ashbet | Reading

I went to the Brookline (Coolidge Corner) farmers market this afternoon. I bought the two things I was specifically looking for--lamb merguez sausages, from Stillman's, and raspberries. When I was buying the sausages, I told the vendor that I'd asked for this kind of sausage a couple of weeks ago, at a different farmers market, and thanked him (them) for making that specific flavor of sausage.

One small box of raspberries, because we've had bad luck this summer with over-buying berries, and not eating all of them before them spoiled. I also bought two small cucumbers, and a baguette, even though it's not good baguette weather, because we like Clear Flour bakery's "ancienne" baguettes.

I stopped at Burdick's and got a cup of dark hot chocolate to take out, because it's unseasonably cool and felt like good weather for sitting outside with a hot drink. I didn't buy anything else there, because the chocolate-covered citrus has suffered from shrinkflation: Burdicks is charging almost twice as much as they did a few years ago, for about half as much candy.

The Dean Road station on green line C station isn't far, but it's enough of a hill to be good exercise: I walk quickly on my way to the T unless I make an effort not to, and then the walk back is uphill all the way.

I realized, after posting this but before dinner, that I overdid things and was out of executive function.

ysobel posting in

agonyaunt

Dear Eric: I am 40 and physically disabled. I need a powered wheelchair to get around both outside and inside my apartment. Recently, my tires were popped by some broken glass from a bottle thrown out of a passing car onto the sidewalk. It has been a week since I have been able to use my wheelchair, and I have another 20 days before my new tires arrive.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be infuriated that someone’s litter caused me to spend $200 on replacement tires.

My caregiver disagrees. He says that it’s my fault for continuing and not turning around. He also said that I am overreacting, when the most I have done is complain a little bit for maybe an hour total and make a joking “whoever threw the bottle on the sidewalk owes me $200” comment once.

Am I being too sensitive about this? I think being upset about having to spend $200 that I don’t have to replace something necessary for my continued function in and outside of my apartment due to litter is understandable, but I would like to ask for your thoughts on the matter to be sure.

— Tire’d

Tire’d: Let me get this straight. Your caregiver, who understands the challenges you face navigating a world that is often not accommodating, thinks that you don’t have the right to be peeved about this? Litter, particularly broken glass, is a problem for everyone and any one of us could and should be upset about having to navigate a sidewalk strewn with jagged pieces, even if it didn’t cost us $200 or a temporary restriction in mobility.

What happened wasn’t fair and it had a greater impact on you than it would on someone who could just step to the side or crunch the glass under a boot. Your caregiver needs to acknowledge that some things in the world affect you differently. This is what empathy is. One doesn’t need firsthand experience to be empathetic, but in this case he has to be able to see how hard this one battle has made your life.

I hope that this is an isolated incident in your relationship and he’s able to be supportive in other ways. Because care is about more than physical assistance. It’s also about being willing to say, “I see you. I hear you. What you’re feeling is valid.”

tcpip

Two nights ago, the Chinese consulate in Melbourne hosted a dinner for committee members of the Australia-China Friendship Society. It was held with no particular agenda in mind, but with less than ten people participating in the wide-ranging conversation, as one could expect, it did include a rather pointed look at a certain powerful but irresponsible world leader. The Consul-General was, of course, very diplomatic in his words and I could be a little more blunt (ironically, through understatements), but that is our respective positions. It was also an opportunity to send our farewells to the Vice Consul General who has served here for four years and welcome their replacement, who I am sure will do very well. On a directly related matter, the following night I attended the spectacular "Folk Reimagined" concert at the Melbourne Recital Centre, which was performed by members of the Guizhou Chinese Orchestra and the Australia Orchestra, which was a rather brilliant performance. I attended with Susie C., an old friend from Perth who has recently moved to Melbourne, and Fiona P., who recently spoke at the ACFS on bi-cultural experiences and history. On a much more modest scale, the Australia-China Friendship Society is holding a social dinner next Tuesday at Song's Dumplings; delicious food, inexpensive, and very good company.

As much as I would dearly love to visit Guizhou as soon as possible with its incredible landscapes (there is a very enticing trip on offer in early 2026), it is increasingly likely that I am going on a more distant (and much more expensive) adventure at the end of the year. Kate R., and I are plotting (following plenty of conversation over three extensive visits to the National Gallery of Victoria over three days) about taking a trip to South America and Antarctica at the end of the year, which would include Lima, Machu Picchu, Buenos Aires (where I can satiate my Jose Luis Borge needs), Tierra del Fuego, the Antarctic peninsula, and Montevideo. All of this is, somewhat, a result of having accumulated long-service leave (which I skipped in my last job to take this current one) and a dearth of international travel in my youth, albeit with a few interstate visits. Speaking of which, a quick trip to the top-end is planned in a month to visit Lara D., check out the apartment I helped purchase, and attend some events of the Darwin Fringe Festival.

Current Mood: chipper
Current Location: The Rookery
Current Music: Carbon Based Lifeforms, Derelicts

the_comfortable_courtesan

Brought up in Town Society from their earliest years

O, Verena – Verena, Countess of Imbremere, wife of Augustus, Earl of Imbremere that was the heir to the Marquess of Offgrange – had loved the Ukraine and the wide estates of her real father Count Rozovsky. She had not even minded the long winter and the deep snows &C, had quite relished 'em! Sleighrides through the forests &C –

And had not been idle, for while dear Gussie had been following in his father’s footsteps by studying upon the botany of those parts, she had begun learning the local tongue, and talking to the maidservants &C. While doing this, had come across the folktales of those parts, that she put herself to gathering, and also some of the songs. Finding her doing this, her father had sent for ancients from the villages thereabouts, and now she fancied she had quite enough to put together in a pretty volume when they returned to Town.

But much as they had enjoyed their time there and the more than generous hospitality, as it came towards spring, Rozovsky had groaned and declared that he supposed he should be making his way to St Petersburg – where one of his sons was in the Imperial Page Corps –

Gussie had sighed and said, had been thinking himself that they should be on their return to England. Sure his father was by no means old and in the halest of health, but news took a deal of a while to reach 'em where they were.

So they had all come to an entirely amicable agreement that the party should break up, and that Gussie and Verena were ever welcome, and Gussie extended a mutual invitation to come visit Dambert Chase was Rosovsky ever in England.

They decided to travel back southwards, by way of the Mediterranean – let us, Gussie remarked, make this a really extensive honeymoon voyage – have we not been quite exhorted to call at Lady Bexbury’s villa at Naples? – that indeed seemed a very pleasing prospect.

And here they were, so much sunlight, thought Verena, as she sat upon the terrace of the Villa Bexburi, looking over its magnificent vista of the Bay of Naples.

Had not quite anticipated to encounter the company they found there: here was Emma Reveley, that was, had married that most romantic figure, Bernardo di Serrante, half of antient Neapolitan aristocracy and half of Boston Quaker breeding, that one had heard had fought with Garibaldi in ’48, but now turned to the arts of peace and studied with the agrarian reformer, Marcello Traversini. Nardo was, she supposed, some connexion of her own? for was the son of Reynaldo di Serrante that was her elder sister Cara's father.

La, Signore Traversini was not the vision one conjured up when thinking agrarian reformer! Not in the least like pudgy little Artie Demington, more like unto some classical figure in the paintings one saw when one went call on various local inhabitants to whom one had introductions! A demigod of grapes and olives one might fancy as he walked among his vines and groves.

