the guest house

On Tuesday, I went to see Dr E. It was mainly getting reacquainted, or perhaps I should acquainted for the first time, given how resistant I was to actually telling her anything before. I'm not terribly keen on it now, but I've realised that there are worse things. 

She asked what I wanted to get out of it. I said a lot of things, but what I came to in the end was that it would be good to be able to initiate difficult talks with L without making him feel like it's solely for his benefit, which I think I do. Maybe not intentionally, or at least not with conscious intention, but it's still not good. So. There's that to start with. 

From here: "This tractography image was made to help the neurosurgeon to choose the right approach for his neurosurgical planning. The surgery was at risk of damaging the visual field, as well as damaging complex sensory and visuospatial functions such as orientation in space, perception and motor functions."

The Guest House 

Rumi

translated by Coleman Barks

tu fu to li po

After school:

"John, can we go see the dinosaurs?"

"Do you have homework to do?"

"Maybe." 

"Maybe?"

"If I say I do, are you going to say no to dinosaurs?"

He's getting sneakier...but not a lot sneakier. You can guess how that one turned out. There was also no to swimming, jumping in ponds, getting ice cream (isn't it past ice cream season?), buying bats to keep as pets, going immediately to the zoo to satisfy a sudden bat craving, going to the library to look up everything on bats instead of doing homework, no, not even if he did a report on bats because I don't think Mrs N would consider it an adequate replacement for fractions. Polar bears and making a video of him baking cake: also not a replacement for fractions. 

When I said we could probably go to the library after he did his homework, he said: "Instead of is way more fun than after." So often true. 

-

I'm not entirely sure that Carolyn Kizer actually wrote this; I've seen different attributions, and I've never seen the poem anywhere but online, despite my best attempts to find out what books it's in. I think it's her though. 

Tu Fu (or Du Fu (I don't know which version of their names is more correct)) and Li Po (or Li Bai) were 8th century Chinese poets. 

Tu Fu to Li Po

Carolyn Kizer

upon a peak in darien

This one I would probably never have read if it hadn't been quoted at the beginning of Swallows and Amazons, which caused me to look it up. I remember being slightly disappointed when I found out he was only talking about reading a translation of Homer, and then still more disappointed when I tried to read the Iliad. (Hint: it's better when you're not seven.) 

And that's all I have today... I was going to post about going to see Dr E, but I find I need to think about it for another day. 

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
John Keats

at noontime

Sherlock's class did their reports and floated their boats on the pond today. He was happy enough with his boat last night, but when I picked him up, he'd hidden it somewhere in the classroom and wouldn't tell Mrs N where, so we had a chat about that. He produced it, finally, from behind a bookcase and shoved it in the bottom of his bag. A couple of the other kids came up with things he wished he'd thought of, apparently.

I tried to explain that that didn't make his bad - I thought it was very nice, especially for someone who'd never tried carving anything before - and L tried to introduce the concept of telling the other kids he thought their boats were good... Not sure how well either of us did. I suppose we'll see. Makes a change from him being impatient with everyone who's not picking things up as quickly as him, at least.



At Noontime
Sappho
translated by Mary Barnard

siege

I'm stealing L's question again, which was: 

what I wish someone had told me when I was 7 and 14, that I'm making sure the boys know now...

Fourteen...that the world was bigger than I thought it was, bigger than I could even understand, then. That things always change, not always for the better, but they always change. That my whole life would not be decided based on my marks at school. 

Seven...that my sister wasn't as horrible as I thought she was and that she had her own problems, and so did my parents. That very little of what happened between them was my fault. 

I don't know if those are really things Sherlock and Mycroft need to know, or, if they are, if I'm getting them across. I think they're both more grown up and aware of the world than I was at those ages. 

Siege

Edna St Vincent Millay

modern declaration

I found this while I was looking up another poem of hers to make sure I had it right. I'd never seen this one before. She wrote it during World War II. Good time to find it, I think. 

Modern Declaration

Edna St Vincent Millay

spring and fall

More poetry...I feel I'm getting off lightly here while Lestrade comes up with actual posts, but I am enjoying it. I'll answer the question he did today as well, which was what he'd like to learn that he hasn't yet. 

