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Jan. 31st, 2004 11:42 pmI now have a new hat. I made it myself, having found a decently sized piece of black wool, and deciding that I am sick of having a cold head. So yes, it's my first cloche hat, very well suited to the short hair. I'm not entirely pleased with it, the shape isn't quite right, but for a first (and experimental) try, it looks awesome. Just have to figure out how to decorate it now. THat shouldn't be hard, I have some black satin and velvet.... Just not sure what I want to do. Some sort of band definately, I have to cover up where the sides show that my ears stick out and look silly.
I love this song. Deeply. The reason is perhaps not all that impressive and a little bit silly. When I was 16 I was seeing someone my mother hated, and I was forbidden to see him. Being me, this didn't go over cery well, and didn't work well in practice. Sneaking out late at night is great in medieval poetry of courtly love and Shakspearean tragedies, but in practice it's kinda chilly and damp, in most cases. And takes a lot of time and effort, and on my part resulted in beatings, if I was cought or suspected. There was one night that I had just gotten a beating, or after one of the brief permissive periods contact was forbidden again, or something like that. I don't quite remember, that was nearly a decade ago. I was in bed, crying, and being my usual insomniac teenage sellf, and it came on the radio. I started absorbing the words, drawing them in like water, clinging to them as to life itself. I was melodramatic as a child, you know. THis is what happens when one grow up reading more Victorian romances than is really healthy. One begins to think that this is how one should behave in these situations. But it came to the line "and sleep comes with a knife, fork, and a spoon", and the tears stopped. The song is a good long hug from someone who loves you dearly. It still leaves me feeling calm and loved. I'm not sure where the version I have on my computer came from, it has a piano and small marching band bit in it, which adds something though I'm not sure what. The effect is still the same, and since that's really all that matters....
I"m reading Ovid for my Middle English lit class. I know it isn't medieval. Or English. So does the professor. It did, however, influence the genre we're studying, thus making it wholly relrvant--romance in the Middle Ages. It's really quite funny, and in some sections, very touching. Most of it is a series of poems either to or about his beloved, the wife of another man. In one of the early passages, he speaks to the woman, telling her how to escape from the eye of her husband at a party--get him very drunk, and escape when he passes out. Later he returns to the theme, but speaking from the husband's perspective, how he watched them the whole night, how he was not drunk or asleep, but saw the whole thing, the two speaking in gestures or double-entendre, how when they got home and he reproached her and was so furious with her until seeing her sorrow, and kissed her. And where but in another man's bed had she learned to kiss like that, pleasing as it was?
I love this song. Deeply. The reason is perhaps not all that impressive and a little bit silly. When I was 16 I was seeing someone my mother hated, and I was forbidden to see him. Being me, this didn't go over cery well, and didn't work well in practice. Sneaking out late at night is great in medieval poetry of courtly love and Shakspearean tragedies, but in practice it's kinda chilly and damp, in most cases. And takes a lot of time and effort, and on my part resulted in beatings, if I was cought or suspected. There was one night that I had just gotten a beating, or after one of the brief permissive periods contact was forbidden again, or something like that. I don't quite remember, that was nearly a decade ago. I was in bed, crying, and being my usual insomniac teenage sellf, and it came on the radio. I started absorbing the words, drawing them in like water, clinging to them as to life itself. I was melodramatic as a child, you know. THis is what happens when one grow up reading more Victorian romances than is really healthy. One begins to think that this is how one should behave in these situations. But it came to the line "and sleep comes with a knife, fork, and a spoon", and the tears stopped. The song is a good long hug from someone who loves you dearly. It still leaves me feeling calm and loved. I'm not sure where the version I have on my computer came from, it has a piano and small marching band bit in it, which adds something though I'm not sure what. The effect is still the same, and since that's really all that matters....
I"m reading Ovid for my Middle English lit class. I know it isn't medieval. Or English. So does the professor. It did, however, influence the genre we're studying, thus making it wholly relrvant--romance in the Middle Ages. It's really quite funny, and in some sections, very touching. Most of it is a series of poems either to or about his beloved, the wife of another man. In one of the early passages, he speaks to the woman, telling her how to escape from the eye of her husband at a party--get him very drunk, and escape when he passes out. Later he returns to the theme, but speaking from the husband's perspective, how he watched them the whole night, how he was not drunk or asleep, but saw the whole thing, the two speaking in gestures or double-entendre, how when they got home and he reproached her and was so furious with her until seeing her sorrow, and kissed her. And where but in another man's bed had she learned to kiss like that, pleasing as it was?