Along with Nardo, that was very fine-looking himself! Not that she inclined to any fellow but darling Gussie, but one must admit that the men hereabout were very pleasing to the eyes. Even Mr White, that ran the printing-press that produced a journal and pamphlets on agrarian matters, and was English – one might even detect a slight Cockney note in his speech – was quite a handsome chap for his years.

Sure did she dabble in watercolours like Emmy she would find that a great inspiration to her brush! but there was Mrs di Serrante, conscientiously painting away at depictions of scenery, and ruins, and mayhap a quaint olive-tree or so. Well, mayhap in private she prevailed upon her husband to present as a sleeping satyr or such….

Verena, that was lying in a long chair on the terrace, a novel drooping from her hand, looked over to where Emmy di Serrante was leaning upon the wall with her sketchbook and colour-box, intent upon a seascape.

It was really somewhat vexing! Verena had been wont to consider the Reveley sisters as a pair of dowdy provincials that had been quite thrust into Town Society upon the death of the late Lord Raxdell – Verena, like possibly every other young woman in her set, had passed through a girlish passion for that dashing Viscount, so handsome, such a prime sportsman, a most noted whip, and while she had recovered, still felt a pang at his untimely demise. Their mother had been no use at all to 'em –

So unlike dear Mama! Mama that knew not merely all about dress and how to be in the crack o’style, but all the little tricks of manner that gave one a deal of assurance when going into Society. And indeed, my darlings, you will need that, alas, I fear.

(Because of the whispers that Cara – Adeline – Verena Zellen is not Sir Hartley’s daughter. Even if, in all matters of affection, they were.)

So darling Mama had conveyed 'em knowledge of Society and its conventions that had served 'em all well, and Cara and Adeline had married well, and Verena herself had made this quite spectacular and enviable match, to Gussie, that she had liked since childhood and come to love.

But the Reveley girls – so awkward – but then they were took up by Lady Bexbury, one supposed as it were as a bequest from Lord Raxdell – had long been give out that there were feelings 'twixt 'em of great affection – and had he not left her the famed pink diamonds? – though there had also been vulgar speculations concerning his feelings for Lady Ferraby –

That had conveyed 'em somewhat more of polish – and the elder of the two, Miss Harriet, received a most eligible offer from the Honble Brumpage Parry-Lloyd, heir to Lord Abertyldd, not perhaps the most thrilling of suitors but an excellent match.

Still, they might have improved considerable, but Verena had still been wont to consider 'em unsophisticated creatures compared to the Zellen sisters that had been brought up in Town Society from their earliest years. One was kind, of course, there was no need to be spiteful and cattish like that set that used to gather round Lady Trembourne before her disgrace, but in the way one was to visiting relatives or neighbours from Cornwall.

Yet, here was Emmy not in the least awkward – fluent in Italian, including the particular tongue of this region – on the easiest of terms with Signor Traversini and Mr White – and widely received in the very various social circles hereabouts.

Had, Verena discovered, the entrée to the local nobility by way of her husband – and also to the Americans that came here for assorted reasons – of course to English Society – also, one discovered, to a deal of savants through introductions from Signora Umberti, whose late husband had been an esteemed professor before fleeing into exile, and had been by way of a governess to the Reveley sisters.

And took this all with entire easiness and one could only say, aplomb.

Was, it appeared, in quite a constant whirl of routs, balls, excursions to sites of interest, invitations to come view this or that one’s villa or gardens, &C&C. One supposed she had to find some diversion while her husband went about with Signor Traversini or others learning about grapes and making wine with the intention of in due course setting up to do the like on American shores. Or going to meetings of agrarian reform societies.

Both couples were attending this ridotto at some palazzo: indeed, very fine, but such a mob of company, thought Verena, that found her head aching a little at the noise. Feeling a little chagrin at observing Emmy di Serrante quite the sparkling butterfly, flitting from group to group, demonstrating a little discreet flattering flirtatiousness to this or that older fellow. Nardo, Verena observed, was smoking on a terrace with a group of younger chaps – perchance former comrades?

Gussie took her hand and said, had a notion that there was dancing a little further on, and they were about to go there, for they danced together exceedingly well and it was quite of their greatest pleasures, when came bustling up to 'em some lady she had met in the English set with Emmy – fancied her husband was here for his health? – begging to make known to Lord and Lady Imbremere her American friends.

This was undoubtedly what Mama would consider encroaching presumption, but one could hardly go so far as to deliver a cut, so they conceded to have the Rutledges, from Virginia, introduced to 'em, that made exceeding effusive –

Had not Emmy said somewhat about 'em, and that for citizens of a democratic nation they were greatly dazzled by tinsel show?

One gleaned that impression!

Upon finding that Gussie was an earl and a botanist, Mr Rutledge launched into the tale of his father’s friend, that had also been a botanist, and had gone plant-hunting in the Virginia forests with an English earl some considerable while ago. And alas, the fellow was attacked and killed by a bear, did not know the ways of things with the wild animals in those parts –

Gussie said drily that that must have been his grandfather – his mother’s father – that died before he was born.

This put a considerable chill on the conversation.

The following morning Verena found herself feeling considerable qualmish – somewhat she had consumed perchance – and said she would lie in a little when Gussie rose. A little later, feeling no better, she got up to seek her smelling-salts. Her maid had not seen them, very tiresome.

She would go ask Emmy did she have such thing as a smelling-bottle about her.

There was Emmy, sitting out on the terrace, carefully shaded from the sun, writing at a lap-desk. Shielding her own eyes from the glare of light, Verena went over to make her request.

Why, certainly, cried Emmy, I will go fetch it immediate, as she closed the lid of the lap-desk, not before Verena had observed that she had been writing in what looked like cypher – had come across Gillie Beaufoyle about the like. Gillie, challenged about this, had shrugged and revealed that he had been desired to make use of his sojourn in the Ukraine by his superiors –

But Emmy, about secret communications?

flamingsword

I want hugs. I want

nyyki hugs and

genderjumper hugs and fuck it if I don’t want Ghost hugs, too.

I want to not have to go back to school, and not to be still studying for a final exam for A&P.

I want to dress up fancy to go to brunch with my cousin, Doctor JT, and her kids.

I need to not abandon my studies even if I am feeling a bit frazzled. Even thougm

ysobel posting in

agonyaunt

Dear Miss Manners: I prepared some hand-dipped chocolate goodies and delivered them to a couple of ladies in my neighborhood. A few days later, one of the ladies called me to tell me she was diabetic and couldn’t eat them.

I was sad that “the thought that counts” must not come into play anymore. I felt her phone call was rude and unnecessary.

Am I being petty, or was she being rude? It will make me think twice next time I try to be thoughtful. This friend certainly won’t see goodies from me again.

Then you will not want to hear that this lady spent the intervening time fuming over the thoughtlessness displayed in putting her health at risk — as if, instead of trying to brighten her day, you had attempted to force-feed her.

Miss Manners recommends saying, “I’m sorry to hear that. Thanks for letting me know” — and then tossing the conversation in the memory dustbin and, as was your plan, not repeating the gesture. This is also an approximation of what Miss Manners would have counseled the lady with diabetes, had she been asked.

cupcake_goth

Remember how I said the Wegovy has cut down on the impulse shopping noise in my brain? It still has, but when a bunch of things on my "to buy someday Real Soon Now" all have sales over the 4th of July weekend? Yeah, I spent a lot of money. But this means that a dress, jacket, pendant, and art book were less than they had been, so yay?

... and this will certainly keep me from buying ALL THE MERCH at the MCR concert. Yes, it will.