I'd like to learn to cook, like he does, by just looking at food and knowing how it goes together and what cooking method suits it. I can just about get by these days if I follow a recipe, but it's not the same. 

I remember making something that called for six sage leaves and having ten or so left in the package. Lestrade said to just put them all in and use them up, and I said, 'But it only calls for six! Six is not ten!' I still get slightly irrational when I try to cook. 

I think I'd like to be able to write fiction some day too. 

Spring and Fall: to a Young Child
Gerard Manley Hopkins

the bearer of evil tidings

Kestrel suggested poetry, which I could probably do all month, though I'll try not to. I know it's not everyone's thing. This is the first one I memorised, partly because I thought it was funny, but mostly because Harry said it was too long and I'd never be able to remember it. I was eight, I think. 

New words I learned from it: bower, discreet, mandates, divine.

Other things I've done primarily because Harry said I couldn't, or wouldn't dare: jumped in Lake Windermere with all my clothes on, stole a teacher's hairpiece, spent the night in a supposedly haunted house... On the whole, this one probably turned out the best. Or at least got me in the least trouble. 

The Bearer of Evil Tidings

Robert Frost 

every day??

L is doing the posting every day thing that we did last November. I suppose I'll make the attempt as well (no promises). I feel singularly uninspired recently though, so I'll need your help. Questions? Post topics? Anything?

Do you think they let people get married in that bombed out church L likes?

Also, I have an appointment with Dr E next week, which L may or may not attend, as he likes. We'll see how that goes. When I rang her she seemed to think I must've fallen into some sort of deep and desperate depression and was rather surprised when I explained. I told her it served her right for not keeping up with my blog... 

science!

More here. I thought Sherlock would like these and probably some of you will too. 

I had a dream last night that I'd asked L to marry me and he said yes, and then I woke up and I had to wake him up to make sure it wasn't just a dream...very peculiar. 

Mrs Holmes rang me today to congratulate us and offer to send us to Antartica for our honeymoon. It's sometimes quite difficult to tell when she's joking. 

Did you know they make wood wedding bands? I didn't know that until today. 

Nicky - I don't think I ever answered your comment on L's blog, and I'm sorry. I thought my answer very hard at you, which I realise I've been doing more and more lately. (Note to self: telepathy still doesn't work.) Thank you. You and your family have been so kind and welcoming to me and Mycroft and Sherlock right from the beginning, and it means a lot to all of us. I hope we'll see all of you at Christmas. 

Right, I am off to do the shopping and to pick Sherlock up from school. L, let me know if you have anything to add to the following list contributed to by Mrs Hudson, various elderly neighbours, and security:

odd things you think about

Lestrade posted in the comments of his blog about thinking when he was a kid that the sensation of his heart beating was caused by it swinging back and forth on a pendulum. It made me think about some of the strange notions we get when we're young.

L posted a picture of me long ago, in a post far, far away (that I cannot find). I was four or five, I think, and wearing a suit for my great uncle's funeral. I barely knew him and wasn't too upset about it, but I absolutely refused to go up and see him in the coffin with my parents and Harry. They all thought it was because he was dead, but that part didn't bother me. I wouldn't go because I was convinced he would be naked.

No idea where I came up with that. I suppose it makes sense in an odd way that you'd be buried in the same state in which you were born, and I wasn't old enough to realise that his friends and family would not want to see that. I would tell my parents why either, because I thought they'd say something along the lines of, 'Well of course he's naked! That's just the way it is, come along.' And then I'd have to go. So I wouldn't explain and instead, I seem to remember, hid under a table.

amazeballs

The post's title is Carla's reaction when we told Nicky and her family the news. I think that sums up my reaction pretty well, too. If you haven't heard, go and check L's blog.

No, I mean it, go. He tells it better than I do.

on the way

Lestrade's driving. Mycroft and Sherlock are glaring at each other in the back seat. Sherlock spent ten minutes poking Mycroft, and I didn't notice until Mycroft finally lost his calm and stuck a wad of gum to Sherlock's forehead.

Gum has been removed and Sherlock has been told to keep his hands to himself. I'm having flashbacks to car trips with my parents and Harry. Except Harry stuck the gum to the top of my head, and I ended up with almost no hair after mum was done cutting it.

