Rosemary for Remembrance

I was reading r/amitheasshole, as one does, and I came across somebody explaining how often you should vacuum your house. They explained that you should vacuum one day a week for each person and pet living in the house.

I am a terrible housekeeper. My parents, who were anything but, had a cleaning lady in once a week, and the only time the vacuum came out inbetween times was when something large got spilled on the floor.

It is a Southern custom, passed on from Black people to White in this case, to have black-eyed peas and collards on New Year's Day. Black-eyed peas (really beans) for luck, collards for money.

My husband, bless him, made both collards and black-eyed peas, the latter in the InstaPot. While carrying the black-eyed peas over to the stove, he tripped, fell over a trashbag*, tried to save the peas, failed, and walloped his back a good one. He is now in bed with ibuprofen, and will probably be miserably sore tomorrow.

Those peas had better get their act in gear.

*I had bravely unpacked a box and thrown away most of it. Little did I know.

I see that I haven't posted at all since August. My New Year's resolution is to get back to Dreamwidth.

Jareth, alas, never came home. I saw him briefly the night after he disappeared, then never again. We know, horrified, that some sort of beast got him.

Some weeks later, we couldn't deal with a catless house any more, so we went to the local Humane Society. While we waited, a teenager who was waiting for her dog to be spayed played with the kittens. When the Humane Society remembered we were there, the kittens were pretty much tired out.

So we all sat on the floor. My husband picked up a feather wand. A small black cat immediately started pouncing on it. Then she jumped on his shoulders. Then he tried to play with other kittens, and the small black cat immediately started jumping on the toy because it was hers. Small black cat was a bushel of personality in a cup and a half of kitten, and it was immediately clear that she was coming home with us.

Meanwhile, my son was slowly grabbing and petting another kitten. She cuddled up with him and started purring. She was a ticked Manx; a "stumpy", meaning that she had a small bobcat tail rather than being tailless. This apparently bodes well for the condition of her spine; Manx cats can have spinal problems.

We came home with the black kitten (the teenager cried, because she'd been hoping to adopt her; her parents reminded her that she had five cats at home) and the Manx. The black kitten is Diana; the Manx is Byakko. We opened the cat carrier, and Diana sprinted out and immediately took charge of the household. Byakko hid, and eventually sprinted out. Then she hid in the console radio that came with the house, which I hope someday to restore. She stayed there for two weeks.

I called the Humane Society and they told us to cuddle Byakko by force. We managed to track her down, then shut her into our son's room. Slowly, she became our son's cat; she sits in his lap. Diana was admitted to the room for regular visits; Diana became Byakko's emotional support cat. At one point Diana was asleep on our son's bed, and Byakko came out of the closet, bopped Diana on the nose, and Diana followed Byakko into the closet.

Four months later, Diana is the queen of the household; she goes where she wants, when she wants, and demands due tribute. Byakko went from following Diana around when Jim and I were sleeping, to walking freely around the house. Currently she will walk three or so feet into our bedroom, then think better of it and turn around.

It's good to have a house with cats.

I think of 1972 as not so long ago. This is a mistake. Some of the general things I've noticed:

In the intro, she grumpily gives metric conversions "since Great Britain is soon to change to the metric system". Ironically, these are from metric to ounces, although the reader of this cookbook would probably be wanting to do the reverse conversion. At least this let me figure out that "a teacup" as she uses it is the same as a US measuring cup. The difference between a spoonful, a dessertspoonful, and a tablespoonful, is going to be tricker.

The cheerful assumptions about what your butcher will do for you. You can specify that you want a duck less than three months old. If your butcher doesn't know how to make up a crown roast of lamb, you can explain it to him and he'll do it, including wrapping strips of salt pork around the end of each Frenched rib to keep them from charring. Nowadays, I've always seen the ribs' char as part of the picture of the dish, although I know they used to sell, in the US, elaborate little party hats for the end of each rib in a crown roast. And your butcher will know whether he is selling Southdown or Welsh lamb.

"Dill. The dried seeds and fresh leaves are widely used on the continent, but it is mainly known in England for its pharaceutical use in dill water for settling babies' stomachs. The feathery leaves may be used instead of fennel, the flavour of which it closely resembles. It prefers a dry soil and grows well in a sunny corner of the garden." Er. What were they flavoring cucumber pickles with?

Her mayonnaise has 1/2 tsp sugar, 1 egg yolk, 1/2 pint olive oil, 1 tbsp lemon juice/wine vinegar.

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Oh, Lord. I was just doing a quick google to see what the real proportions should be and came on this gem: "Neutral Flavored Oil — By neutral flavored oil, I mean use an oil that is light in flavor. Quite a bit of oil is added to make mayonnaise, so it’s important to like the flavor of the oil you use.