:: shifty eyes ::

redbird

I talked to someone at Amalgamated Bank this morning, who told me what I would need to do to take my mother's name off a joint account, then suggested that I set up online banking and then transfer the money to my account at another bank. Setting up online banking on their website was straightforward, and then it popped up a verification step involving sending a text to a cell phone associated with the account. Entirely reasonable, but my phone number isn't on the account.

I called back, and talked to another helpful person. She told me how to add the number: send her an email with "attn: Cheryl" as the subject line, giving them my current phone number and attaching a copy of my ID. I did that, and got an "undeliverable" message from Postmaster@[bank], saying I wasn't authorized to relay messages through the server. So I called back, again, and spoke to someone who told me that oh, yes, it does that, but it does deliver the messages. I got her to check, and they had received my email, but Why?

This still feels like significantly less hassle than sending them a copy of my ID, and an original death certificate. That has to be done by paper mail, not email, because they want an "original" death certificate, which she promised they'd return. (At the moment, those originals are in either New Orleans or London, I'm in Boston, and my brother is on vacation in Ireland.)

the_comfortable_courtesan

An admirable capacity to grasp a situation

Rosamund, Dowager Countess of Trembourne, was finding life in Delft curiously agreeable. Had quite seen the necessity of going into exile, somewhere where she would be most unlike to meet any of her social circles either from England or the Continent, before her condition became too apparent to conceal, but had supposed that 'twould be quite immensely tedious.

For she had been used to the diversions of the spaws and the cities she and her late lord had been in the habit of frequenting, quite aside from the excitements of her secret endeavours for the interests of the nation. And dear Gillie….

Even when they had returned to England, while there were still those shunned 'em after the scandal over slandering Clorinda Bexbury and Lord Trembourne had been obliged to publish a public apology in the newspapers, they were still received in enough circles to have a bustling social life, as well as a deal of family matters in train with all this marrying and begetting.

So she had anticipated that it would be exceedingly dull to rest and wait upon lying-in, and then to be brought to bed, and fancied that at her time of life might take rather longer than had been wont in earlier years to recover from her travails once that was done. Entirely ennuyant.

But she had not imagined how much she would feel freed of a burden: like to float up like unto a balloon. Sure she and her late husband had not lived in one another’s pockets, had not shared a conjugal bed since before Lewis’s birth: but he had ever been there, moping about complaining of draughts or stuffiness and sitting down to table to discourse of the unwholesomeness of whatever fare had been set before 'em, and getting into a fret about some symptom he supposed he had. Boring everybody about his spaws and his quacks &C.

At least he did not recount aught about the ladies that provided for his particular pleasures – one felt a little sorry for the creatures, though supposed they were well-remunerated for their trouble.

Here she was, under the care of Mevrouw Peeters, that was kind, and competent, and not in the least encroaching, a very good sort of woman, one perceived that midwives were considerably esteemed in these parts. And the house so very clean and well-kept.

She might beguile the time by improving her understanding of Dutch, one never knew when that might come to be of use, whilst also polishing her abilities in cyphers and lock-picking. And dear good Grissie, sure she did not deserve that her daughter had turned out so well, had put into her trunks materials for embroidery and some several novels.

She entirely did not deserve that Clorinda Bexbury, that must have a deal of business upon hand, sent her the English newspapers accompanied by letters that contained gossip about the inwardness of various matters reported. La, Talshaw dead of some accident! though Saythingport had very properly ceased pursuing that suit to Nora as most improper while the family was in mourning.

But she had not imagined how much time she would pass in simply doating upon tiny Penelope. Had found it not only possible, but strangely pleasant, to feed her herself, although Mevrouw Peeters was quite able to find a wetnurse was one required. Look into those miniature features and endeavour to discern some resemblance to Gillie. Wonder whether the blue eyes of babyhood would darken to that warm brown…. Gaze upon the little hands and feet as if she had never seen a baby before.

Indeed, she had give little enough attention to her others. Had seemed to her an entire ordeal from the begetting to the birth – the months of the discomforts of increase – the time out of the pleasures of Society – And then once born, the infants handed over to wetnurses and nurserymaids.

How different things were, now.

Mevrouw Peeters strongly commended the practice of going promenade somewhat, now that Rosamund was growing stronger – though forbade her yet from carrying the babe herself, so she was followed by Geertje with the child well-bundled-up as she walked along beside the canals, or ventured as far as the Markt square with its bustle and fine buildings.

As they were about to re-enter, came out Mevrouw, saying that there was a gentleman come call for Her Ladyship, that she had put in the best parlour.

A gentleman? Rosamund put out a hand to steady herself against the door. She could only suppose it to be Undersedge, come with some news that should be delivered in person – she could not suppose that the matter of Talshaw was of any great urgency but oh dear, mayhap somewhat had come to Hermione?

She gulped, straightened her back, desired Geertje to take Penelope to her nursery and went towards the best parlour, that was very seldom used.

As she opened the door, she saw that that was too tall to be Greg Undersedge – took a second or so to realize, yes, that was Gillie, Gillie that had somehow found out her refuge. She shut the door behind her and leant against it, her legs trembling.

Why Delft, asked Gillie, though I quite apprehend that it is entirely out of any society that you are to know, a retreat quite like unto a convent perchance.

You are unacquainted with Mevrouw’s profession?

Gillie frowned. Profession?

Rosamund took a breath, stood up straight, leant over to take his hand. Come, she said, opening the door, and leading him upstairs to the nursery, where Penelope was already sleeping peacefully in her crib.

Mevrouw is a very skilled midwife.

Gillie looked down into the cradle, and then up to Rosamund. Ours?

Sir Vernon had initially commended Lord Gilbert to her as a young man that had an admirable capacity to grasp a situation with exemplary rapidity. She nodded. Her name is Penelope.

He picked her up quite surprizing confident for a young bachelor, then Rosamund collected that he had several nephews and nieces, so perchance had some practice in the art. She watched him thoughtfully scrutinizing her.

A pretty babe, he remarked at length. What are you intending to do with her?

She caught his uneasy tone.

Fie, I am not going to leave her outside some foundling institution! She took Penelope, that was still peaceably slumbering, in her own arms. No, 'tis my intention to take her to Yeomans –

Yeomans!

My dear, you must have had the thoughts I have had that perchance the orphans are not quite as bereft of parents as 'tis give out? Even did those parents mayhap not go to church with one another.

Indeed I have supposed 'em mostly by-blows rather than true orphans! Doubtless of friends of Miss Ferraby that found subscribing to her views cost 'em rather too dearly.

Well, 'twould be unmannerly to interrogate upon the matter, but Clorinda Bexbury assured me that Miss Ferraby and Miss Roberts would be entirely agreeable to taking Penelope –

Gillie grinned and said, and she would be in the hands of that peerless mistress of nurseries, Betty Higgins! One could not have the least objection. Those very healthful surroundings – Essie entirely commends the characters of the existing family – for of course visits quite often, still doats on the fiery Flora, to the great distress of all aspirants to his hand – there is an excellent governess – indeed, a prime solution to any difficulty. For Sir Vernon, I must reveal, is most anxious to call you back into the game – has been worrying at me and any other who might know to discover where you are.

She kissed Penelope and placed her back in the crib. The dear thing. But one saw that it would not do to keep her with her, no, she must put her in that very excellent situation among good kind people.

She took Gillie’s hand. I am gratified to hear that Sir V thinks so well of my services! I daresay for the next several months I must be about lingering at spaws, repairing my nerves from the shock of my husband’s death. But I daresay there may be work to be at there.

Indeed, she thought, she was still somewhat knocked up from bearing Penelope, at her age 'twas no light business, recruiting was only sensible.