I think we'd better stop and eat soon. Food always helps in these situations, and those two are meant to be sharing a tent tonight. A tent room. I'm still not used to tents having rooms. When did that start happening anyway? At what point did some tent designer say to themselves, you know, I think this tent needs to be more like a house? Let's add a kitchen and some statuary. Impractical? Oh, maybe just another room then. 

fully equipped

We now have enough cold weather gear to launch an expedition to the North Pole, although Sherlock has pointed out that we should wait until we've baked biscuits because when we get to the North Pole, we'll want them to celebrate with. I told him I didn't think they'd last that long. He said he'd make extra. I also got a hoodie, so I can test it vs jumpers and prove L wrong.

I know it hasn't been that long, but I feel sure Mycroft has grown since the last time we saw him. Lestrade was joking about him being taller than I am, but honestly it's not going to be that much longer.  He's far more grown up and dignified than I was at fourteen. We got sushi today, and he uses chopsticks like he's been doing it his whole life. That sounds silly when I write it out, but at the time all I could think was that he's growing up so fast.

 He's brought home a computer game called Minecraft where you build things out of blocks, which makes it sound like a game for small children, but you can build literally anything you can think of and there's some sort of wiring system and...I'm really not sure. He thinks he can make a computer in it. And he's helping Sherlock build his boat virtually before building it in reality.

We're now awaiting L's presence for biscuit creation, and I'm simmering the beef and broccoli thing, which ought to be done by the time the biscuits are. 

enormous jacket

Since L has said he doesn't mind... 

I like it because he looks so happy. Thanks, Nicky. 

Sherlock's class are building boats to sail on the pond - one or two at a time, I presume, or there are going to be shipwrecks. They're meant to choose a historical or fictional boat/ship and do a report on it in addition to the actual building. Sherlock already has a list of about ten. 

Got the following text from Anthea today: will be taking time off whenever you madmen are going camping in the freezing cold, so let me know. It's going to be fun though, honestly! 

leaves

I think someone asked if Sherlock's half term dates are the same as Mycroft's and I never answered, but they are. Sherlock's plans are becoming ever wilder. If it were left entirely up to him, I think we'd be climbing Everest over the weekend, followed by a short jaunt to the Amazon basin in the week. I'm not sure we'll be going anywhere at all, but I'm sure we'll have fun. It'll be great having him home.

Lestrade brought me home flowers last night because he's the sweetest man alive. White roses and green chrysanthemums, the kind with the extra long petals. There's probably a name for them, but you'd have to ask Greg the florist. They're lovely, and sitting in a slightly wonky vase on the table. It's white and chipped, and I don't actually know where it came from. Maybe it's Mrs Hudson's. The only vase we had whose origin I was certain of is the one I got cracked over the head with.

It's funny how things just appear like that. Not something I'm used to, like having a fixed address and more than two pairs of shoes.

Lestrade, let me know if you want to get lunch or something? And then I've been advised that I'm not too old to jump in piles of leaves in the park with Sherlock, so I expect we'll be doing that after school. 

normality, or something similar

Lestrade's at work. There wasn't enough time to cook dinner before he had to go so we sent him off with sandwiches and spider biscuits, and now Sherlock and I are making breakfast-dinner, with eggs and pancakes and bacon. It'll be good if I don't burn anything. Sherlock says he'll keep an eye on me. The spider biscuits will keep eight eyes on me.

L and I had a long walk around the park and a talk, during which neither of us cried in public, though it was a close thing once or twice. I'll leave him to tell what he said if he wants to, later. I don't think anyone here will be particularly surprised to learn that I feel responsible for not stopping what happened to him, for not getting him back sooner. I know that makes no sense. Knowing it doesn't help.

More than that though, I could feel this distance between us when he got back, and that was... I didn't know how to fix it, or change it at all, didn't understand why it was there, and all I could think was what if it got worse and I somehow lost him over this even after we got him back. So that was terrifying.

I think we're moving past that now though. At least I hope so. Still trying to work out how it happened, and I think it's at least partly the assumptions we make about each other. I think a lot of the time L expects I won't want to talk and tries to respect that and I assume he'll do the talking when he's ready and...yeah. Turns into a bit of a mess.

