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plus ça change
Nov. 1st, 2015 05:21 pmWhile hunting for some tights I'd stashed somewhere out of the way, I came across a sheet of notes for a paper I was drafting back in 1991 or 1992. At this remove, I don't quite understand all of it, especially as it refers back to even older notes from February 1990 (a Michael Murrin lecture on the Holy Grail), but I am amused to see this quote (of Murrin, I think):
"We're never going to get done, we never do, but then, this is medieval lit."
If my house weren't so firmly 20th century (thank God!), I'd be tempted to nickname it Medieval Lit. There is so much to do and to deal with. But then, it's a house. And sprucing it up is not that high on the list -- not when there are indexes to draft and avocadoes to mash (K&S had a one-day sale yesterday) and housemates to giggle at:
(That is a jack-o-lantern squeaky toy in Miss Dawg's mouth.)
Prompts 45 and 46 in Upper Rubber Boot's photo challenge, 100 Untimed Books, are "miniature" and "coming home."
The mini-book (created by Roger Culbertson and illustrated by Sarah McMenemy, 1997) contains pop-ups, including the wagging tail of a dog on a beach and the turning wheel of a bicycle.
I used to own a copy of Rosamunde Pilcher's Coming Home, and it contains scenes that remain in my memory, such as the night that Jeremy cooks steaks in butter for Judith. Though I'd forgotten that Judith had a cold until I looked up the scene again just now. (And glancing at some of the other pages online has reminded me of why the book irritated me enough to sell it.)
The Shell Seekers remains on my shelves, though. I think I picked it up at a used bookstore in Chicago, and it too has various characters returning to places they consider "home."
I didn't go to church today, what with the still-nasty cough, but I have The Shell Seekers open to a funeral scene, where the congregation is singing "For all the saints"": "It wasn't perhaps the most suitable hymn for a funeral, but ____ had chosen it because it was the only one she knew that ____ really liked." Another congregant thoroughly approves of the choice: "Music, flowers, and now a rousing hymn . . . just what _____ would have enjoyed."
"We're never going to get done, we never do, but then, this is medieval lit."
If my house weren't so firmly 20th century (thank God!), I'd be tempted to nickname it Medieval Lit. There is so much to do and to deal with. But then, it's a house. And sprucing it up is not that high on the list -- not when there are indexes to draft and avocadoes to mash (K&S had a one-day sale yesterday) and housemates to giggle at:
(That is a jack-o-lantern squeaky toy in Miss Dawg's mouth.)
Prompts 45 and 46 in Upper Rubber Boot's photo challenge, 100 Untimed Books, are "miniature" and "coming home."
The mini-book (created by Roger Culbertson and illustrated by Sarah McMenemy, 1997) contains pop-ups, including the wagging tail of a dog on a beach and the turning wheel of a bicycle.
I used to own a copy of Rosamunde Pilcher's Coming Home, and it contains scenes that remain in my memory, such as the night that Jeremy cooks steaks in butter for Judith. Though I'd forgotten that Judith had a cold until I looked up the scene again just now. (And glancing at some of the other pages online has reminded me of why the book irritated me enough to sell it.)
The Shell Seekers remains on my shelves, though. I think I picked it up at a used bookstore in Chicago, and it too has various characters returning to places they consider "home."
I didn't go to church today, what with the still-nasty cough, but I have The Shell Seekers open to a funeral scene, where the congregation is singing "For all the saints"": "It wasn't perhaps the most suitable hymn for a funeral, but ____ had chosen it because it was the only one she knew that ____ really liked." Another congregant thoroughly approves of the choice: "Music, flowers, and now a rousing hymn . . . just what _____ would have enjoyed."