But let us go and take coffee so that you may tell me what you have been about.

So they went to sit in the parlour, and Gillie recounted his adventures on Rozovsky’s estate, and how the Imbremeres did, and then how things had gone in St Petersburg, and then throughout the Baltic –

Very cold, he remarked. But now, after this short holiday at home in the bosom of my family, I am bound for Paris.

Paris, sighed Rosamund. Alas, that is not a destination for a grieving widow I fear – mayhap when I am out of black – but I might try one or other of the French spaws – Vichy? one hears well of it. Or Spa would not be any very great distance, would it?

Gillie sighed. I fear Sir V may have opinions in the matter and desire you to go to Carlsbad –

Rosamund groaned.

– or Baden-Baden, now that would not be an entire impossibility –

They sighed. Duty to the nation’s interests, it had to be considered, and here she had been, resting up very comfortable these several months.

A silence fell.

I suppose, Gillie began, stammered, began again, I have been in some thought – now that you are free – that now there is no obstacle –

O, Gillie! He had never looked so young.

Rosamund took a deep breath. My dear, she said, do not go further towards where I think you tend. 'Twould be entirely unanswerable –

And one day, she surmized, there would be a younger woman that would ensnare his heart, she could not imagine that this could endure – however much it had become more than a flirtation or a brief indulgence – however little could she deny that 'twas love –

No, she would not tie him in formal bonds. And while they might keep the matter clandestine, was it ever revealed, she shrank from the spiteful gossip there would be. Had circulated too much of the like herself.

Now, she said, I fear you should depart. I may tell Mevrouw that you have been bringing me news and messages from family and friends, but I do not think it wise to make it look any more than that you were passing through and did that civil task.

Slowly he nodded. Wisest, he conceded. Lifted her hand to his lips. Until Vichy, then.

cupcake_goth

On Sunday night I ordered pork spring rolls from my favorite place with the idea of having one for dinner, and one for lunch the following day. As I was taking the second bite of my dinner, the Stroppy One turned to me and said that it had way more garlic than usual. He was right, because as he was saying that, I noticed my mouth and lips were burning and felt like welts were rising. I got a refund from DoorDash, and gave the Madwoman in the Attic the second spring roll. Sooooo apparently I'm even more sensitive to garlic than I thought, and I'm really mad about it.

---

My Chemical Romance alert! There's a post on Tumblr that's about the runup to the show with details being constantly added. Apparently setup for the concert has already started, which is unusual. I wonder if that's why there's more time between concert dates; I'd assumed it was because the band finally learned they need to rest between shows, but maybe not. The band has been hinting on social media that these concerts are "so much more than just playing The Black Parade". Needless to say, the fandom has collectively been losing our minds.

(THE CONCERT IS THIS FRIDAY FRIDAY FRIDAY!!!)

Yes, looking forward to this concert is one of the few things helping me cling to sanity right now.

matsushima posting in

agonyaunt

I’ve been working at a university library for a little over a year now and have had a hard time making friends. Shortly after I started, I befriended a coworker, “Morgan,” who is also relatively new, and it has been nice getting to know them and commiserating about how hard it is to make friends in a new city and workplace.

Over the course of our friendship, Morgan has opened up more and more about the interpersonal problems they’ve had with our colleagues. They describe scenarios where collaborative projects get stalled because other stakeholders stop communicating with them, coworkers they were getting lunch with on a weekly basis suddenly stop responding to chats, and other frustrations with navigating bureaucracy that interferes with their work. It’s hard to tell if Morgan is becoming increasingly disgruntled or if they are now very comfortable with telling me their unfiltered feelings.

I’ve also had to navigate some fairly horrendous problems as a new employee, so it’s been nice to have a coworker who understands and sympathizes with our (somewhat) dysfunctional workplace culture. Morgan has made it very clear to me that they are only here for the time being and have already decided that this is not the city they would like to stay in long-term. Personally, I want to retire here and have worked very hard to improve my situation. It feels very different for me today than it did a year ago, which is why it’s become increasingly difficult to navigate Morgan’s constant negativity.

Morgan can be a lot of fun to talk to, but they’re in an increasingly bad mental space at work. They frequently come to my office to gripe for an hour or two in spite of how busy I am; I’m always actively working and trying to concentrate when they pop into my office. To my fault, they ask if it’s a good time to chat and I always say yes because they’ve been so hurt by our coworkers pulling away and I’m afraid of upsetting them. On top of this, they’ve become increasingly argumentative with me when they’re looking to talk. Again, I would say this is my fault because they are looking to vent and I’m always trying to provide solutions, so I think it’s taken as invalidating Morgan’s feelings.

Morgan is in such a bad mental space at work that seemingly any type of feedback or dialogue that they disagree with comes off as an attack. One of the issues they’ve had with multiple colleagues is that they invalidate Morgan’s feelings. Morgan has described situations where they complained about something to a colleague and rather than agreeing with and consoling Morgan, they essentially said to look on the bright side. For example, Morgan was upset about a change made to their office and the coworker responded with, “At least you have your own office.” Morgan has many examples of conversations like this and cites it as a workplace culture issue. In addition, Morgan holds on to comments like this (that took place months and months ago) and often refers back to them as examples of how bad things are. At this point, I am very afraid of upsetting Morgan because I like them, and their hyper-sensitivity is a bit triggering in light of all the reparative work I’ve done for my position and unit.

One more detail about Morgan that I think plays a factor is their odor. Morgan has a strong mildewy smell wherever they go. The odor fills a room and I can often tell if they’ve recently been in a space because of the smell. I believe Morgan maintains good hygiene practices, but that they are unaware of the fact that a lot of their clothing has developed a pungent mildew odor. Depending on how strongly they smell, it can be very difficult to spend extended periods of time with them. I’ve avoided spending time with them outside of work, like inviting them to my home, because the smell is so off-putting and am wondering if it has contributed to their interactions with coworkers.

How do I take a step back with Morgan without further inciting them?

( Alison's answer )

- how do I step back from a friendship with an intensely negative and argumentative coworker?

Current Mood: seen

minoanmiss posting in

agonyaunt

https://www.askamanager.org/2025/07/my-colleagues-are-upset-that-were-not-speaking-truth-to-power-on-social-media.html#c

( Read more... )

Current Mood: curious

bleodswean

That shattering glass, not a windshield but a doorway of shock and awe, into another place. As though she had left a place for the sole reason of arriving at another place. No wandering in between. She had never been good at telling a story, not like Daddy could be around a fire, but if she had survived then perhaps, she would have been able to say out loud those moments in a way that would capture the sheer impossibility of a human body in flight. Not falling but flying, the propulsion of her skeleton, all bone projectile, into the headlight lit darkness. The impact of her head with the windscreen was the killing blow, of course it was, yet she traveled onward still alive, through the glass, over the crumpled hood and into the forever night. Leaving both sneakers behind as she went. Did she see the stars in their firmament? In this strange leave-taking she lingered on a while, the air above and surround her insubstantial, the pavement solid beneath her, the summer scorched heat of it a small comfort to her cooling body, the bloody halo of her long blonde hair creating a vision of such suffering, such loss, hers a miraculous martyred death. Our Teenaged Lady of the Automobile Collision. The shattered shoulder bones, the leaking skull. The impossible sense of soaring passing through her nerve endings, dissipating through her pores. Simultaneous departure and arrival and departure. The touch and go of her short life.

