On November 8, 2018, Blessed Michał Giedroyć was officially confirmed, with his Feast Day fixed on May 4th. Always known as “Blessed” Mike in the family, the inverted commas can now be omitted.
“. . .A commonplace book is what a provident poet cannot subsist without, for this proverbial reason, that ‘great wits have short memories:’ and whereas, on the other hand, poets, being liars by profession, ought to have good memories; to reconcile these, a book of this sort, is in the nature of a supplemental memory, or a record of what occurs remarkable in every day’s reading or conversation. There you enter not only your own original thoughts, (which, a hundred to one, are few and insignificant) but such of other men as you think fit to make your own, by entering them there. . .”
The “few and insignificant thoughts” are exactly what will be found here in Commonplaces.
On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month the Armistice was signed to end the First World War, one-hundred years ago.
We all know of people who are not formally canonised and who by our reckoning should be. Can I put in for my late mother-in-law and a host of her friends who suffered at the hands of the Soviets in the wastes of Siberia during the last war?
Naturally greedy, the idea of making my own Lebanese dishes led me to purchase a small tagine.
I read BH’s book “Crater’s Edge” so many times, both when he was writing it and later after it was published, I reckon I know it almost by heart. Now I am listening to it, a very different experience.
“Forgiveness is not an emotion. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart.”
Without forgiveness we are stuck in a black box with no exit. Without forgiveness we cannot move on, or find ways of preventing the repetition of these crimes.
There are insufficient words to describe the worldwide scandal of abuse — who would have believed such a thing thirty years ago? I try to imagine what my mother, or BH’s mother, would have made of it.
“Prepare to hurl boulders!”
Lilies and Mohawks are unlikely bedfellows; I had to know more.