For a clean tasting mayonnaise use something like grape seed, safflower, avocado or canola oil. Since posting the recipe, quite a few readers have asked about olive oil in mayonnaise.

You can use olive oil, but it can be a little overpowering so I prefer to use a brand that’s light and fruity. I think robust or spicy olive oils would be too much. You might also consider only replacing half of the oil called for in the recipe with olive oil and use something more neutral for the rest."

"Clean tasting mayonnaise" indeed.

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"Parsley sauce" looks incredibly dull. Make a rich white sauce; to 1 pint of the sauce add three tablespoons of chopped parsley and some butter. Serve.

As late as 1972 she has the horror of onions and garlic tasting too strong. Her tomato sauce recipe calls for two heaped tablespoons of minced garlic onion to two pounds of tomatoes, and cautions you to "put the grated onions into a heavy saucepan, barely cover them with water, and let them simmer for five minutes, by which time the water should nearly have disappeared. This takes the strong odour out of the onions but is not necessary if Spanish onions are used." The recipe is seasoned with 1 bay leaf, 1 sprig of basil, and 1 stick of cinnamon.

She has a recipe for "Batter pudding" that's what my family called "Eggs David Eyre" from the New York Times Cookbook, and what other people call "Dutch Babies".

Brandy Cream

Simple but expensive to make this is a real party piece.
4 tablespoons icing sugar, juice of 1 large lemon, 4 tablespoons brandy, 2 pints fresh thick cream.

Strain the lemon juice over the sugar and stir until the sugar is dissolved. Add the brandy and stir in the cream. Whisk until stiff but not too stiff and serve cold in a glass dish or individual jelly glasses.

This is the first time in years I've remembered to nominate. This year, it's all poetry, all the time.
Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came - Robert Browning

• Worldbuilding (Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came)


• Childe Roland


• That hoary cripple with malicious eye

Kubla Khan; or A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

• Worldbuilding (Kubla Khan)


• Kubla Khan (Kubla Khan; or A Vision in a Dream

Pippa Passes - Robert Browning

• Pippa


• Luigi


• Phene


• Chiara

I was overwhelmed by wonderful things this year. I couldn't possibly pick a favorite; they're so distinct, and so amazing in their separate ways. I wish I could be more eloquent than I am, because these are marvels.

For Megan Whalen Turner's Thief series, two stories about a side character, Phresine, one of which also features Heiro. Both have wonderful voices for Phresine, and both catch the way that Turner tells stories, through allusion and revelation. Both of them have surprises (at least to me), so I'm being intentionally vague. Both have great funny moments.

words like water into dry earth. Phresine tells two instructive stories to Attolia, and the consequences roll out slowly. The prose is up there with Turner's and Le Guin's in saying a great deal in spare well-chosen words. As far as I'm concerned, this story is now canon.

“I think the Mede ambassador might appreciate this story better than I,” remarked the queen, unsmiling. “Perhaps you might tell it to him instead.”

“It wasn’t him it was meant for,” said Phresine, knotting the last of her errand threads together, “and besides we’ve not yet reached the end."

Heiro's Other Earrings, whose author does a masterful job of using earrings and clothes as emotional turning-points of the story. And they put in a plot point I'd specifically called out as the sort of thing I like, somebody climbing up to a window. The emotional journey is sweet and funny.

Phresine’s eyes sparkled with approval. “Ileia has a balcony.”
“That’s--that sounds very nice, I do love architecture.”
Phresine laughed. Heiro had to admit, it was a bit of a cackle. “She retires early. She doesn’t seem to have the stamina for a ball like this.”

For Madness, three(!!!) stories about the Geefs brothers' Satan statues. Go have a look before you read the stories.

Satan's sonnets. Holy cow, a Spenserian sonnet sequence. I threw that idea in as an example of "write anything you want", and holy cow, this author delivered. There are some very clever uses of meter, and the point-of-view is wonderfully conveyed. There's also a subtle change of voice between the first statue and the second.

Go, hide with bright parades of sovereignty;
Deny the truth; that I am liberty.

All across the thready sky A Pygmalion story, surprising and eloquently told. The author threw in a third Geefs statue of a sleeping angel, one I'd never heard of. Some spectacular moments of poetic prose.

I made the wings, straining behind your back—the wings, wrapped in flame, that move me and make me tremble. I made the eyes, the mouth, and the closed fists. I made the curve of the spine, the points of light, the feet still black with fire. I made the withered heart. Sharp, sharp, I made the chain, the sadness in your brow, the pain in your hands.

Heat. Not just Satan's point of view, but Satan's point of view as a statue, feeling the sensation of being carved. Excellent characterization, with sensuality.