The afternoon of the day had grown hot. Morning spent working in Daddy’s garden. It was time for the leafy branches to be snipped off close to the stem to allow the lengthening buds all the sunlight. He didn’t pay her out, they had nothing extra for allowances, but after the harvest late in the fall, just before winter, he could be generous with the crumpled bills that began to stuff his pockets. She’d walk her brothers to the store, cold winds blowing through them, and buy the boys candy bars and herself a fashion magazine.

Daddy had two other daughters before she was born. One lived up in Alaska with her own momma and the other one of them lived in an old camp trailer on Daddy’s property with her baby. She was her momma’s oldest, after her came four more, all boys and of course Daddy was partial to them on account that they were boys, but he was good to all his children and just the day before this day Momma said she was expecting another one come springtime. She whisper prayed that it would be a girl, a sister, another sister.

Now the day was bending open the bars that held her prisoner, soon she would be freed. It was just gone noon. She had made sandwiches for her brothers, cleaned the kitchen and Momma told her she was allowed to walk down the road to the swimming hole. She longed to go on her own and Momma said that was fine, too, but only on account that two of her brothers seemed to be suffering from the heat and Momma wanted to keep a closer eye on them. It was hot and had been hot for going on a week. They’d taken to sleeping out of doors on the wood slatted porch, but the night before a bear had woken them up pawing through garbage and the compost and Daddy said they had to be back inside the house until he either could get a decent shot off or someone else on the hill got him first. Dressed bear in the chest freezer would be a treat.

She was fourteen years old that summer day. Highschool in the fall and she couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Tried and failed. Thought she might be more than what she was, if such a thing was possible and even then, couldn’t tell you accurately what that more looked like. Knew that somewhere out there more was waiting to be had, one just needed to get to where it was at. Arrive with eyes wide opened and announce themselves with attention.

Cut off shorts and a bikini top, knock off Converse low tops, and her waist-length hair swinging over her shoulders, near white it was so light colored, and she swung it back and forth with a practiced toss of her head. Girl we known it was you from way down the road, he said to her when he pulled over. Driving his uncle’s truck leaning out the window at her diesel exhaust smelling so dangerously sweet and another boy she didn’t know jumped out and opened the passenger side door for her like they’d been expecting her and no one but her, and she climbed up into the cab and knew her daddy wouldn’t be at all happy because he said Levi’s family was one to steer clear of whenever mannerly possible. But Levi had his hair shorn short dagger sideburns delineating his jaw line and a swagger in his long-legged stride. On the bus, he sat way at the back while she had to sit in the front with her younger brothers, sometimes holding Caden’s hand to keep him from crying, which he was prone to doing because the only thing he wanted in the wide world was to be home in the kitchen with Momma. The high schoolers got off the bus first stop and when it came springtime, Levi started tapping her on the shoulder as he walked past and then that last week of school he sat himself down right behind her on the way home every day and caught the ends of her hair in his loose-fisted palms. Sometimes his fingers, dirty and sticky with cannabis oil would tap tap the knobs of her spine. You’re real skinny, he would tell her in a voice so quiet and low it could only be meant as a secret of some kind. And the nerves would explode across her shoulders and at night in her bed she would think about the heat of his fingers and roll over onto her stomach believing that wings could be coaxed out of the two thin blades in her back. Those shoulder bones were a storehouse inside her body for all that tingling sensation caused by his fingers on her flesh.

Now she was sitting on the bench seat right up next to him. Don’t be shy girl he laughed. Bet you ain’t brave enough to jump off that high rock. The other boy had his window rolled down open too and he craned his body out of it and whooped loud. Levi gunned the big truck and black exhaust rolled out of the dual pipes and he fishtailed a bit and she gasped but the boys laughed. And soon she was laughing too.

They raced one another down to the swimming hole but the boys veered up the narrow path to the high rock. She kept on down to the rocky beach, looking up. Can you see me from there? He called down to her and she nodded. What? He yelled. I can, I can see you! She visored both hands over her eyes and watched him watching her as he leaped off the rock.

There was no way not to be alive that afternoon.

She felt no pain outside the hurt of leaving. She couldn’t close her eyes as though to sleep; her soul was exiting through her vision itself. What’s the time, she asked. Her world spinning now, the dizziness of the calling fade. No more thought everything a retinal remembering.

That day in the rain when I was almost turned sixteen telling him I had missed that month and he began to speed down and down the winding dirt roads? Or later while we raised up three young’uns and he had a bad spell with liquor and somehow it all came to a screaming head that afternoon in the truck? Or was it only the two of us again, that morning of such sadness, driving in the snow back from the hospital? Or before all that, the first sweltered day of summer when he drove us down to the swimming hole, before ditching his friend because he said he had something he wanted to show me, just him and me, and I knew without knowing how that this was my arriving.

conuly posting in

agonyaunt

Dear Good Job,

I work as a speech therapist. At a family gathering, I noticed my cousin’s near 4-year-old could only say a few words and beg and point for items they wanted. They could only say “juice” or “Pad” and would cry if any other relative tried to engage them in conversation. I asked my aunt if this was normal behavior for the child, and she said yes but that she wasn’t concerned. At nearly 4, a child should be using full sentences of at least three or more words. It is a missed milestone and early intervention is key.

I checked the local school district, and they offer free screenings and testing that my cousin’s child would qualify for. I went to my aunt and suggested that, in my professional opinion, her grandchild might benefit from speech therapy or at least testing to make sure it wasn’t some other underlying problem. It was completely free and I sent her the info. I didn’t go directly to my cousin because I know some parents can be thin-skinned and defensive when it comes to advice from licensed professionals. I had parents rage at teachers for suggesting their kids need glasses because they can’t see the board.

Well, for my troubles, my cousin sent me an awful and barely coherent text telling me I was a busybody; because I don’t have kids, my opinion is worthless; and she is a mother, so she knows all, and especially what is best for her child, who is perfect. I left it alone after that. The problem is that two years later, the child started kindergarten and was diagnosed with a severe speech impediment, and the rationed therapy the school gives hasn’t really helped. My cousin had to enroll her child with a private therapist that her insurance doesn’t cover and it is pretty pricey. I know all this through the grapevine.

Then, at a family event, my aunt and cousin went off on my poor mother about how awful and selfish I am for not volunteering and helping in their hour of need. I never told anyone about the text since I didn’t want drama, but I kept it. Frankly, I am furious. I tried to help, and I thought I was respectful enough by just going to my aunt with the free resources that were available to my cousin. I didn’t press, preach, or accuse. But now, at this late date, they think publicly blaming me and dragging my poor mother into it will work? I am ready to go to war and I have the receipts, should I?

—Not Holding My Tongue

( Read more... )

the_comfortable_courtesan

Very fine news

There had come about a habit in the Rondegate household that one morning in a week Lady Abertyldd would come visit with Lotty and Gianna, to see how Zipsie got on, exchange family news, play a little music and sing perchance, 'twas exceeding agreeable. How different a mother from Cecil’s own was Lady Abertyldd! And on hearing that he had no sisters of his own, to their great shock and distress, Lotty and Gianna had quite offered that as he was now entirely part of the family, they would be his sisters.

Zipsie had given a little amuzed snort upon hearing that – o, a brother, that may take them about on jaunts, and no doubt make 'em little gifts of sweetmeats &C, and mayhap they will work you a pocket-handkerchief or so in recompense. She smiled. But they are good girls, did they not keep that brat Millie in order?

But as this week’s call impended, Zipsie looked across the breakfast table with a little frown, saying, that she would desire an opportunity to convoke privately with Mama, might he offer to take the girls on some excursion? They are lately in a great desire to go to the East India Museum, a girl at their dancing class told 'em of the automaton of a tiger devouring a Company officer to the sound of horrid growls and anguished cries and they are quite wild to see it.

