I posted the following announcement at Stories of Arda, and I'm copying it here for those who might not read there these days:
Word came just this morning that Dreamflower (Barbara) passed from this world on the 15th of March.
Recently, a reader emailed me about finding Dreamflower among my "author favorites page" recommendations, and really enjoying her stories, "especially her tale about 'Trotter', Bilbo's Uncle Hildifons."
I cut-and-pasted that paragraph out of that email into an email to Barbara. Not long after, she replied. She noted that she'd been having some health problems that had prevented her from writing. She also said, "But this has raised my spirits, to know my stories are still being read and appreciated is a real boost." She greatly appreciated every review that her readers left on her stories, and from the tone of her email, she was hoping to write more.
She wrote reams of fanfiction, much of it posted here at Stories of Arda, including many stories set in her own Eucatastrophe, a term Tolkien defined as "the true form of the fairy-tale, and its highest function" as part of his assertion that "all complete fairy-stories must have [a Happy Ending]". (See Tolkien Gateway's article for more.) Her vision of Middle-earth was ultimately hopeful.
As the (title? subject line?) says, I'm comfort-reading fanfic today. I started with Shirebound's wonderful Cormallen story, Shelter. (Does LJ allow ff-net or SoA links to be included in posts? I don't know. But the story came up in a web search just now, so you can find it that way.) The story is so full of love and affection and comfort and insightful character interactions, I am enjoying it immensely.
(edited because I left off a "close parenthesis" as I so often do)
I don't come to LJ very often; I've just come through a period when eyestrain has hit hard and rather quickly when reading online. LJ is one of the worst offenders, and I'm not sure if there's a way to adjust the settings to make it friendlier on these rather inconvenient eyes of mine. (Shades of Monty Python and the Holy Grail: I hear an echo of "I'm not dead yet! I'm getting better...")
Sweet Ollie died just after 5 a.m. this morning. I never got the chance to book a vet appointment, since I had my alarm set for 7 a.m. to do my best to grab one of a limited number of urgent-care appointments.
It's just as well, seeing how ill he was. He died quietly at home. (Well, he woke me up by mewing, six rapid, high-pitched meows, the same way he'd call for help when lost or afraid. By the time I'd jumped out of bed and hurried to him, he was already gone.)
If we'd taken him to the vet, he might have died of the stress of being transported in a cat carrier, poor little fellow. Somehow, that sounds much worse to me. He was a friendly feral kitten who forgave us for trapping, neutering, and releasing him last March. He was so friendly, sometimes he'd wait on the front porch even when the bowls of cat food were full, just for someone to come out and pet him. He had long, silky black hair, jade-green eyes and a ready purr.
When October came, the not-so-wee hobbits persuaded us that we must take him in. He was already in the habit of strolling in through the front door when it opened (though he'd turn around pretty quickly and stroll out again). They cited stories of people (like foolish teens looking for excitement) abusing black cats around Halloween time. And so we cat-napped him off our front stoop.
That seems deceptive. I mean, in my notifications, I see a bunch of familiar names have popped up with awards attached ("blog anniversary", for example). So I started visiting and dropping comments... but then I noticed the dates of the latest posts, and most of them appear to be abandoned or inactive.
Sigh. What gives, Platform? (I will refrain from naming the platform, but I'm sure you know what I mean.)
I always seem to come back here when I'm anxious or worried. I need to form a better habit of coming back here when I'm happy and/or have good news.
Youngest Cat, whom we first got to know as a feral kitten, has suddenly fallen ill. I really hope we can get an urgent care appointment for him with the vet. (It's like deja vu all over again. The deal is, you start calling when the switchboard opens at 7 a.m., hoping all the slots--which are for the following day--won't fill up before you get one.)
I've been so tired lately, I haven't had much energy to do much beyond seeing to basic needs (i.e. food, laundry, and that's pretty much it). I'm not sure why. Trouble-shooting in itself takes energy. Anyhow, here's a hello-and-how-are-you-doing-these-days?
...with the old (BBC?) version of All Creatures Great and Small playing in the background. Yes, I'm officially retired. But again yes, I sometimes do a favour here or there. I must admit, the pocket money is a bonus temptation, even though it's small these days. (Still, I would hardly expect to see as much pocket money from editing an hour or two a day as I used to when I was working six to twelve hours a day, depending on the scope of the project and the deadline. I only accept small projects and long deadlines these days...)
The project I just completed will pay a vet bill, ironically enough.
...and the puppies are sleeping. I should be sleeping too. (And will be, quite soon.)
Did I mention we are dog-sitting for a relative who is away this summer due to work demands? It fills a gap; puppies are delightful, even if they're not my puppy.
(for shirebound, slightly belated, but well-meant for all that)
I seem to recall Pippin and Merry visiting Shirebound’s workplace and wreaking hobbit havoc some time ago, and so this little vignette came to mind when I read her post about the Anniversary on May the First. (Of course, if I’m misremembering the author of those mischief-filled visits, apologies, and hopes that this small story will bring a smile anyhow.) Pippin and Diamond pay a flying visit to Shirebound, with a little aid from a certain wizard.
(Two small figures appear suddenly and silently in Shirebound’s kitchen.)
Sh-h-h-h-h! Tip-toe, my love, my heart, my own, my Diamond-bright. She’s asleep!
They’re asleep, ra-ther. And I’ll have you know, I can walk as softly as the next hobbit...
