On the 24th, my beautiful eldest sister had her birthday. Without a computer at home, I wasn't able to wish her a happy birthday until today...
It also happened to be my dear friend, D.P.'s wedding. It was a beautiful wedding, simple and elegant, with a reverend who had a phenomenal sense of humour and often broke into song, and a intimate reception full of laughter and dancing. It really was a fabulous time. I met some lovely people that weekend, and I do hope that we stay in touch.
I am so glad that D.P. has found someone with as much wit and warmth as S.S. and I truly hope that they live long, fulfilling lives together.
And that's as sentimental as you're likely to find me.
Sunday the 25th saw an anniversary of the Hung Men Association here in Ottawa. Yes, I'm aware what that name implies. Yes, I've laughed hysterically at it already. But that doesn't mean you get to. Bear in mind, it's a Chinese association. There was a delicious Chinese lunch to attend... which I did, and gladly.
So you know, the Hung Men (or Heng Mun?) Association has very kindly allowed Wutan Canada the use of their facilities and equipment for our Lion Dance troupe.
Sunday afternoon, I returned home to have a nice long nap. Then I woke to clean house in anticipation of J.M-B.'s return. She's been in Boston for the better part of a week and a half. Before I swept, I decided to take another little break, and ended up snoozing on the couch in the living room.
Where I had the most horrifying day-dream (alright, it was night, but I was still conscious - and, one would have thought, therefore able to better control what happened in said dream). Two of my Kung Fu brothers (one my good friend, K.C.) were involved in this dream. Poor K.C. got the worst of it, and was killed. In front of me. After I had saved him from another life-threatening danger.
The dream had me in such a state, I was sobbing when the door opened and J.M-B. walked in. I had sobbed so hard, in fact, that the pillow on which my head rested was very, very wet with tears. When I tried to relate the dream to J.M-B., I started crying again.
I might need therapy.
Needless to say, I'll be writing that day-dream down. It is going to make the most depressing short story I've ever written... and that's saying something!
Speaking of writing, I didn't do any of it last week... and I didn't enjoy it at all. Taking time off is overrated. I say this every time, I realise.
I'm still not ready to face The Great Man yet. There's a whole lot of grief and angst and pain that I don't think I can deal with just yet in that book. Though, to be honest, I'll be glad when the series is finally written and I can leave it well behind me. Still, I should get back to writing again, so today I think I'll write that horrifically depressing short story, though not before I judge these other short stories I ought to be judging.
I also realise, that when I stop writing, my brain goes to the dogs. I realise that, for the second week in a row, I've forgotten the weekend Forgotten English. So, again, today you all get a two-for-one special.
They sometimes say the backend of the week, but latter end is more common.
- Rev. Alfred Easther's Glossary of the Dialect of Almondbury and Huddersfield, 1883
Late autumn; Cumbria.
- Alexander Gibson's Folk-Speech of Cumberland, 1880
The later part of a season.
- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1888
Backendish, rough and wintry, generally applied to the weather.
- Rev. M.C.F. Morris' Yorkshire Folk-Talk, 1892
From the French rogne, the scab or scurf. A term of contempt, applied to a female, as "scurvy fellow" was similarly applied to a male, and both derived from the same French origin, and neither having particular reference to size. "Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries." Macbeth.
- William Toone's Etymological Dictionary of Obsolete Words, 1831
The male [sex] organ.
- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1914.