forensics are still a draw. If I really needed to cheer complete strangers on - or revile them - I'd be watching the Super Bowl. (Tonight at my house, Sherlock on the PBS Roku box.)
And now, BBC journalists: may we please discuss and define such slippery terms as "headhunters" and publish further findings which might explain exactly what happened to these men? The meat here is missing. Literally and figuratively, yes ...
Speaking of Rome - as we who read any sort of history are wont to to - yet another book I may need to pile on my toppling tower of TBR. It's Peter Heather, it's my period (both for Ax and for the WIP), it's some of my CHARACTERS. *And she sighs quietly to herself, resigned to need more books*
Believe it or not, murder holes and other castle defenses may make for a lighter post. A quick study in Castles 101, from English Historical Authors - and the second link here, this week, courtesy of Maria Grace.
"Why ... do we continue to airbrush black Africans out of Tudor England?" This is a good question, as their presence in Tudor England is undeniable and very interesting; as an American, I had no idea the population included enough for records to indicate actual complain about there being "too manie" (the implications of which are a study unto themselves, especially for an American; this inescaspably brings to mind the image below).
 |
| "Willem van Heythuysen" by Kehinde Wiley Image: Virginia Museum of Fine Arts |
(In searching for the image above, I found this one, which is beautiful. Completely unrelated to this post - but very much worth a peek.)
I don't always find "bloodthirsty Roman" portrayals any more persuasive, if I'm honest, than I do the portrayals typically bandied about for "barbarians" - yet, because Romans even a couple of millennia on, still seem to induce a state of breathless fandom for so many, I do give less glowing assessments of their worth equal time. Here we have them as headhunters, courtesy science, a lot of skulls out of Londinium, and the BBC. Charming lot, those Romans. Still, getting past the tendency to put white or black hats on or favorite or least-favorite historical populations, the forensics are still a draw. If I really needed to cheer complete strangers on - or revile them - I'd be watching the Super Bowl. (Tonight at my house, Sherlock on the PBS Roku box.)
And now, BBC journalists: may we please discuss and define such slippery terms as "headhunters" and publish further findings which might explain exactly what happened to these men? The meat here is missing. Literally and figuratively, yes ...
Speaking of Rome - as we who read any sort of history are wont to to - yet another book I may need to pile on my toppling tower of TBR. It's Peter Heather, it's my period (both for Ax and for the WIP), it's some of my CHARACTERS. *And she sighs quietly to herself, resigned to need more books*
Valentine's Chocolates
 |
| Public domain image |
Another of the great chocolate tie-in holidays is upon us (Valentine's - not Easter - though, of course, candies for all of the above have been available in stores for weeks already), and Hampton Court is celebrating. They're not pandering to the M&M Mars company, but opening an interesting culinary door to the past - by opening the 18th-century chocolate kitchen, not seen in generations. There will be live demonstrations and lots of information about Georgian chocolate-making, as well as a look at the period fixtures and methods.
Here is History Extra's link.
And here is the History Blog link.
And here is a nicely ironic companion piece - an article on how Georgians institutionalized dieting as we know it today. Enjoy! (I won't judge you on which of these you enjoy ...)
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Collection
A "glorious seventeen-minute Thompson Twins dance remix of a house" at Jeff Sypeck's blog. Hee.
The Passion of Former Days features The Photographer's Cat and Autochromes of Nature (lots of them - a remarkable variety, as Passion often offers).
And now, a look at the modern work week and how much longer it is than the toilsome days of a medieval peasant. Le Sigh.
The Passion of Former Days features The Photographer's Cat and Autochromes of Nature (lots of them - a remarkable variety, as Passion often offers).
And now, a look at the modern work week and how much longer it is than the toilsome days of a medieval peasant. Le Sigh.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Medieval Air Museum?
Jeff Sypeck finds some of the most wonderful things, especially architectural. And here we have another place I need to visit some time ...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)