February 23, 2003

Yesterday morning I was surprised to see a name in the paper that I recognized as that of a woman I knew twenty-five years ago. She stood next to me in the first row (we're both fairly short) of the alto section of the Utrecht Student Choir, and sat in the same Medieval Latin class. From the double-barrelling of her name it was clear that she did indeed marry the man who was her sweetheart at the time, and from the things she was reported as having written it was clear that she finished her medieval history studies.

It's not as weird as reading a letter to the editor written by someone I used to babysit when he was three and I was fourteen, which also happened. There can't be two people with that name.

Writing

Well, there's at least some outline happening, though I have to bribe myself with being allowed to do the epistolary collaboration with Zeborah. I went to Haarlem on Valentine's Day, partly to restore my sanity, mostly to buy Oolong and Ceylon and Nepal Sigri tea that we'd run out of, and did sixteen chapters of outline by hand on the train, though I also spent part of the journey (two hours either way) rereading A College of Magics. Not being on a train makes it go more slowly, but it goes. I have to forget my February 25 deadline, though.

Reading

Which is mostly future reading this time. Boudewijn has ordered a book for my birthday that he's keeping secret until Tuesday, I've ordered Caroline Stevermer's The Serpent's Egg on my father's account, and my parents-in-law gave me an early birthday present of fifty euros earmarked for books.

Currently reading: Strong Poison by Dorothy Sayers, yet again, because I didn't want to read my default choice Busman's Honeymoon, When the King Comes Home by Caroline Stevermer (third or fourth time, on the to-read pile, not started yet) and some Magdalen Nabb (erratically).

Recently finished: something that called itself a thriller but read solidly as mainstream, Butterfly Eyes by Cynthia Rosi, and Asking for Trouble by Ann Granger, in which a squatter turns detective and intends to keep it up, obviously the first in a series, and indeed there are some more which I haven't been able to find in the flesh. Pity, because I'd like to read more. Reviews likely, probably this week.

The World

Orisinal (I didn't make up the name) is a collection of cute little games, suitable for children. My seven-year-olds are as good at the ones we all play as I am. They're Flash-driven and I have to use Mozilla to play, Konqueror doesn't have the right plugin, but this is a good use of Flash. <rant size="tiny">Flash is not for navigation.</rant>

Real Life

When I tried to use the ATM on Friday, it spat out my card in disgust, and the supermarket machine said "Card unsuitable". Two different chips screwed, that is. Either it's completely encrusted with grease or it's been too close to a magnet somehow. If cleaning it with rubbing alcohol doesn't work, I'll have to request a replacement (free, but annoying, it takes a few days). It's frustrating to have all that money in the bank and not to be able to touch it.

Kids

Spring holidays, a week near the end of February that always jumps on us unexpectedly. Only one plan as yet: to go to The Hague, where I have to go anyway on business, and lay flowers on Archimandrite Adriaan's grave.

I suggested that the kids make my birthday cake like I make theirs, and the twins took it up immediately (the nine-year-old was at school at the time, it being Friday afternoon). They want me for kitchen maid, though, not only because I'm the only one tall enough to reach the flour on the top shelf and "the German cookbook" (it's in Dutch, but clearly translated from the German, so it's called that) with the cake recipe. I want a chocolate cake with almond slivers and cherries and cream :-)

Took Naomi ice-skating after church. I don't skate because my knees and ankles don't like it, but she does, and her second effort ever on the ice looked, if not professional, no longer completely incompetent. Her personal record on the 400 metres is 3 minutes 45 seconds; better than I could do, I suppose, even if I did skate.

Necessary Luxuries

There's a four-pound hare in the freezer, which we will have on Tuesday "in the Italian fashion" (according to Jane Grigson), with chocolate and candied peel in the sauce.

O Tempora

The Roman Catholic Church in Oosterhout suffers, like many churches, from a lack of attendance. To fix that they've reduced the existing nine parishes to three, each with a "recognizable profile". The "High Mass" profile is traditional and old-fashioned, the "road house" profile experimental and innovative, the "living room" profile has as low a threshold as possible and caters to churchgoers who don't want all the trappings. Three of the nine existing churches will be closed down, giving each parish two buildings. The diocese (of Breda) is all in favour.

Acknowledging differences in tastes and manners seems very Anglican to me, but there it grew and wasn't made. I wonder if it will help keep people in the church; if it was my church I'd probably become Orthodox instead of getting compartmentalized. As it is, I'm Orthodox already so it doesn't apply, thank God.

Before they fly away

A completely silly dream in which the church was our house, or our house was next to the church, and representatives of every possible religion came by and demanded to be let in. I didn't let them in. Mostly they were the more vocal and recognizable ones: a Muslim teacher (male, business suit, little moustache) with a class of seven teenage girls, five with the same white lace headscarf (presumably school issue) and two with their own headscarves, one dark blue and one dark patterned. Also a sect evangelist in a horrible red paisley jacket, who wanted us to hang triangular black flags with a sickly green skull on our front door.

Also, probably part of the same dream, boarded-up windows and the smell of turps.