So, I mentioned before, in an earlier blog post that I'm writing a story about one of the women who serve at Christ Church dining hall--as in how did she get there of all places, what is her life, etc. Well, I've connected with one woman and her name is Hilary Magdalene. She's quite young, so lovely like a pre-Raphaelite painting, she's very articulate and it pains me a bit that she is there handing us our soups night after night. Her life has been odd no doubt, and verging on the tragic. She had been a student of Oxford University about a year ago, but things went awry in her life, namely a man, and a subsequent baby. The rest you'll have to read the story for, which I am sketching in all the margins of my books, including (hush, hush) on occasion the margins of some of my library books--in pencil!
She looks a bit like this, particularly the hanging tear:
& by the way, I haven't spoken to anyone who works in the hall beyond, "thank you," and thus you'll find that Hilary is fictitious, except that fiction never really is quite fictional.
Anyhow I'm telling you all this because it demonstrates that I am back & well (as is my incredibly socially adept daughter) & I am once again finding life to be tragically too beautiful and short for all that there is fulfilling, sweet, and intricate about it. I love how the shoulders can carry too much at times only to be followed by their articulate cartwheeling.
Much ado about nothing,
Sabine
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