Monthly Archives: January 2006
To those of you on my friends list, and those of the mun! journal, niankhsekhmet, would, you /could you PLEASE use an LJ-cut when posting images and any long and verbose posts? I live out in the boonies, and while I know that this isn’t anyone’s problem but mine, this means I am on dialup. In short, I will end up getting high-speed internet like the rest of the civilized world in about five years or more precisely when hell freezes over. I do not have cable, I do not have DSL. Unlike some of you who are so very spoiled you don’t even remember what it is like to have to wait several minutes for a single page to load, I am pleading, begging, cajoling, for the sake of my sanity, put it under a LJ cut. My speeds range between 14.0 and 41.0 bps at best. It’s not the greatest, trust me.
Those who do not, cannot or will not (or refuse to comply) with this humble request, unfortunately will have to be removed from this and niankhsekhmet‘s friendslists. This goes for communities that I am owner of, too. Most of you are very good at it and I thank you from the bottom of my dial up modem. Please know that if you are removed, it isn’t personal, however, I am very tired of having to ask for this very small consideration.
hen the snows of February were deep on the Island of Scotland, it was not so on the Fortunate Isle. Through thick clouds of incense and herbs burned on thuribles and pain I gave birth to a healthy baby girl. She, like her father in his youth, had masses of red hair. Her birth, something that might normally have been hailed as a fortuitous event upon the Isle, for me there was only a strong sense of foreboding.
I think every time I sit down to write you a letter there must be some sort of thing that has either upset you or I or seperated us. That is not the case this time.
You keep asking me, ‘’Why?” Why do I love you? Why do I stay? Why is it that we cannot tear ourselves apart from one another, and avoid the obvious pain that is coming? The answer to those questions lie in these words, the one phrase in Scots Gaelic that I have taught to you; “Tha gaol agam ort”.* I know that you know what I mean.
I bowed my head before Nuada. I had been consort to him and he was the foster-father of my eldest daughter, Maeve. And though definitely she was not the only of his many children, she was but one daughter among many daughters and sons born to him. I prayed that the fondness that he and I had shared for lo these many years would still remain. It had been some time before we had seen each other, and yet still, he made my heart quicken by his sheer Sidhe power.