Yes, they’re sleeping. So hush – we don’t want to wake them, do we?
Mercy, no, that would spoil the surprise!
Isn’t she sweet? Look, the tip of her tail is wagging in her sleep.
She must be such a happy little creature... you seem quite proud of your namesake.
If you must know, I’m practically chuffed to bits! She’s such a winsome little thing...
O look... Now her feet are twitching and her eyes are winking – she looks as if she’s having such a lovely dream!
We have temporarily filled the dog-sized void in our household by puppy-sitting a relative's dogs whilst the relative is away for work-related reasons through the summer and fall. Perhaps I should say "puppy" because one of the two young dogs is roughly 100 lbs (an Irish wolfhound). His "sister", a spaniel, is about the same age but half his size — she can walk under his stomach without crouching.
Life is lively around here again and distracts us from the ache of losing Panda.
Content caution: Character death – and what comes after Note: The characters are not my own but are only borrowed, and I receive no compensation for fanfic writing. (If I did, I might have retired much sooner, LOL)
Arriving at the Feast
Dedicated to Panda Mae [Pandemonium ‘Mayhem’] and Zoe and Jiffy [‘Miss Jiff’] and Mwg, (not to mention Charles the Dickens, who used to love to plink away on the keyboard and leave cryptic messages) and Panda [Larner’s Pandora’s Hope] and Brendi [Larner's Brandybuck Lawyer], and all the rest who are waiting at the other end of the Rainbow Bridge
Two figures amble hand-in-hand under the smiling Sun, their toes enjoying the feeling of warm sand that gives way to cool, dewy grass as they travel onward, towards the sounds of song and laughter, heralding a grand celebration just over the hill. As they crest the rise, many voices hail them, some standing out from amidst the general joyous tumult.
‘Frodo! Took you long enough, old fellow!’ Merry shouts, waving, Pippin at his side – and yet, somehow, both of them are at the same time encircled by those of their families who have also already found their way to the Feast. ‘You don’t know what a difficult time I’ve had, restraining Pippin from eating all the best bits and drinking all the beer and saving none for you!’
He grins at Frodo, ignoring Pippin's yelp of protest, Hoi! – which Diamond neatly interrupts in any event by directing a sausage roll at her beloved’s open mouth. Hobbits have excellent aim, as everyone knows.
The time is simultaneously ticking by painfully slowly and galloping by distressingly fast.
We took Panda on a day trip to visit her beloved ocean and favorite beach last Sunday, and she let us know it's time. As her best-beloved person said, "I wish we could do it here, now, surrounded by her people, all petting her at the same time, listening to the waves, feeling the caresses of the sea breeze, enjoying the sunshine on the grass..."
But the best we can do is to surround her with her people again, in a quiet room, loving on her and all petting her at once until she sleeps at last.
Panda has come to appointments with us with a certain provider for the last 3 or 4 years. The provider (she gives her patients a "good" piece of chocolate as a reward after each visit, which puts her up there in my book) always gave Panda Cheerios as a treat at the start of the appointment, making this person one of Panda's favorite people to visit.
Today, she fed Panda half her lunch of pork chops and potatoes instead of Cheerios, and she said a long goodbye at the front door after the appointment as we were leaving. A kind of "see you at the Feast" moment, like the scenes I sometimes write in hobbit-centered stories, only this one played out in real life.
I see that when I was posting here regularly, some time ago, we still had our first Giant Schnauzer, Zoe. Losing her to complications three days after surgery that was meant to give her another year or a few years of life was traumatic. When the new puppy, aptly named Pandemonium (Panda for short), came into our lives (because the kids insisted, not because I wanted another dog; Zoe broke my heart), I resolved that I would be kind to her, but I wouldn't let myself love another dog. I couldn't. I couldn't face another loss like that one.
But you know what they say about the best intentions...
So now we are at the end stage of the "puppy's" life, after ten all-too-short years of joy and laughter and love. She's so brave. She doesn't understand what is happening to her, and sometimes she comes and leans against my leg as if asking me to make it all better, and I can't, though I desperately wish I had magical healing powers, or something.
Or maybe I should just say, "visiting past haunts, and recovering old memories, and lingering for a bit, trying to catch the hint of an elusive, half-forgotten fragrance..."
Wow - edited Please note that this entry was written when we were deep in a cult. We left it far behind more than a decade ago, and we stopped homeschooling, and I threw myself into working to try to help our teens with college costs since the cult thought it was better for members to tithe their money to the "church" than to put it in a college fund.
My apologies to anyone I offended by expressing the narrow views we were programmed to espouse. I have no excuses, or only poor ones, but our grown kids have told me they forgive me and understand how we got pulled in, and they respect the work we've done to repair our relationships and own our sh*t.
***** I just learned that the creator of a homeschool curriculum we used some years ago has posted an appeal for help. It seems that he ran for office in 2010, and now three of his grown children have been targeted by members of the opposing party for political, educational, and occupational persecution. Incredible.
If you want specifics you can go to the link. It's sheer thuggery, no matter what party affiliation is involved. (I'm not associated with either of the parties mentioned, just in case you were wondering. I have no dog in the fight except for a belief that this kind of behavior seriously threatens our freedom of choice.)
Whatever happened to academic freedom?
It's not unusual for political candidates to attack each other in personal terms, rather than just on the issues. But I thought families were off limits, more or less?
sick