• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Odds And Ends And Anything You Fancy

Go to CruxDreams.com
You write it Lox, and don't forget to secure the screen rights.
First line ::icon_writing:

“Here she is! In a place called Cruxton Abbey! And believe me, it is well named! Anyone captive there, gets subjected to most excruciating treatments!”

(synopsis - spolier alert) What follows is an array of plot twists, complicated subplots and continuity errors, anyone (even me) would get confused from the second episode on!:icon_pc:

And lots of : :uzi::mgwhore: and :fuck: and :tits: and :azote:
 
A central character in the acclaimed tale
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/rebecca-and-the-bloody-codes.7734/
by @Praefectus Praetorio is Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.
Her ancestral home in Yorkshire has honoured her contribution to vaccination with an art installation
https://www.itv.com/news/calendar/2...onour-vaccine-pioneering-yorkshire-aristocrat

Not sure how the art fits the story, but then I'm an ignorant old fool when it comes to this sort of stuff.
One of my historical heroines! She'd caught smallpox herself when she was in her 20s, and was badly scarred, and her brother died of it, but she was splendidly spirited woman. Her husband (she'd eloped to marry him) was made Ambassador to Constantinople, she insisted on accompanying him, with their young son, (which was pretty well unheard of) While she was there, she saw something very interesting, as she wrote in a letter to a friend in 1717:

I am going to tell you a thing, that will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal, and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless. . . . There is a set of old women, who make it their business to perform the operation, every autumn, in the month of September, when the great heat is abated. People send to one another to know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox; they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met (commonly fifteen or sixteen together) the old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox, and asks what vein you please to have opened. She immediately rips open that you offer her, with a large needle (which gives you no more pain than a common scratch) and puts into the vein as much matter as can lie upon the head of her needle, and after that, binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of shell . . . :eek:
 
One of my historical heroines! She'd caught smallpox herself when she was in her 20s, and was badly scarred, and her brother died of it, but she was splendidly spirited woman.
Hear, hear, And why I featured her (and, in a way, made her the heroine in Rebecca)!
 
Upside down
Boy, you turn me
Inside out
And round and round

1437714_1edfe72_300x_.jpgfemp.jpgScreen-Shot-2019-01-18-at-11.40.17-AM.pngC14704B.jpgups F78380B (1).jpg031CB4E.jpg7711461_037_caf5.jpg43154DB.jpgCC50E6B.jpgC1A79D7.jpg
 
One of my historical heroines! She'd caught smallpox herself when she was in her 20s, and was badly scarred, and her brother died of it, but she was splendidly spirited woman. Her husband (she'd eloped to marry him) was made Ambassador to Constantinople, she insisted on accompanying him, with their young son, (which was pretty well unheard of) While she was there, she saw something very interesting, as she wrote in a letter to a friend in 1717:

I am going to tell you a thing, that will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal, and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless. . . . There is a set of old women, who make it their business to perform the operation, every autumn, in the month of September, when the great heat is abated. People send to one another to know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox; they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met (commonly fifteen or sixteen together) the old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox, and asks what vein you please to have opened. She immediately rips open that you offer her, with a large needle (which gives you no more pain than a common scratch) and puts into the vein as much matter as can lie upon the head of her needle, and after that, binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of shell . . . :eek:
This might be of interest to people

 
On this Palm Sunday, a brilliant poem including a palm tree:
Der Fichtenbaum und die Palme
Heinrich Heine

Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam
Im Norden auf kahler Höh';
Ihn schläfert; mit weißer Decke
Umhüllen ihn Eis und Schnee.

Er träumt von einer Palme,
Die, fern im Morgenland,
Einsam und schweigend trauert
Auf brennender Felsenwand.


The Pine and the Palm
By Heinrich Heine
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

There stands a pine tree- lonesome
In the north on a barren height
In slumber. Ice and snowstorm
Wrap it in sheets of white.

It dreams about a palmtree
Far in the east, alone,
Staring, in sorrow and silence,
At a blazing wall of stone.
 
You can see both palm and pine at Logan Botanic Garden, near the Mull of Galloway

1616968144707.png

(strictly speaking, a tree-fern and a cordyline, not true palms, but further north than most people expect)
 
On this Palm Sunday, a brilliant poem including a palm tree:
Der Fichtenbaum und die Palme
Heinrich Heine

Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam
Im Norden auf kahler Höh';
Ihn schläfert; mit weißer Decke
Umhüllen ihn Eis und Schnee.

Er träumt von einer Palme,
Die, fern im Morgenland,
Einsam und schweigend trauert
Auf brennender Felsenwand.


The Pine and the Palm
By Heinrich Heine
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

There stands a pine tree- lonesome
In the north on a barren height
In slumber. Ice and snowstorm
Wrap it in sheets of white.

It dreams about a palmtree
Far in the east, alone,
Staring, in sorrow and silence,
At a blazing wall of stone.

heinrich_heine.jpg

EXCELLENT! I'm a big Heine fan. Thank you.
I humbly take the liberty of adding an alternative translation:

A spruce tree standing lonesome
on barren, northern heights
feels drowsy, a white blanket
coats it with snow and ice.

It's dreaming of a palm tree
far in an eastward place
that mourns alone in silence
on a scorching mountain's face.
 
Back
Top Bottom