Out to Sea

Out to Sea, originally uploaded by Lú_.

I've been feeling out to sea a lot lately, between one thing and another. This afternoon I am reminded by a photograph from my summer holiday -- simply the next in line to upload to Flickr -- that "out to sea" can be a place of great beauty with a view right to the very horizon, to the end of the earth. Hope may be opposite of the despair, but it can be found in the same place. It's just a matter of seeing the sea in the right light.

M is for Merry

M is for Merry, originally uploaded by Lú_.

Merry Christmas, from my home to yours.

The Boy is Disturbed by the Rocks

The Boy is Disturbed by the Rocks, originally uploaded by Lú_.

Because things in nature aren't supposed to be in straight lines.

Castle Rising

Castle Rising, originally uploaded by Lú_.

Castle Rising Castle, near King's Lynn, Norfolk, was built in the mid 11th century by my husband's 25th great-grandfather, upon marrying the widow of another 25th great-grandfather. If we'd known that, we might have tried to get there before the gates closed. Not to be forgotten in pre-holiday genealogy homework: looking up the history of every site on your route, just in case.

The Way Home

The Way Home, originally uploaded by Lú_.

Once upon a time, the Fyshes lived in Norforlk, in the Fenlands outside of King's Lynn. Our branch left there, brothers together with their wives and children, long since -- first for London, outside the City, later for what was then Upper Canada. This summer some of us went back, if only for a day or two. But gravestones from centuries ago are also long since worn away, by the sea air, and even the ghosts seem to have blown across that flat landscape to the west.

Afterlife

Once or twice a year I search for my name in Google to see what turns up. And at least once a year something surprises me. This time I was surprised by the living past.

My bio these days says that I'm an editor, a publishing educator, and a photographer. Sometimes it adds that I'm a mom. But once upon a time, before I was these things, I was an academic. Straight from a BA into graduate school; a PhD in English literature, focusing on literary theory, the eighteenth century, and publishing history; a couple of years in full sessional position teaching core courses and developing one of my own; conference papers and journal articles; a scholarly monograph, The Work(s) of Samuel Richardson ... and that was it. There was a tenure-track post at a university for me, but it died out in a round of budget cuts. I stayed home with my children for a while, took community-college photography courses, found a new career as an editor of memoirs and current events books and young adult fiction, and settled into a life I love. I left the academic world behind.

But last night I discovered that the academic world did not entirely leave me behind. That 1997 book of mine is still alive there. It is on an Oxford reading list and in scholarly citations in monographs, articles, and blog posts (strangely, also in a couple of Wikipedia citations). This was merely amusing until I discovered that I am in a Roger Chartier endnote! Roger Chartier, one of the chief inspirations of my graduate years! I would buy his books before they were even translated into English, and though I gave away much of my scholarly library, I kept Chartier.

For the next several months, whenever I feel that I have accomplished little in my life, I will tell myself, "Roger Chartier!" and it will be all right. There is, it turns out, an afterlife, if only in endnotes. 

Lest We Forget (Remembrance Sunday)

Lest We Forget, originally uploaded by Lú_.

Every Remembrance Sunday, the 48th Highlanders of Canada — veterans, regiment, chaplains, band, and cadets — gather at the memorial at the north end of Queen's Park in Toronto for a service to remember fallen comrades from the Boer War to today.

O valiant hearts, who to your glory came
Through dust of conflict and through battle flame,
Tranquil you like, your knightly virtue proved,
Your memory hallowed in the land you loved ...

All you had hoped for, all you had you gave
To save mankind — yourself you scorned to save.


Lest we forget.


God bless the 48th!