Showing posts with label Haddocks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Haddocks. Show all posts

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Yoga will help, as will Tai Chi, Qigong. And Twister.

Hello, Beloved Readers, and welcome, those of you new to Marlinspike Hall, ancestral manor home of the Haddock clan, and one of the premier architectural creations of [the] Tête de Hergé.  Within the Tête de Hergé, we are located to the west of the famed Lone Alp.  Locally, we're neighbors to labs and farms dedicated to the smaller cutting edges of animal husbandry -- miniaturists, they are -- and to a Cistercian monastery also, we are neighbors, offering secret shelter to its beleaguered abbot and opportunities for Christian fun and pagan insights to successive classes of postulants, novices, and the occasional weary long-professed.  The Crack Whore has taken up residence hereabouts, as well, bringing a much needed diversity to our slightly stuffy country lanes -- she's quite nice and we hope she'll one day join the, er, um, "Haddock Family Enterprises Addiction Center."

Sigh.

I had hoped for an easy Saturday evening entry, bringing you all up to date on the fascinating goings on -- a belated, some might say, series of disciplined protests and legislative appeals by Marlinspike Hall's genetically indentured Domestic Staff, designed to implement parity of wages and benefits among the various genetically pure (not engineered, please understand, but guarded by careful counseling and occasional forced sterilizations) families and houses.  I've tried several times to explain the Haddock forefathers and foremothers intentions in creating the various lineages of servitude, their happy, happy intent, but always I fall short.

Meant to create harmonious groups of highly specialized happy, happy families, guaranteed work, shelter, and provisions of unusual opulance, what could go wrong?  The Domestic Staff family dedicated for several centuries, for example, to the care of Caravaggios, would never stray from advanced studies of varnishes, dwarves, gilt, and twisted royalties -- until young Rodrigo stumbled upon a stray copy of The Order of Things (the world does have its ways), turned gay, and began an avant-garde fashion internship in Rome dedicated to exotic black leathers and turtlenecks.

Genetic anomalies, evolution, the Hand of God, whatever one invokes as Author of Change, occurred in every family meant to remain pristine in its work, its intent, its happy, happy happiness.  There are rumors of the Haddock penchant for miniatures leading astray some of the less scrupulous Haddocks, more attracted to scientific shortcuts  -- or, opines a growly Captain Archibald, some "disgruntled employee, led astray by outsiders, and... Rodrigo." Note that he never questions what nefarious influences converged upon The Manor when, as a young explorer and navigator, he discovered and exploited the Worm Hole Marina in the Moat surrounding Marlinspike Hall!

Ah, well.  Enough of our Labor Troubles.

Back to the Crack Whore.  She's perfectly made for the Haddock Family Enterprises Addiction Center.  The origins of the Center are humble and tied in to our system of genetically indentured Domestic Staffing.  I wrote it this way, once, when times were financially tough and the Captain had been inexplicably missing for longer than was usual:

...we scrape the underpinnings of the more modern furniture, mostly reproductions, in The Manor's public vending areas and grateful that the miniature families on the domestic staff willingly sift the silty bottom of the moat for spare change.  We split the haul, fifty-fifty, because square is square. 
You'd be amazed at the number of people who think that throwing things into the moat is an acceptable romantic substitution for tossing pennies into a well or euros in the Trevi fountain.  Of course, given that we sometimes attract a crowd heavily into the religious life, here more for our next door neighbors, The Cistercians, or equally heavy into heroin, hoping to score an inpatient bed at the posh Haddock Family Enterprises Addiction Center, headquartered in our barn -- we don't always come away rich in cast off coinage.  
I didn't want to confuse you with haphazard detail, but most of those who drop by the Haddock homestead are also somehow related to the carnival, and are, in fact, often carnies.  Fred thinks its because we exude some sort of Rabelaisian exuberance, that we are, in short, relentlessly robust.  Fred obviously knows nothing of my time spent weeping and the suggestion that that might be one of the chief occupations of his boudoir would shame him.  
Fred likes the more complicated explanations.  Me?  I'm all about Occam's Razor.  We attract addicted Catholic carnies because the Haddock Corporation opened a detox/rehab and decided to headquarter it in our barn, next to its tantalizing rope structures (connecting to the Manor proper via the Computer Turret), which fairly sings to those with gymnastic training, which is most everyone.  Oh, right, and we are smack dab next to Abbot Truffatore's Internet Office Supply Center, cleverly disguised as a rather ancient monastery. 
Ah, well.  Let's just say that our former silly Saturday night pot luck neighborhood suppers have become polarized affairs, whole long tables divided by potato salad recipes and biotechnology ideologies.