He said in one of the comments on my last post that he didn't mean to make me feel like his way of coping is better than mine, but I think pretty much the entire world and certainly all mental health professionals prefer talking to silence. I need to do better there.

And now if you'll excuse me, I think my bacon may be smoking. 

sleep's dull knife

Dire sounding subject line is actually from the most cheerful-insomnia related poem I know:

Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife
each day to half its length, my friend. 
The years that time takes off my life
he'll take from the other end! 

It's either Edna St Vincent Millay or Dorothy Parker. I can't remember. Also, accuracy not guaranteed, it's very late.

I was already up and getting some water when Sherlock came and found me in the kitchen. He'd had a nightmare about giant skeletons clattering up the stairs, and he said the worst part was that they never got there, they just kept coming up forever and he had to wait for them. I can sympathise.

I made him some warm milk, which he declared acceptable but not as good as Lestrade's, and stayed with him until he fell asleep again. He didn't ask to come back to bed with us, which I hope is a good sign. Might let him stay home again tomorrow if he wants to, we'll see. I think he's ready for school again though.

Work, thankfully, is not yet ready for Lestrade. I hope not for at least a few more days. He might be all right to go back, but I'm not sure I am. 

bad news

We got another envelope. It had the same bug stickers as the one from Sherlock's 'birthday card' did. This one was hand delivered. Not, I think, by the person who took the photos. Just a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. I asked him to wait because we'd had trouble with a stalker, and he said he thought the man who gave him the envelope was 'kinda creeptastic' but that he'd given him twenty quid.

I thought it would just be more photos, and there were photos - the three of us at the zoo. There was also a note. It said to enjoy the pictures since it was the last we'd see of Lestrade. I can't get him on the phone or by email or text. I've called Sally, and Anthea's bringing Mycroft home.

I...don't know what else to say. 

latibulize

From the list of words that wolf-were provided:

Latibulize v.

To hibernate. Function of a teenager during that part of the morning when papers are being brought in, cats being fed, garbage cans put out, digital clocks being reset after overnight power failures, etc., etc.

Also what Lestrade and I did briefly today after dropping Sherlock off at school, going for a run, etc. That's et cetera as in 'and so on' not as in anything else. We went back to bed, and I went back to sleep, which must've been fairly boring for Lestrade, but he took it well. No reflection on you, L. The past few nights haven't gone well, that's all. Maybe I should switch to decaf too.

I wonder if the last part of the above definition will ever apply to Sherlock. It seems incredibly unlikely, but surely it must happen to everyone? I've never known a teenager who springs out of bed at five in the morning unless the alternative is being discovered by their girlfriend/boyfriend's parents.

I wonder how large a part that played in the creation of boarding schools. 'Let's put them all together where they can't get into so much trouble!' Except, having known boys who went to boarding schools, I'm well aware that they can and do.

Speaking of which - the schools, not the trouble - Mycroft texted to say we could come and visit on Saturday if we wanted to, which of course we do, so that'll be nice. We can bring him the leftover biscuits and scones from tea, of which I imagine there will be several thousand. 

after school special

Mrs N asked to speak to me when I picked Sherlock up today. She's coming to tea on Friday. Sherlock has apparently promised her baked Alaska, which I don't think is going to happen, but I imagine we can at least provide brownies or chocolate swirl biscuits or something.

He was a chimpanzee on the way home. On the whole I prefer elephants, since they very rarely try to climb up you while you're waiting for the light to change.

Sherlock: Chimpanzees fling poo.

Me: No.

Sherlock: They do, I saw them!

Me: I mean, no, your chimpanzee impression does not need that level of verisimilitude.

There is no more reliable way to distract him than with new words, but I'm going to run out eventually. 

arrogance, guilt, and squid

Lestrade is cooking squid. Probably will have cooked squid by the time I finish this. I admit I'm slightly dubious about the prospect of barely cooked squid, but I trust him. Apparently you either have to cook it a long time or barely at all. It gets rubbery otherwise. Having had a fair amount of rubbery squid, I believe it.

I've said before that I don't think I could do what Lestrade does, i.e. go out every day into what is essentially a war zone and come home at the end of it and somehow make the transition back to being a relatively normal human being. Transition has never been particularly easy for me. It's always got to be one thing or the other, all the way or not at all.

