Things I have done for my country today:
Saturday morning chez moi: even on such a momentous one, laundry calls. I want to wear my clothes.
What a week it’s been — not even a week, actually, because I know I blogged Saturday. Guess I’d better update y’all. TW for severe emetophobes.
There’s only so much you can say about partial hospitalization.
Literally. There is only so much you are allowed to talk about. Confidentiality is one of the key values. With that said, here is what my week has been so far.
I need to put this here. I need to tell you that it’s about anorexia, anxiety, and garb, and all the things that have gone with it for me, including a recent (but very itty bitty) relapse. If you don’t want to read about my literal navel-gazing, that’s fine, move ‘long. Love you.
There is one death that is all but certain to hit us this year, and it’s one I’m amazed we’ve escaped thus far. You may recall that back in July, our vet found a mass in Adalyne’s vast abdomen and noted some weight loss.
As usual with Darkover/MZB content, this is your warning! If you do not want to read about it, please scroll on by, however you are finding this post.
Here is the most important truth of all, a response to Moira Greyland’s concerns and her reason for keeping silent for so long.
She is quoted in a Guardian article thus:
Greyland, writing to the Guardian via email, said that she had not spoken out before “because I thought that my mother’s fans would be angry with me for saying anything against someone who had championed women’s rights and made so many of them feel differently about themselves and their lives. I didn’t want to hurt anyone she had helped, so I just kept my mouth shut”.
I’m not angry at Moira Greyland. I’m not even mildly miffed. What I feel is sorrow that any fanbase could silence someone with something so valid to say. So no, I won’t be targeting any victims here. The only target I have for any investigation I do personally is Mrs Bradley herself.
There’s a line somewhere in Thendara House to the effect of “In order to properly renounce something, you’ve got to understand what it is you’re renouncing.” I’m not sure who says it. I think it’s in the context of Jaelle talking with Cholayna about the first twelve years of her life (Darkovan years; in Earth years it’s 14.4 years, maths at the end, probably wrong).
For all the problems inherent in the Darkover novels, given their author was a child molester married to a child molester and their children suffered, there are things in there that I’m not sure how to process. I don’t want to throw away something that really woke me to the realities of relationships between men and women. I swore the Renunciates’ Oath, which I know I have to substitute with something that applies better to my world and, um, wasn’t authored by Walter Breen. Darkover through the lenses of its rebels is my kind of place: the people of the Forbidden Tower and their reforms, the Renunciates, those people. You could argue Regis/Linnea/Danilo are in their own way rebellious, though so much a part of the fabric of Darkovan society that it’d be difficult to cast them out.
But this is not that post.
This post is about what to keep and what to throw away, and how you go about determining that.
Her name is Emmy. I already knew an Emily, and she didn’t seem like an Emily. So Emmy she became and Emmy she remains — except when she’s Mimmy, or Mimser, or Fuzzle. Ginger of gingers. She’s good-tempered. Eight months, one week, one day old. Enormous for her age, but slowing her growth, so maybe she won’t be a fifteen-pound behemoth by her first birthday. (Maybe.) Plays like there’s no tomorrow. Is there a tomorrow in her world?