Catherine, Called Birdy

I watched the early morning light pass over and through the windows of colored glass, leaving streaks of red and green and yellow on the stone floor. When I was little, I used to try and capture the colored light. I thought I could hold it in my hand and carry it home. Now I know it is like happiness-- it is there or it is not, you cannot hold it or keep it.

Corpus Bones! I utterly loathe my life.

I think sometimes that people are like onions. On the outside smooth and whole and simple but inside ring upon ring, complex and deep.

. . . . I cannot escape my life but can only use my determination and courage to make it the best I can.

I have developed a rash on my body where the rough cloth rubs on my skin. I wanted to take a bath, thinking that the dirt on my skin made the rash worse, but the bathing tub has been turned upside down and is being used as an extra table in the kitchen and i cannot have it until spring, so I just spread goose grease on my rash. The dogs are following me everywhere.

Just as a river by night shines with the reflected light of the moon, so too do you shine with the light of your family, your people, and your God. So you are never far from home, never alone, wherever you go.

My mother makes the best cider in Lincolnshire. She swears it is because she always includes a number of rotten apples in the mix. I was wondering if this could be true of people - if the world needs a few rotten people to make the sweetest mix. This would explain the problem of God allowing evil in the world.

I cannot be a monk, nor a crusader, nor a tumbler. I must stay here and hem sheets until I die. My humors are greatly out of balance. I prescribe for myself wormwood and spiced wine and some of the custard left from supper, and I will let all of the dogs sleep in my bed.

More lady-lessons. It is impossible to do all and be all a lady must be and not tie oneself in a knot. A lady must walk erect with dignity, looking straight before her with eyelids low, gazing at the ground ahead, neither trotting nor running nor looking about nor laughing nor stopping to chatter. Her hands must be folded below her cloak while at the same time lifting her dress from the floor while at the same time hiding her mouth if her smile is unattractive or her teeth yellow. A lady must have six hands!

Corpus bones, I thought. To be wedded to this perfumed prig with his mouth in a knot and a frown always on his face!