I think that's why I found a lot of the work at Sarah's surgery a bit...well, boring. I suppose there's no way to say that without sounding like an arrogant arsehole, but any nurse (especially Murray) will tell you that all doctors are arrogant arseholes, so maybe I am. It wasn't the sort of work I went into medicine for, at any rate. And I know I shouldn't feel that way, but knowing that doesn't help. Just adds guilt to the mix.

When L brought up the possibility of working as an FME (forensic medical examiner for anyone who missed that before), I think, despite having a fair idea of how hard it would be, I knew that second that I'd do it if I possibly could. I've looked into A&E work before, but it just won't fit with Sherlock's schedule. A lot of times I'm the only one who can guarantee I'll make it to his school functions, and I don't want that to change.  This seems like it'll be a bit more flexible. Mrs Holmes is back this week, so I can talk to her about it. Just the prospect of it is a relief in a lot of ways. I didn't realise how much the lack of occupation was weighing on me. 

fme and bed snails

Last night in the comments, I was being unintentionally morose about my lack of employment (I know, I do have a job, but with both the boys back in school, it really doesn't feel like it, and I'm not good at doing nothing all day), and L brought up the possibility of working as a forensic medical examiner.

Basic duties...I'll just quote Lestrade here: examining injured people in custody, examining people who claim to be sick/injured, people who claim to be the victims of police brutality, take blood samples, write out death certs. at scenes, and sometimes present your findings in court. And also, I think, from the reading I've been doing, examining assault victims. I'm going to talk to someone he knows about it and find out a bit more. There's not as much additional training as I would've expected, though there is some.

I talked to Sherlock about on the way home from school. He seems alternately excited and worried about how much I'd be gone, which I'm a little concerned about too. Obviously, he and Mycroft are my first responsibility, and I'm not quite sure it would be fair to them. But I don't know enough about it yet to make a decision either way, so that'll have to wait.

I think I'm also signing up for krav maga lessons at a place Anthea recommended, too. I'll let you know how it goes.

ETA: This was Lestrade when I went into the bedroom just now...

grim grey palisades

We went to Spike Island. Over the years, it's had a monastery, a prison, a fort, and more recently a prison again. The prison was closed down in 2004, and now it's just a tourist attraction. 

The fact that it was a prison before it was a fort certainly shows, doesn't it? The weather was decidedly grey when we went to visit, and it made the whole thing still more foreboding. 

post

Sherlock got an envelope in the post today. I didn't think much of it. His birthday's coming up, after all, and it had balloon stickers on it. Glittery ones, even. I did check with his mum, because he doesn't generally get cards, but there are a number of people it might've been from. Mrs Holmes said to let him open it. I could tell she was doing what I'd been doing - weighing the risk against letting him be a normal kid excited to get mail of his own. And he was so excited he nearly burst on the way home.

It was a birthday card. It's got a bug on it, so someone clearly knows his taste. Inside the card were photos of Lestrade, obviously taken by someone who'd been following him on his bike-less commute recently. Some were taken from quite close up.

Sherlock was mainly confused and thought it was a very silly thing to send him for his birthday. I am... Well, I think you can imagine. Lestrade is on his way home. 

caught in this isthmus of a middle state

Paralympics women's doubles medal ceremony:

Esther Vergeer's record is just amazing. I think she's got over 20 slam titles, and a few years ago she topped 400 straight wins. (I know this is late, but a lot of the tennis I'm just watching now.)

Also, there's this. I think they're fantastic, and I wish I'd had anything like that amount of determination when I got home.

Anyway, life goes on. L's told me a little about his case, which is...not good. Some of the cases he works are fairly ordinary, if murder can ever be said to be ordinary, and some, like this, leave me wondering how things like this can happen, how anyone can do these things.

Sherlock asked me what the point of life was today, which was a more complex question than I was expecting to have to answer while making cheese sandwiches on four hours of sleep. I'm afraid I didn't have a satisfactory answer for him. 

loose ends

The meeting with Mrs Holmes today was very short. She gave me a package, had me memorise an address, I took the package there, and that was that. I got the feeling that wasn't what she'd called me in for, actually, that I was filling in for someone who hadn't shown up just because I happened to be there.

