In Memoriam

Sometimes one is silent because one isn't ready for the truth. Mum let slip on Thursday that Auntie Zara (my mother's aunt) had died. If I had stayed in Melbourne a day longer, I could have gone to her funeral, but in the end, the family forgot to tell me she died. It wasn't real to me until this morning. I guess I wasn't ready to farewell her until this morning.

Auntie Zara had an awful old age and a terrible death, so I'm not going to tell you about that. I haven't seen her since she became ill, because she was proud and didn't want anyone except Mum to see her. This means that my memories of her are always of her at her best, impeccably dressed, backing Uncle Sol to the hilt.

Now they're both gone, Uncle Sol and Auntie Zara: they were a formidable team. She was one of the sharp women in the family, who appreciated proper behaviour and was warmly supportive of those she loved. She always had time for me at family functions and I seldom saw her cutting side. I suspect this is because Uncle Sol was very much the love of her life, and he and I got on admirably. He loved seeing me do well and seeing me fight my battles, for he was different to most people (Kokoda Track veteran, one of the team that saved the Yarra - and much more - he was also, as an aside, the reason I can cook for celiacs - he was so important in our family that we can all cook for celiacs) and we both loved arguing politics. We never agreed, for he was quite right wing. Auntie Zara loved it that we could get up a spirited argument, embarrass the rest of the family, and then go about our business, best of friends. She said that he needed someone in my generation who would stand up to him, and so she approved of me. Her approval was quiet, but it got me through more than one difficult time. Knowing someone cares is sometimes enough.

Zara Rose was one of those women of her generation who did paid work for her full working life. She was a marvellous housewife and good cook (bad cooks in my family are rare and somewhat abashed) and did all the family events in style, but she worked nine to five and demanded respect for it. As I said, she was a proud woman. She was also, as I understand it, an extraordinary good secretary.

When I got my first job she explained that, even when I married, I should get a job and stick with it. Self-respect and a fine wardrobe were her official reasons*. She dressed exquisitely, and told me once that it made her happy to be able to buy the things she wanted, when she wanted them. She understood that this latter was a privilege (and it pulled snide remarks from other family members) and that she would have a comfortable life even on Uncle Sol's income alone, but she fought for that independence and that self-respect.

She's gone, and I miss her, but I'm very relieved she's no longer suffering.





*Just once, I got her unofficial reasons, which included loving her work and her life being expanded by it. The family didn't accept that, so she was silent about it around us. Mum agreed with her, which is, I suspect, one of the reasons Mum was allowed to visit right to the end.

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Today is, alas, a high pain day and a high allergy day (what can I say except that I'm greedy). I shall do my work and do my exercises and handle the pain and do that library visit tomorrow. I shall also whinge, for I am extraordinarily good at whingeing. I shall drink much tea and I shall accomplish extraordinary things, for why else does one get pain and allergies both at once?

My eyes look astonishingly shadowed, so I was thinking about turning into a nineteenth century heroine, or maybe a vampire. I'm too chubby to become a vampire and nineteenth century heroines led quite dull lives most of the time, so I shall refrain from becoming either. This means I have no idea what I'm becoming. If anyone has worked it out, explain in the comments so that we can all nod wisely and say "aha."

ETA: the source of the shadows and pain is Weather. I'm still becoming something though, and am still open to suggestions as to what.

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Another Continuum thought (because I need a break from a book before I get snarky about it and I actually like this book and this author, but the naming systems totally suck - I don't know why some writers don't see that shortcuts will be noticed in their fantasy universe and that those shortcuts will make people like me want to wax sarcastic):

When we do our voyages of discovery (as I've been doing, recently) we should not be looking for approval of every stage from people who have had to live with these things. We may one day catch up with their level of understanding, if we work hard, but they should not be forced to applaud our little efforts to encourage us along. I should not have to relive racism because someone is working gradually through racism 101 and my friends should not have to applaud my very slow progress into understanding the life matters they learned years ago.

Any applause given to one's intellectual development when the people around you have been through the whole thing personally and have scars to prove it is a free gift and a big one and should be appreciated, not just taken as ones' due. This is why I mostly don't chart my progress on matters of understanding. This week was a bit strange, and so I did, but it wasn't for any "You're doing well" or "Aren't you clever" but because I felt exceptionally stupid and had finally found out why and thought my stupidity was worth documenting. I don't guarantee not to be stupid on other matters, or to have advanced beyond stupidity on these.

This post didn't come from Continuum at all, in fact, but from the need for some folks to be applauded for basics. It's like rewarding a bright student for learning the alphabet when equally bright students are reading novels - it feels sad, or it feels as if we despair of them ever reaching novels and are just happy to see them master the alphabet. In a way, it feels as if we're admitting the applaudees have a learning problem and are helping them overcome it. In matters of bigotry and prejudice and privilege I already know I have a learning disfunction. I need to be pushed harder to sort it, not encouraged for achieving tiny, early steps.

And what I'm saying here is thank you to my friends, for realising this and not damning my small learning this week with praise. I appreciate it.

Reporting in (not quite defeated)

I had such hopes yesterday! Alas, for reality. High pain changed things.

The good news is that I've now read five of the fifteen books I need to have read by Wednesday/Thursday. I discovered that two others don't actually need to be read (for my current purposes, one volume in a trilogy suffices). This means I only have eight more books to read, only two of which need to be done by tomorrow night. This means that tomorrow has less reading.

If it weren't that the weather-migraine has reached the eyes, it would only be one book tomorrow, but the evening is young and it still may be possible after I've taken a break. I've been taking notes as I go and (until the eyes stopped permitting it) writing them up, so a quarter of the article from the first set of books (the ones I finish tomorrow night) is done and the rest is well on the way. One of my four articles. Yay!

Finishing the overdue article isn't possible today, though I adjusted the opening a little. It's at the stage where it needs stern critical thought. I can manage a lot of things on a high pain day, but stern critical thought isn't one of them. I couldn't send the emails about the interviews, either, for it struck me that I don't know if there have been replies until my email is fixed, so they will have to wait.

Still, today has been productive. Tomorrow will have to be more productive, but this strange build-up of work will just keep happening until I catch up. When I catch up, then it will be dissertation and footnotes all the way for a few weeks. It's the joy of the PhD final year. One of the many.

I shall take my aches to bed for an hour and come back and finish just one more book, I think, regardless of pain levels. That way today will have been full of books and tomorrow full of writing. It will all work, but one editor will need an apology. Not good, but not as bad as it could have been.

ETA: Now that I can see again, I've assessed my notes and they actually have the right balance of information already (which surprised me - I thought I needed more examples). I don't have to read eight more books at all, only six. One article has all the notes it needs and all the remaining novels can wait until Monday. Sunday, then, is all about catching up on writing. This is a big relief, for even I knew that there was too much work and too little time.