Within it all, Fred, Bianca Castafiore -- the Milanese Nightingale -- and her accumulation of friends and paramours, lately a troubling va-et-vient between Sven Feingold, Keeper of the Maze, and his son, something of a Rodrigo, Cabana Boy... Well, anyway, within our slightly fictional environs, we thrive, we fail, and we survive, happy, happy, happily enough.

I, the Retired Educator, the Prof-de-Rien, am required by Universal Laws (which I am, you may be sure, constantly appealing) to dip my fugly purple toes into your reality on an almost daily basis, am primarily sad.

Which is a vast improvement!  Remember the many stories of being sad and in pain?  Sad and disappointed?  Sad and confused?  Sad and desperate?  Sad and half-way liking it, as it requires so little of one's self, if you allow it an "and," a depressing companion of some sort.

But leave sadness unpaired, and pure -- and it's not a bad thing.  Pain, disappointment, confusion, desperation, self-pity: these are the demons with which you don't want to live or die.  Each a separate, winnable fight, and sometimes not so much a battle as a shrugging-off.

I am sad at the suffering of those I love and know;  I am sad at the suffering of those I love and will never know.  I am less and less sad for myself, suffering through each day, thoughts and dreams more and more taken over, like some rippling silver pensieve for the excesses of those I love, by what is happening to dear Lumpy, the Mother-Units, the dear brother of the West, tumbling, tumbling all.

The tumblers and the tumbling include many others, the past beloveds, which we all know last forever, and the tumblers and the tumbling are often as hilarious and sweet as they are fast and tragic.
It's as much a prolonged fit of the giggles in a pew on a long ago Sunday as it is an image of concentric infoldings of nausea and confused effort.

But I try now, in the public eye, to smile, and to ask my serious things by wrapping them in filmy rustling tissue papers and raffia.

I do miss the organic pig farmer from across the way.  She wasn't a Crack Whore, quite, but maybe that to which a Crack Whore might aspire.  She first made her way into the blog, officially, at least, in January 2013, about which we reminisced in January of this year:

Do you remember our neighbor, the Organic Pig Farmer?  With pure poetry, I introduced her here exactly one year ago: 
In other local soap opera news, we are never at a dramatic loss these days thanks to the vocal stylings of CrackHead Lady Across The Way, who turns out to be a very well-known organic pig farmer.  She steals the limelight with soliloquies to her Ugg boots and curious crowds gather -- mid-morning and again at midnight -- to watch her use the muddy pits of the hog lot as an exfoliating (yet wonderfully moisturizing) body wash. 
Even then, something told me that trouble was afoot, and I swear I hold no prejudices against muddy crackhead exhibitionists.  Plus, bacon is "the" ingredient in haute cuisine, and we were thrilled to have such luscious pigs so close by, flavor on cloven hooves.  On her clear days, we were working with her and our resident geneticists on creating a tasty pig that ruminated -- which we figured would have burst open a world of consumers hungry for bacon, even if they wanted to be snooty and call it pancetta, which is hog, excuse me, pork belly cured with salt and peppered with peppercorns, fennel, nutmeg, and what have you. In Italy. 
 Harrumph.
But making a ruminant of a single-stomached pig was proving more than our animal husbandry and genetic experts were able to accomplish within a single season, and capturing the attention of the crack whore organic pig farmer, genius though she was, was nigh unto impossible.  The Jewish people shall not know -- with hearts' free of oppressive judgment -- bacon in 2013.  Don't believe the fast talker who tells you its easy to increase salivation, thereby increasing the microflora necessary to the decomposition of cud, or that making a pig's teeth incessantly grow to accomodate all that chewing, is easy.  That person is a ruminatory fool.  In any event, we'll miss her, and the promise of bacon. 
[....] She was evicted about two months ago. 

Well, I suppose SOMETHING in this blog post needed writing.  What exactly, I cannot say.  Perhaps I will throw myself on your mercy, Dear Readers, new and old, to discern what it might be.  Beware science?  Beware genetics and its environments?  Love your neighbor?  Be your brothers' keeper, but accept and respect their keeping rules.

Yoga will help, as will Tai Chi, Qigong. And Twister.




SUN LU TANG (Sun Tai Chi Chuan)
Zayayuma 
Uploaded on Jan 30, 2008
http://www.suntaichichuan.com


Martial Arts Therapy


© 2013 L. Ryan

Friday, February 18, 2011

Looking Up the Garderobe Chute

Good afternoon.