He was chained in place because he allowed it. First he allowed himself to be chiseled from marble, for he showed himself to all who would see him, settling into the minds of two brothers who would never be the same once the idea of him had seized them. The rest was as he allowed it. He did not chafe against the chain, because he knew of its existence as he made his presence known. He expected every single scrape of the tools against the block of marble he would eventually be set free from. If the second sculptor envisioned chains, he would allow the formality.

He would be seen. He was already seen.

Well. It's certainly being a year, isn't it? I know you're as exhausted as I am. Every year I say this, but I mean it even more than most years: Have fun. Write the fic you have always wanted to read. Go to the farthest frontiers of your imagination and wallow in whatever makes you happiest. Write your id. Write that fic nobody ever wrote for you. Write the fic that scratches all your itches. Let your freak flag fly. This is the year for it. Nothing you write can be weirder than this year we're all suffering through. AUs? In Spaaaace? Everybody is microorganisms? Blobfish/shark forbidden love? Half the cast from the 1920s and the other half from the Ancien Régime? Let's see it. A sonnet cycle? Wow, are you a better writer than I am.

In general, operatic and melodramatic conventions make me happy. Masked balls. Swordfights. Whispering behind fans. Leaping out of windows. Climbing up into windows.

I am happy to get gen or shipfic, anything from G to XX-rated.

Having said "let your freak flag fly", well, I'm exaggerating a bit.
Do not want: Cruelty. Emotional manipulation. Rape (dubcon is fine as long as everybody is secretly enjoying themselves). Urine or feces or vomit. Forced infantilization/ forced re-gendering. Childplay.

My requests this year:

The Queen's Thief. These books are mostly about Eugenides being clever and dumb in distressingly equal proportions. Eugenides is a great leading character, but there are so many interesting side characters! I've asked for Phresine and Heiro because they have influence in the plot without taking direct action. What are they doing when they aren't managing Eugenides? Do they know each other? Do they work on parallel paths without ever directly interacting? Are they friends?

Cyrano de Bergerac. This is pretty much my id-play. I want to shake Roxane, Cyrano, and Christian for various reasons, but the panache of it all hits me hard. I've only requested Cyrano, because I love him so much, but feel free to add in anybody else you want. What I love about Cyrano is his passion, his poetry, and his rage. What I don't love about him is How can you be such an incredible dumbass, kiss the girl already! It's not a tragedy without the triangle, of course. Just write me Cyrano's viewpoint. Perhaps it isn't about his love life at all; perhaps it's about how bad the local bakery is, or his last big duel, or his opinions about Paris. If it's about his love, that's fine, too. Let me see inside his head.

The Geefs Brothers' Satan Sculptures, Le génie du mal. I mean, duuuuuuude. Just, duuuuuude. Go apeshit. I have faith in you.

My son is the only son of an only son of an only son, which is to say he's the only [surname] going back three generations. Except for his elder sister, but she doesn't count. (note: his father is the eldest in his generation, but has three sisters.)

His teachers explained to my son that, as he was the eldest in his generation, he was the authority and responsible for his cousins. His paternal grandfather indicated the same thing.

My son was somewhere between bemused and horrified; in any case, he has no interest in exerting a hypothetical authority over cousins and second cousins he barely knows. Nor does he find it plausible that he has any sort of authority over his sister.

But, as I repeat, multiple people, including non-relatives, have told him that he was.

Traditions can be baad.

I assume you've all seen by now that Disney warned photosensitive people about strobing in the new movie.

Eyewitness reports are coming in now. According to two separate witnesses I've seen, the last fifty minutes of the movie are strobing. One person with basilar migraines commented that if she'd known she would have had to look away from that much of the movie, she wouldn't have bothered going. Another person was warned by his doctor not to watch it until he could do it on a small screen in a well-lit room, and even then it would be chancy.

This is a deliberate stylistic choice, it's one with severe consequences for many people, and nobody said "Uh, are there other choices here?"

From an article in The Atlantic:

It wasn’t always thus. According to Andrew Smiler, a psychologist who has studied the history of Western masculinity, the ideal late-19th-century man was compassionate, a caretaker, but such qualities lost favor as paid labor moved from homes to factories during industrialization. In fact, the Boy Scouts, whose creed urges its members to be loyal, friendly, courteous, and kind, was founded in 1910 in part to counter that dehumanizing trend. Smiler attributes further distortions in masculinity to a century-long backlash against women’s rights. During World War I, women proved that they could keep the economy humming on their own, and soon afterward they secured the vote. Instead of embracing gender equality, he says, the country’s leaders “doubled down” on the inalienable male right to power, emphasizing men’s supposedly more logical and less emotional nature as a prerequisite for leadership.

(Note: this is not the main thrust of the article, which I'm enjoying.)