I am quite wild to see that myself! I will be about finding out the terms of admission, and take 'em off on that treat.

That is exceeding kind. And bring 'em back here for tea, so that they do not feel I neglect 'em – Mama will have left by then, and I have Mrs Lucas coming to discourse of ghazuls, but we may send 'em home in the carriage.

He wondered what it was that she desired to be closeted with her mother about: might it be mysteries of womanhood? or might there be some matter of Ollie having an escapade? For his recent letters had contained several mentions of a young actress that had turned out to be one they had known in childhood – Zipsie had wrinkled her nose a little and remarked that sure she recalled the Richardsons, they had been quite the cynosure in charades, even better than the Merretts!

And added that mayhap 'twould be a good thing to distract Ollie from yearning over Thea.

So Lotty and Gianna had quite jumped up and down and clapped their hands at the intelligence that he had arranged this visit to the East India Museum, and a most enjoyable time of it was had.

When they finally re-entered the house, he could hear that there was still activity in the music-room. He told the footman to order tea served in the Mozart salon, and told his sisters-in-law to run along there, while he went to see what was ado with his missus.

In the music-room he found Zipsie at the piano, with Mrs Lucas – a fine figure of a woman, and very graceful for all her stoutness – leaning over her – and a man standing at her other shoulder.

Good Lord, that was Davison! Had lately been elected to the club – friend of Sallington – Oxford don – ah yes, great scholar of Persian, that was it –

Zipsie looked up. Can it be tea-time already? We have been quite lost in Persia I am afraid to say – reft by djinni – well, beginning to find a way to come at setting these ghazuls – la, I am failing in my social duties –

Cecil smiled and said that he and Mr Davison were already acquainted by way of Lord Sallington. Had foolishly not occurred to him that Mr Davison’s studies might be of interest to Zipsie.

Davison said that had only quite lately turned his attention to Persian music, but this was a very fascinating problem of as 'twere translation.

But, said Zipsie, I fancy we have laboured long enough the day – and should go have tea afore my little sisters devour everything – She stood up, and started tidying music and books and papers together.

Mrs Lucas said she could not bide long – was staying at Pockinford House and her sister got into the greatest fret was one a little late –

Zipsie raised her eyebrows a little and said, had heard somewhat of that from Thea. But they might send her in the carriage with her sisters – would not be greatly out of the way to go by Pockinford House –

Cecil nodded and said, entirely answerable.

When they came to the Mozart salon they found Lotty and Gianna drinking raspberry shrub, and having already done a deal of damage to the neat arrangements on the cakestands. Zipsie grinned and went to ring for replenishments as she exhorted her sisters to stand up and show civil – introduced 'em in proper form to Davison – that looked less daunted than Cecil had feared, mayhap he had young sisters of his own?

It was less awkward of a tea-party than he had anticipated – of course, one fancied that Mrs Lucas, in her capacity as a rector’s wife, had a deal of experience along those lines! – and any attempt by Lotty and Gianna to represent the action of the automaton was firmly quashed.

After the girls and Mrs Lucas had been dispatched, Zipsie remaining in the salon to keep Davison company, Cecil returned to find Zipsie proposing that Mr Davison might stay to dine – since they were dining quietly at home the e’en –

One could see no harm. The chap was entirely acceptable, and one need not worry that he was one of those bachelors that insinuates himself in order to get up flirtation or worse with married women. Had that tiresome journey back to Oxford to look forward to.

It transpired that in fact Davison was not returning to Oxford, but was staying at Mulcaster House – Her Grace had lately acquired a most fascinating manuscript that desired to convoke with him concerning – but it so happened that all the family had engagements the e’en and he found himself a little at loose ends –

So, really, he was entirely the thing and a person one would very much wish to know – indeed, very much a friend of Sallington’s rather than a mere club acquaintance – had been to Nitherholme to advize Julius Roberts concerning a Persian garden –

He and Zipsie glanced affectionately at one another over the table and revealed that their match had been made at Nitherholme – had seen less than he might have desired of Roberts – had had some notion of inviting him to Wepperell Larches –

Was soon revealed a deal of mutual acquaintance.

After the dessert, Zipsie rose with a little moue saying she would do the proper thing and leave the gentlemen to port and tobacco. He had noticed, during the several courses, that she had not been eating as heartily as her usual wont, and wondered was she a little out of health.

A slight uneasy silence fell.

Do you care for cigarillos? Cecil enquired, going to the sideboard. Sallington has give me quite the taste for 'em. Understand has found an importer so is not dependent upon gifts from di Serrante –

Davison accepted a cigarillo.

After they had puffed a little he cleared his throat and remarked how very enviable was Lord Rondegate’s situation – a wife of such accomplishments and so amiable a nature –

Indeed, Cecil agreed, I am most exceedingly fortunate. We sort very well together. Her family are the most agreeable people – in an excellent set –

They did not linger longer than it took to smoke one cigarillo apiece and consume a glass of port, before joining Zipsie in the Mozart salon.

Cecil scrutinized her surreptitiously, but in the lamp-light she did not appear particularly pale, or have dark shadows under her eyes, so mayhap he was worrying unduly.

At length Davison departed, refusing their offer of sending him in the gig – Cecil had a notion that he was going to drop in at the club before returning to Mulcaster House – but expressing enthusiastic appreciation at their hospitality.

I hope, said Zipsie, taking Cecil’s arm as they turned away from the front door, you did not mind my inviting him to dine – it was so much the habit at Bexbury House that I did not think to ascertain whether 'twould suit you – whenever there was no particular occasion and we were dining en famille there would be quite the congeries of guests – old comrades of Uncle Casimir’s – business colleagues of Granda – all sorts of Ollie and Follie’s friends – old Mr Dalrymple quite often –

O, be entirely easy, my dear! He is a most agreeable fellow that thinks very highly of your talents. And that is a very fine practice, though sure, I fancy 'tis more practicable to accommodate at Bexbury House when there are more than one or two unexpected guests –

Quite so. But, Cecil, really?

Really!

She blushed.

Then gulped, and said, had somewhat to communicate to him, and mayhap they might return to the parlour and sit down to it?

So they returned to the salon, and he offered to ring for fresh tea, but she shook her head and went to sit upon the sopha.

He sat down next to her and took her hand.

She gave a little sigh, and then said, had been feeling a little qualmish this last little while – naught very serious, yet, not my usual state of health, but nothing that seemed any matter to go consult a physician over –

Was that why you wished to be closeted with Lady Abertyldd?

Zipsie nodded. And indeed, 'twas extremely agreeable to talk to Mama without the girls there – have had hardly a chance since we returned to Town – and she was most exceeding reassuring. Said that sure, in the early days of marriage, the humours may go as 'twere somewhat out of order, and that is nothing to fret about, but she is like to think there are signs that I go with child, though one cannot be at all definite –

Zipsie! He put an arm around her. That is very fine news, and I daresay she also had very sound advice about how you should conduct yourself – take care – special matters of diet - &C?

She giggled and said, certainly so! But not to make a great deal of it yet, might be mistook.

