Medieval History
A grant has been granted and I am on my way back to Brittany. To forests and friends and a landscape that has become legendary in the depths of my longing for it. I will be working towards a wooden, painted choir screen from a small chapel in a small town called Le Faouët. The article that is to follow will be, I realize, my first publication that seeks to introduce a work of art that has had very little play in scholarship. I'm leaving the massive stomping grounds of Chartres and the Roman de la Rose for these quieter woods. There's folk religion and liturgical space, which are familiar territory, but a new navigation of the issues in ecocriticism. If I could leave tomorrow I would.
Being there without Mac and the children will feel very strange. I will see them around corners and playing in fields and yearn for them, I'm sure. And bring back little pieces of Brittany to prepare for their return, not yet knowing how we'll do it. But I bet we will. For two years Brittany has been a space of memory and story-telling, as well as a fertile ground for teaching projects and research. Now it's about the become real again, and I breathe deep at all the possibilities.
- Return To Paris
Walked another series of familiar walks today - wanted to see moss and rivulets and trees and watch the kids remember, too. They've developed our favorite park quite a bit: the pétanque rectangle where the kids used to play Charging Knights now has...
- Thorough Thoreau
I would be willing to bet that Thoreau did not have children when taking his walks, especially six year olds who do not suffer pebbles in their shoes gladly. The fall colors are here, quite suddenly it seems, and so we take to the woods. But...
- Into The Woods
Girl Scout CampThere has been no way (good, bad, helpful, articulate, cathartic or otherwise) to write about the loss of a family friend and the process of putting my father into hospice. I still don't have a way, but to not write leaves things...
- Home. Here. Home.
That old tree in that one place.I don't know where to begin. How to separate out any emotion enough to see it and write about it. It's not that there are so many (happiness, gladness, wonder, and memory really are it), it's that they're...
- Better
Iris's little classmate is improving daily - eyes focusing, laughter, touching his mom. He's coming back, he's going to be coming back - it will take much longer than anyone wants it to ever ever, but he's going to do it. When I...
Medieval History
Making My Way Back
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| Broceliande Forest |
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| Iris at Montneuf |
- Return To Paris
Walked another series of familiar walks today - wanted to see moss and rivulets and trees and watch the kids remember, too. They've developed our favorite park quite a bit: the pétanque rectangle where the kids used to play Charging Knights now has...
- Thorough Thoreau
I would be willing to bet that Thoreau did not have children when taking his walks, especially six year olds who do not suffer pebbles in their shoes gladly. The fall colors are here, quite suddenly it seems, and so we take to the woods. But...
- Into The Woods
Girl Scout CampThere has been no way (good, bad, helpful, articulate, cathartic or otherwise) to write about the loss of a family friend and the process of putting my father into hospice. I still don't have a way, but to not write leaves things...
- Home. Here. Home.
That old tree in that one place.I don't know where to begin. How to separate out any emotion enough to see it and write about it. It's not that there are so many (happiness, gladness, wonder, and memory really are it), it's that they're...
- Better
Iris's little classmate is improving daily - eyes focusing, laughter, touching his mom. He's coming back, he's going to be coming back - it will take much longer than anyone wants it to ever ever, but he's going to do it. When I...