Bit odd. But I'd rather be the one filling in than the one who didn't show up. Hope he escapes with his life when she gets hold of him.

I did also get her to sign off on Sherlock's martial arts lessons while I was there, so that's ready to go when he is. Maybe another week or two. he's still complaining about things being different at school. He says they have better books in the new classroom though, so that's something.

We made avocado and tomato pasta for dinner. Basically, you cut up tomatoes and avocados, mix them with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and basil, and then when the pasta's done you drain it and put it in the bowl with the stuff and mix it around. Very easy.

After dinner, Sherlock said everything was too quiet and stood on the sofa to see how loud he could make his violin be. Quite loud, it turns out. 

protection

Lestrade got this one:

And I got this one: 

Which, as you can see, is red, and goes with my bike. Although, it's going to be L's bike for a while as soon as his hand is well enough to ride again. I don't really need it on a daily basis. I hope his gets fixed soon though. I know he misses it.

The accident, if it was an accident, was over so quickly that it's difficult to remember the details. It always seems odd that something that happens in so little time can have such lingering effects.

no one needs to worry

We had a little accident on the bike. Bruises and scrapes mostly. We're going to hospital for L's hand, which is swelling nicely. I don't think anything's broken though.

I've talked to Sherlock and Mycroft already, and Mrs H is picking Sherlock up from school, though he's not happy about it. Please be good for her, Sherlock. Hopefully we won't be too long.

Some bastard, also on a bike, cut right in front of us and there was just nowhere to go, bus on one side, pedestrians on the other. You'd almost think he was trying to knock us over. I'm glad it was L driving and not me; I'm sure he managed it better than I would have.

And when I say no one needs to worry...I mean about us. The bike didn't fare so well. I don't think he'll be riding it for a while. 

unpacking, a drama of innumerable parts

We left yesterday morning (Spain, as I think most of you probably guess) and got back to London yesterday afternoon. Mycroft's leaving for school this evening, so not much happened yesterday apart from travel, tantrums about leaving, laundry, un/packing, and consolation brownies. They didn't really make up for not being in Spain anymore, but they helped.

Today: more laundry, more un/packing, the realisation that there are more laundry labels to sew into Mycroft's new shirts, acquiring food one way or another, etc etc.

Sherlock brought Mrs Hudson home a stone he found that has a hole through the centre of it. He's been fascinated this trip with the way water smooths things out and wears them down. He would've brought home every piece of beach glass he found if he'd had his way.

We'll probably do another pan of brownies so Mycroft can take them to school for his friends, or, as he insists they be referred to, the people he knows there. I suppose he has a point. My mum would refer to anyone I knew from school as my friend, even people I considered my mortal enemies. Drove me mad.

I'm using my how to infuriate monkeys tag retroactively for the Gibraltar incident. 

on the blue shore of silence

Mycroft and Mrs Holmes stayed back at the house yesterday, and L and Sherlock and I headed down the beach to explore. Sherlock had a plastic bucket and war paint sunblock, L had his film star tan and smug grin, and I had a pounding headache, L's sunglasses, and occasionally a towel draped over my head. I honestly did not have that many mojitos. They're deceptive. And I'm out of practice.

We walked quite a long way, built a series of quickly abandoned sand castles along the beach, which were misshapen lumps by the time we passed them again, picked up shells and bits of seaweed, watched while Sherlock poked at things in tide pools. I stuck my head in the sea every now and then. It helped a bit.

There was no ice cream, but we did get cold drinks near the surfing school, and looked at, but did not ride, the horses. Sherlock and L wanted to try surfing, and I wanted to lie very still, so they went off for a while. I floated peacefully in the water...until Sherlock was boosted without warning onto my stomach and L ducked down to bite my bum again. It was a well coordinated assault that nearly ended with L's sunglasses at the bottom of the sea.

Sherlock can really swim now. I'm not sure when he went from splashing and paddling to diving and cutting through the water like a tiny eel (that's a moray...), but he's really quite good now. We'll have to find somewhere indoors to take him this winter.

On the way back, Sherlock was pretending to be a bull and charge Lestrade, which led to L wearing Sherlock's bucket on his head, standing on a rock and singing that Toreador song. He doesn't think I have pictures, but I do.