Well, we shall not convey the intelligence to Tunbridge Wells, then! He could quite imagine that his mother would wish poor Zipsie to lie upon a sopha for the next several months, did she hear this news.

tsuki_no_bara

oh my flist it is so hot out. *ghasp* if i didn't like my sleep so much i would've gone into work today for the a/c. but sleeeep.

so i've been here a week! and have unpacked more of the kitchen (dishes! mixing bowl! pots! misc utensils!) and the bedroom (jeans! t-shirts! the dress i forgot where i packed it!) and realized yesterday there's one more thing i don't miss about living with someone - i don't have to hear anyone rattling around the kitchen on a morning i want to sleep in. which is very exciting. i do have to unpack some more, tho. and, uh, i think i can hear my downstairs neighbor snoring. O.O i really, really hope he lives alone.

a thing i forgot about the tuesday when it was so hot i had to stay over at my sister's - we had a fire alarm at work. >.< i was on a 10a zoom meeting and suddenly alarms started going off everywhere and a recorded voice said basically GO DIRECTLY TO THE STAIRS AND OUTSIDE DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT COLLECT $200 and when no one else on the zoom had any reaction i just thought oh, so i'm the only one in today. but i went outside and stood in the shade for like ten minutes and then we all went back in. i can't remember what happened but it was something dumb.

anyway. comcast came on thursday so i now have wifi and tv! and have caught up on resident alien. :D i also had to run into harvard square to get my glasses fixed and coincidentally acquire ice cream. orange chocolate chip. DELISH.

for the fourth my sister and i went to a park sort of near her (we went there last year) for fireworks and, uh, ice cream. soft serve. it wasn't crowded when we got there but eventually it filled up and by the time it was dark enough for fireworks there were A LOT of people. fireworks were as usual quite fun and a little kid sitting behind us kept going "wow!" for a couple minutes and then their dad took over and it was INTENSELY cute. i do love a good local fireworks.

saturday i dicked around and went to home sense and home goods and target with my sister for house stuff (got new kitchen towels, did not get a kitchen timer because my stove does not have one, wtf) and then we went out for dinner and saw jurassic park rebirth which overall i think i enjoyed? the story is stupid but let's be honest, you don't watch jurassic movies for the story. you watch for the dinosaurs. and there were some frankly terrifying huge flying ones.

(there were A LOT of previews and most of them were for sequels or remakes except ick (no), bugonia (perhaps), and one battle after another (yes).)

and yesterday because it was hot i zoomed with the mothership, the sister, and cousin pb for iceland and now we are PREPARED. except i need to get a big suitcase because mine broke last year when i went to italy. i even started giving my faculty a heads-up at work and found some admins to look after them in case they need anything. woot.

after that i sat around, met

tamalinn and the tiny dog for ice cream because did i mention it was hot? came home, unpacked some, had dinner, watched andor. it's so good but at the same time i keep expecting people to die.

fifty years ago an exceptionally large time capsule was buried in nebraska. it included letters, photos, art, cassette tapes, and a chevy vega and it was opened on friday. folks traveled even from other states to find the stuff that they or their parents had buried. how cool is that? so cool.

Current Mood: hot
Current Music: resident alien

the_siobhan

I am so tired of working on this house.

Upper half the back yard is approximately - well it's definitely not level, but it's not a hill any more so I'm calling it good enough. The Big Pit of Rocks is functioning perfectly in that the yard no longer floods whenever we get a rainstorm. At some point I will clean it up and make it look pretty, but that day is not today. Probably won't be tomorrow either.

This past weekend we picked one of the basement rooms as our starting point and spent about an hour clearing out the contractor trash and then scrubbing the shit out of the walls and floors. We also went to the hardware store and picked up paint and supplies and that was enough for my foot to say fuck you, you are done for the day. It's been hard to get a lot of work done just because it is so hot and humid, even in the basement.

***

Foot is still a problem. I hate this so much. I am spending a fortune on cabs and delivery because walking hurts. It's been a month, c'mon man, chop-chop, ándale, let's get healthy already. For fuck sake. Although I guess it could be argued that hauling around heavy buckets full of clay, rocks, and now paint probably isn't helping matters much.

I also have gotten a bunch of reminders this week that all my other doctors want to have a crack at me because I guess it's been a year since the last round. Sorry folks, cat takes priority. Once he has his checkup out of the way I'll find time for the rest of you.

The problem is that I can't take time off work for any of this stuff right now, because there are THREE, yes THREE major projects going on right now. At the height of vacation season so half the people who need to do things are off work. Who the fuck makes these decisions?

***

A couple of days ago I opened the back door and startled a wild rabbit. It took off into the treeline. This morning I looked out the back window and the biggest coyote I have ever seen was sniffing around the yard.

These incidents may be related.

Guess I'll see how well the vegetable plot survives the attentions of the locals. Daughter brought over all her seeds and just slapped them all into the ground and I have no idea what's even down there. Here's to Salad Surprise in a month or two.

Current Mood: tired

minoanmiss posting in

agonyaunt

CW" sexual harassment, soft bans, conflict avoidance, and religion. ( Read more... )

fox posting in

agonyaunt

Dear Eric: I am very much enjoying the second time around following a long and less than joyful first marriage. My problem is plans for burial.

All of our children are terribly against our marriage even though both of our spouses were deceased at the time we met. Our children have virtually no relationship with us now and if there is any contact it is ugly.

I have a cemetery plot out of state with my deceased wife. My wife has a local plot with her deceased husband. I would like to get a new plot for the two of us but expect that any such request would receive pushback and be ignored.

My wife’s mother is buried with her second husband using her last name at the time of her death and her father is buried with a subsequent wife so there is precedent for what I want but I know her daughter would require that her mother be buried next to her father.

How do I get what I want?

I have not discussed any of this with my wife. If I did and she brought it up with her daughter the reaction would be for the daughter to express her displeasure by keeping the grandchildren from my wife. She has done that for less. If I am to get a plot, I should do that sooner rather than later as they are in short supply.

While living I would feel great joy if I could know that I could count on being buried beside my wife for all of eternity. Am I being silly to not just take the easy route?

— Burial Conflict

Plans: You have every right to make a burial plan that suits your life and your love. And — this might be controversial — you don’t have to tell your kids. If you have virtually no relationship as it is, you certainly don’t need to bend to their wishes. It seems there’s no pleasing them, anyway.

In general, it’s better to communicate about final wishes and plans for one’s end-of-life in advance. This helps intentions to be understood and gets questions answered while you’re still around to answer them. But the conflict that’s roiling your family complicates things.

Without knowing more about the circumstances of your marriage, I can’t say your kids are completely wrong, but the punishment you mentioned is more than concerning.

Perhaps they’re struggling with acceptance because of unprocessed grief, perhaps there’s something else going on that I’m not privy, too. Either way, the stated conditions dictate that the burial conversation should happen only between you and your wife right now. Once you’re both on the same page, you’ll know what the next step is. That might mean purchasing a joint plot that makes you happy and appointing someone other than one of your kids as executor. (That last part is probably wise regardless.)

There would still be a lot of complications, of course. Namely, one of you will predecease the other and at that point, presumably, the kids would find out the plan. So, while you are working on doing what brings you joy, I’d also encourage you to get down to the root of what’s going on with your kids.

the_comfortable_courtesan

Had rather not be revealed

Sandy did not anticipate that Maurice was like to be at the club the e’en – was quite the height of Mamzelle Bridgette’s bustling time, the Season still a-whirl and already ladies wishing to be beforehand concerning the wardrobes wherewith they would devastate summer house-parties. But he had a deal less fret over his lover’s health during this time now that he came to apprehend the confederacy of his relatives, that sent Thomasina with a well-supplied basket to sustain her in her toil, and la, she did not dare take any back uneaten! So Maurice was at least eating good food from Euphemia’s kitchen, even was he staying up until all hours.

