The Christmas panic is at its peak. Let the buyer beware … that in the end most presents become waste.
As a serial ‘no-gifter’ and ‘re-gifter’, I want to share this image (and the new word ‘buyerarchy’ … ) with you. Its message may help take some stress out of things, if not now then next year.
I’ve finished reading Hanya Yanagihara’s novel A Little Life. Oh my, what a book. Such compelling reading. I don’t know what else to say, except: Just read it.
I found two punctuation metaphors this time.
Willem always thought they clearly looked like brothers — they had their parents’ light, bright hair, and their father’s gray eyes, and both of them had a groove, like an elongated parentheses, bracketing the left side of their mouths that made them appear easily amused and ready to smile — but no one else seemed to notice this.
He was so discombobulated that he forgot that Willem was already onstage when he called, but when Willem called him back at intermission, he was still in the same place on the bed, in the same comma-like shape, the phone still cupped beneath his palm.
On the occasion of the signing of the Armistice of 11 November 1918, Thomas Hardy wrote the poem ‘And there was a great calm’. This is the last stanza.
IXCalm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;Some could, some could not, shake off misery:The Sinister Spirit sneered: ‘It had to be!’And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, ‘Why?’
The word ‘aftermath’ springs to mind.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘-math’ is related to ‘mow’ and the word ‘aftermath’ has been in use since the end of the 15th century, meaning ‘a second crop or new growth of grass […] after the first has been mown or harvested’.
A century and a half later the word is also used figuratively to mean ‘a period or state of affairs following a significant event, esp. when that event is destructive or harmful’.
The Christian holidays All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day (on 1 and 2 November, respectively) are to me inevitably associated with the chrysanthemum, a flower that blooms in autumn.
By (or on) 1 or 2 November, most people in Belgium — where I grew up — will make sure to visit the graves of deceased family members and place chrysanthemums on the gravestones.
In my childhood, these chrysanthemums used to be large, pale, globe-shaped or spidery flowers. Nowadays, they’re round bushes with button-like flowers and strong colours.
The word ‘chrysanthemum’ comes to English, via Latin, from the Greek for ‘gold’ and ‘flower’.
I went to a literary dinner with Danish author Sissel-Jo Gazan at Denmark House here in Melbourne a while back, and I’ve been reading a couple of her novels since — The Dinosaur Feather and The Arc of the Swallow. These two novels have some characters in common and they both mix crime with science and academia. I’m not keen on the author’s writing style but the storylines have kept me reading.
The ‘swallow’ of the second novel is a little wooden sculpture Marie, one of the main characters, receives as a gift because, when they first met, she had reminded the giver of a baby swallow he had rescued as a child. But he had also quickly learnt that swallows are tough birds, trekking the distance from Africa to Europe and back again every year.
I had only just started reading the book when I stumbled upon another punctuation metaphor …
Søren scooped Lily up, placed her on the sofa next to Anna and left to hang up his jacket in the hallway. In the doorway he turned and said, ‘By the way, we don’t need to organise someone to look after Lily until she’s better. You can go to the faculty whenever you like. I’ll take care of her.’ Anna looked like a question mark, but when Søren added, ‘I’ve just quit my job,’ her expression turned into an exclamation point.
It smells of spring today!
The jasmine on the garden wall is starting to flower and the first buds on the bare grapevines in the courtyard have opened.
Outside my window, the magnolia is in full flower. It’s not my favourite tree but it came with the house. So far it’s doing well, except in summer when its leaves get burnt on the first 30-plus degree day …
Magnolia trees were named after the French botanist Pierre Magnol (1638–1715). In his book Prodromus Historiae Generalis Plantarum, in Quo Familiae Plantarum per Tabulas Disponuntur (1689), Magnol was the first botanist to group plants into families according to characteristics of their roots, stalks, flowers and seeds. This was an important step forward for botany, and other botanists, including Carl Linnaeus, improved on Magnol’s groundbreaking classification.
In 1703, another botanist, Charles Plumier, named a flowering tree in Martinique after Magnol. This was the first magnolia. Carl Linnaeus later also adopted the name for the genus Magnolia.