We speak of a Merry Christmas
And many a Happy New Year;
But each in his heart is thinking
Of those that are not here.
We speak of friends and their fortunes,
And of what they did and said,
Till the dead alone seem living,
And the living alone seem dead.
And at last we hardly distinguish
Between the ghosts and the guests;
And a mist and shadow of sadness
Steals over our merriest jests. ©

Christmas Eve at the grave by Otto Hesselbom (1848–1913)

Eldritch Elf-2022: in Cambridge (En)

It is no coincidence that I got my Eldritch Elf present on the Solstice, and man, isn’t it wonderful! What could be better than eldritch Solstice Carols and songbooks for them, all recorded by the one and only H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society! And *the* Solstice tentacle stocking, too! Father Cthulhu is saying his unimaginable and indescribable “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Huge thanks to my Eldritch Elf for this incredible gift!

Ok, after our unforeseen night shopping on the way home not only did we meet one of those robot delivery thingies, but also somehow found ourselves engaged in a conversation with it (although, I ended up calling it a he, assuming its gender).

So, one of them was gliding on the opposite side of the road we were walking by (a bit far away), when another one promptly crossed it (on a green light) and joined us on the narrow path. We decided to be courteous (why) and let it (him) go first and so he did. In a minute he stopped at the next light, and L., being courteous again, pushed the button. The light turned green, but instead of running smoothly to the opposite side, the robot politely asked us to “push the button, please.”

“But I did already!” said L. perplexed.

“Push the button, please,” the robot repeated graciously (and with a generic American accent).

“I did you damn thing!” exclaimed L.

“Thank you!” said the robot, and rushed across the road.

It (he) flew away speedily, and we decided that he was running late to their secret meeting of our Midjourney Overlords.

Предрождественское, или Through the Looking Glass

 Собственно, сабж:

Н.Б. Волкова (1924–2022)

Только сейчас узнала, что месяц назад, 16 ноября, умерла Наталья Борисовна Волкова, первый легендарный директор РГАЛИ (ЦГАЛИ). Она прожила удивительно долгую и потрясающе насыщенную жизнь, которую с избытком хватило бы на несколько литературных биографий: хранительница наследия Ильи Самойловича Зильберштейна и его верная спутница на протяжении десятилетий, вместе с ним она стояла у истоков создания «Литературного наследства» — великой академической серии литературных памятников — и невероятно обширной коллекции архивных документов, которые затем составили основное ядро собрания особо ценных рукописей РГАЛИ.

Cпрашиваю: откуда кабриолет-то? Отвечают: ну чего пристала, если интересно, вон у деда и оленя его спроси, а у нас дела, мы заняты, давай, Рептилоид, гони на всех парах.

Ну ладно, говорю, но хоть приветы передать могли бы.

Приветы, говорят, можем – Руди-Красный Нос, прости, так было надо, до скорого.

(Негодные)

At yesterday’s Fellows’ Christmas Dinner, L. remembered his very first event at Clare (in the late 80s) when all the menus were in Latin. It wasn’t a problem for the most part except one: there was obviously no word for coffee (which is served at the end, with petit fours), and the Classics fellow translated it from modern English as ”hot black potion,” which makes perfect sense, of course.

Пост-деньрожденческие tutti quanti (пунктиром)

За сегодня мне удалось, наконец, ответить на все все поздравления от друзей-коллег-знакомых, распушить принесенную с вчерашнего мороза елку (наряжать будем уже завтра) и сходить с Л. на его ослепительный и никогда не надоедающий Fellows Christmas Dinner. Проходят годы, торжества пока что перенесены из главного холла в соседний, более современный, построенный уже в конце ХХ века, а ощущение волшебства все равно остается.

Birthday Chronicles: P.2

To recreate fine dining at home is almost impossible unless you are a proper chef. But it looks like L. can be called one, because his present made me think that we were in Paris. Many thanks, darling!

Birthday Chronicles: P.1

The day was an absolute marvel–and so is the cake, tulips, and that perfume which I have loved since I was a little child, because my Mum adored it: I told L. about my memories linked to YSL’s Opium and ended up with this precious gem.