I am sequestered in one of the Guest Wings, the unfortunate theme of which seems to be PAISLEY. It boggles the mind how many apartments are secreted, intact, nestling like pearls, within the complex and complicated walls of Marlinspike Hall. As much as the Haddocks are dedicated to employing local talent, the family gave up on Tête-de-Hergéen electricians and plumbers long ago, resorting instead to their tried-and-true method of Inherited Indentureship -- that's right, they breed their own electricians and plumbers, who then are genetically prepared to deal with the unique intricacies of antique wiring that dates from the onset of the Industrial Revolution and the immeasurable joys of medieval pipes.


Château de Tonquédec: Garderobes by CopperPhoenix  This French château has kept its chutes short, placing them in a tres chic staggered
sequence that prevented them from discharging onto each other.




[Gorfram has a tidy photographic collection documenting early plumbing measures, something she calls The Glory of the Garderobe.  An excellent survey of Garderobe Chutes. If you are wondering about the intersection of functions in the Garderobe, Gorfram also clears that up, noting "they were called 'garderobes' because people often kept clothing in them. The inevitably-associated smell helped to deter fleas and other cloth-eating critters." Crikey!]

True, in 1951, during a spell of sexual overindulgence, condom failure, and an unexplained exposure to megadoses of radiation, there was a consequent period of Manor Maintenance Mayhem, beginning with the Generation of 1967. The Haddock Clan has steadily reasserted its secular rule over the Persuasions of Rome (and Rome's Minions, our cloistered next door neighbors, the Cistercians) and the birth rate among the indentured tradespeople again took on the trappings of restraint.  It was quite the lesson learned, and we now know, and have it suitably displayed in all our onsite signage, that [t]he [radiation] dose limit for the embryo/fetus (during entire gestation period) is 0.500 rem!

Anyway, in keeping with the paisley motif, I am wrapped up in a Kashmiri shawl -- this one the more in-your-face sort, its thin metallic threads of gold and silver hinting at a secret party life.  Our paisleys were born of boteh designs, a stylized pine cone motif native to India but popularized by the Persian Safavid dynasty.  If you are wondering [and who would blame you?], the difference between Pashmina and Kashmiri shawls is in the wool.  Kashmiri wool, or King's wool, is gathered from bushes in the spring, where shedding mountain goats rub to rid themselves of excess. Pashmina shawls are made with a coarser wool, though still a very fine cashmere fiber.



The bedding is paisley;  Two of the five antique wall hangings are paisley -- well, one of the two might better be called an "hommage" to paisley, an over-stylized pastiche; There's a Victorian era chaise longue upholstered in an amazing purple velvet with a border of eye-crossing vintage Persian paisley; And then, of course, there's me, so shawled as to blend into this hidden pearl of a guest nook.

Are you curious as to why I've been unceremoniously stashed back here, never mind the rationale behind the paisley binge? Obviously, I've been hinting like crazy that this situation is not of my doing -- note the verbal accoutrements! "Sequestered." "Stashed," for heaven's sake!

Yes, I was PUT here, hauled away from the centers of activity in The Manor, relegated to a wing with which I am barely familiar.

My feet are supposed to stay up, my body warm, my various humours unprovoked. There is no phone to irk my phone-phobic self; No television blares. Oddly, there is an annoying drip::drip::drip but this section of Marlinspike Hall has no plumbing (which brings up a whole other issue...).

That singular mystery may occupy most of my time.

If you don't hear from me before the end of the weekend, send help. If there are no representatives from the Domestic Manor Staff available, no Fred, no Bianca Castafiore, and if the Extant Felines are less than forthcoming?

Make like Nancy Drew: look for paisley, listen for intramural wetness. Get help: alert The Cistercians, drag Abbot Truffatore away from his illuminated manuscripts, contact Tante Louise!

[Remember, that cell phones have hit-and-miss reception here, though if you stay as close as possible to the Computer Turret -- and make of it, in fact, your personal centrifuge -- you'll be able to reach, at least, Tante Louise -- the Tête de Hergé version of 911. Reach Tante Louise, reach the world!]

Sigh. The battery is low on this thing. There's no reliable electricity in this wing... and I don't have time to illuminate you to the dangers of the unreliable kind. I am meant to dissolve in paisley pools of languid sloth... dream in the low light of candles...

I'm gonna miss the new episode of Animal Hoarder. Crap.