Mysell-Monting looked up from the chess-board and sighed that he might as well resign, for he could not see any way to evade this trap that MacDonald had got him into, tipped over his king, and rose. Sandy suspected that there was also some matter of an anticipated assignation – sure he would have liked to interrogate Mysell-Monting about his painful pleasures, that he found a very curious matter that converse with Maurice’s sister had not come about to greatly elucidate.

He stood up himself and took up his glass of whisky. Came squeaking towards him Chumball and Pemberton.

MacDonald! Have you heard? Pemb lately had an epistle from Wappinge, that goes antiquarianize in the vicinity of Naples, and in among the minutiae of the statues and ruins &C he has seen, mentions that Basil Linsleigh is about in Society in those parts.

Insofar, said Pemberton lugubriously, does one count Yankees as Society, as we apprehend Linsleigh is staying with some people called Rutledge, from Virginia.

Sandy took a sip from his glass and conceded that he had had some intelligence of Linsleigh’s whereabouts, and that he had not expired like Byron of marsh fever or been slain by Albanian bandits.

Do you suppose he will return? Sure the scandal was a seven-days wonder.

Chumball sniggered and said, did Wappy not mention some model he was painting of quite surpassing beauty?

So, thought Sandy, Marcello had managed to place one of their allies to keep watch upon Basil and his activities, as he had intended. He doubted that Basil was in any eagerness to return to English shores, since he had fled not because of any fear of a scandal over sodomy but from criminal charges to do with illicit black-birding. He remarked that he recalled from his own visits to Lady Bexbury’s villa in those parts that indeed, the local fellows were of exceeding handsome looks, and, it was given out, very willing to oblige Milords Inglesi for quite modest remuneration.

Chumball and Pemberton looked wistful.

Came up Sir Hartley Zellen, saying, did you mention Lady B’s villa? Have just had a letter from Verena, has been some while on its way, about their departing from Rozofsky’s estates and making the journey by way of the Mediterranean, and that they had been offered the hospitality there did they pass through Naples.

One observed that Sir Hartley manifested a pleasing paternal affection towards Verena even had she been staying for some months with her real father, as he remarked upon her various exploits in the Ukraine. Of course, Lady Zellen’s three lovely daughters entirely did him credit – all beautiful, for their fathers had been quite the match to Honora Zellen in looks! – well-trained by their mama in the ways of Society, and had all made good matches, though Verena’s was the most outstandingly remarkable, an entire love-match with Gussie Imbremere, heir to the Marquess of Offgrange.

Did MacDonald care to dine?

Alas, said Sandy, Offerton has been very pressing for me to dine with him privately as has some discreet matter wishes to unfold –

They all looked knowing, for Sandy had a justified reputation for looking into troublesome matters with discretion and bringing about an acceptable resolution. Was that not, in fact, how he had met Maurice? Investigating the theft of his notions by a newcome modiste, Madame Francine.

And here came Terence Offerton, horsey-looking chap with thinning hair, cheeks reddened with broken veins, making amiable to the company though with some air of being eager to be closeted with Sandy.

Sandy hoped that 'twas not some matter of horseflesh – sure he could not count himself as expert in matters of racing and breeding and training, though he supposed he might call upon the knowledge of Belinda Penkarding did it come to it.

As they settled into the private dining-room they exchanged a little general conversation – what sort of a racing-season was Offerton having? Did Sandy ever hear aught of Leo Harper? – but once they had been served and the door closed upon 'em Offerton came to his concern.

Had lately discovered his head groom had took on a young fellow – indeed the matter was of some urgency, one of the other grooms had contrived to break an arm and another had took a fever – that seemed entire all one could desire in the way of handling cattle, a very good way with him – but what gave one to pause was that had been discharged without a character by Blatchett –

Sandy managed not to start at this intelligence.

Had been employed at Blatchett’s hunting-box in Buckinghamshire – and the tale is, one day His Lordship up and dismisses him, he does not know why.

Sandy looked thoughtful, and said, musingly, one wonders had he seen somewhat that Blatchett had rather not be revealed – might not have understood the inwardness of the business at the time – but did any come questioning –

For he already had some inkling of what the groom might have seen. And that 'twas somewhat that one hoped he had not gone blab about.

Indeed, seems a young guileless fellow enough, but sure have come across fellows at races &C looking as innocent as the babe unborn that were rogues incarnate.

Sandy suggested that mayhap he should come to Offerton’s place and interrogate the fellow, under cover of finding out was there any matter of unjust dismissal and remedy – though, he added gloomily, in Blatchett’s position they are wont to turn off their servants for mere caprice and there is little one may do.

Offerton remarked that to his mind, Blatchett was a poor judge of horseflesh, and not so fine a one of men, either, did he spend so much time in the company of that detrimental Mortimer Chellow. And commenced upon a lengthy and rather confused tale of Chellow’s conduct at some card-party at the races.

So it fell out that a day or so later Sandy went out into Berkshire to Offerton’s place, and had some converse with the head groom, Stalyward, that declared that young Oxton was a fine hand with the cattle – worth two men at least – could not see the least harm in him – would not be entire astonished to learn that Blatchett was about some sly tricks, there was tales about that Chellow chap – and the lad had seen something, or refused to undertake some underhand matter –

One could place a certain amount of confidence in one that had been about racing circles these many years and risen to head groom here: had doubtless developed sound judgement!

To give some air of solemnity to the proceedings Sandy had been made free of the steward’s office, but to ameliorate the severity of the occasion had also provided a mug of ale and a snack of bread of cheese. The lad would have been up since dawn –

Very prepossessing, he came in with damp hair from which Sandy deduced that he had washed away the evidence of the morning’s toil under the pump afore this interview. Was very grateful for the ale &C, as Sandy commenced upon the more general questions –

Brought up around horses – father a groom himself – the stable at Blatchett’s hunting-box had been his first place – very quiet – His Lordship would visit occasional with friends – or sometimes by himself – was mostly a matter of tending Tipton the cob – making sure all was in order against a sudden visit –

His Lordship had not been for some while, but visited lately.

There I was, said the young man, holding Benbow’s head while His Lordship mounted, and I bethought me of the young lady, and once he was in the saddle, I ventured to hope that she had suffered no ill-effects from being bolted with on such a nasty night?

So he snorts and says nothing and rides off. Then that evening his groom Mr Axbury comes to me and hands me over my due wages and tells me to go, I am dismissed. Very fortunate I had friends here that would at least find me a nook to sleep, and they say they are in dire need of a pair of hands – but the being discharged without a character must concern Mr Stalyward.

Sandy looked at him with all the kindness he could summon up – for inwardly he felt very much what Clorinda would term John Knox look at this naïf young fellow ensconced so very close to a place, Jupp’s horse farm, frequented by Bella Beaufoyle. His very good nature was like to be disastrous.

Why, he said, that is very harsh and one must suspect there was somewhat behind but I cannot fathom what it might be. But let me advance your case to Lady Bexbury, that has interest with the Potter-Welch agency, that was in particular established to assist those that had been unjustly turned off or had other reasons for difficulty in obtaining a place.

That is above and beyond kind! Oxton exclaimed. For although everyone here is friendly, and 'tis a good place as places go, I had rather not be about racecourses, where there is a deal of low conduct even without the gambling.

It was a puzzle to think what they might do with him – so many of the establishments to which he might be recommended were those where Bella was like to be a visitor – but Sandy fancied that matters had now got to the place where he should convoke with Clorinda. And mayhap Belinda Penkarding.

So he made further reassurances that the matter would be looked into, and that they would be about finding him a more eligible situation.