Instead of a genealogy problem-solving
post, more pressure from the biographical division of blogging. As
anyone can see, it's an uphill struggle to stay on top of The Book
of Me, but can't let the side down now. The project has a fatal
attraction if only because I keep saying to myself who knows "me"
better than "me" and let's face it, genealogists have a
congenital desire to keep the record straight. We have principles.
The Year I Was Born (Prompt 12)
had WAR in it. Like really, what else do we need to know about that?
With no personal memory of the year I can attest that the war
had an exciting conclusion called V-J Day when all the grownups in
summer camp country went nuts, donning outlandish costumes, making a
celebratory procession from house to house, trailing fumes of whisky
and the occasional soul lost in the dark. Dr Langtry dressed up like
Alley Oop (of vintage cartoon fame) and broke his ankle tripping over
a chamber pot.
Creator of this series, Julie Goucher,
probably suspects some of us are slacking so she makes it more
complicated. If I got the message correctly (note to self: go
see what other Geneabloggers have done with it). Special/Iconic
People (Prompt 13) is about having no more than twelve people to
your home for a proper meal. Celebrity people, famous people, living
or dead. Fantasizing, shall we say. I am also fantasizing I have a dining room any more. It's not to include any
ancestors because Julie is going to throw that at us next up.
Plus, what food would you serve? A tall
order, that. If I still lived on the farm I could have a corn roast
and that would be that because I have totally forgotten how to cook.
Maybe throw in some Octoberfest sausages for the barbecue. No, save
that idea for the relatives. I'm breaking into a sweat here, trying
to remember all the gourmet meals I used to make from scratch;
celebrities deserve a little more fuss, don't you think? Musing along
the lines of suckling pig with preserved crabapples and a green veg — how's that asparagus doing in the garden patch. A little
Calvados in the dessert soufflé, hmmmm?
It
gets tougher. Whom to invite? Thinking we should have dinner music
but hey, would kd lang make an appearance? Get Grandma's humungous
crocheted tablecloth out of the cupboard. The guest list is hardest
of all. First I made a long list. It got out of hand right off the
bat, a huge traffic jam in my flailing onward progress. Categories something
like the Nobel Prize has would have eased the project. Am I going to
choose writers? Politicians? Musicians? Historical greats? Shit
disturbers? I'm exhausting myself already, suppressing the
thought that the future with Julie promises even more hard work.
Anyhoo, a mix of the quick and the
dead: Gertrude Bell ranks right up
there with Emma from one of my favourite blogs; Jo Nesbo and Christopher
Hitchens are a must; John Cleese and that delicious rake Peter
O'Toole at about age 50 (eliminating the need for George Clooney as
eye candy); Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, and Anna Politkovskaya; CC Landon, cherished philosophy
professor of my formative years, and Dr. Donald Low would add to the
growing ecumenical flavour. How we doing? Eight. We will
need translators; do they count? Let's add Alexander the Great
and Miriam Toews and Leonard Cohen and Col. Chris Hadfield.
There. I see I am building a noisy
evening of opinionated rascals and ideologues. Let's hope the wine
settles them into a mood of respectful rapport. Oh dear, the wine
list; the house wine Goats Do Roam seems a bit plebeian. I shall be
slumped in a corner making weak efforts at maintaining order.
Horrors, for sure I am omitting some really great people I want to
meet. Must save the long list for another time.
No principles were sacrificed in the
creation of this post.
©
2013 Brenda Dougall Merriman
