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What spires, what farms are those?
From the Department of What the Hell, Brain, We're Making Fruitcake: Horace's labuntur anni (Odes 2.14) should be translated as "the years give us the slip." I have no idea where this precipitated from. I'm up to my wrists in flour and dried cherries. I was reading J.L. Carr's A Month in the Country (1980) before bed last night, but that only made me think of Housman.
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Did you make it to your appointment without incident?
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I think ours might have started as English fruitcakes about twenty years ago, but the recipe has been changing since my childhood. This latest batch contained currants, raisins, cranberries, cherries, ginger, and kiwi. This year we also made Bischofsbrot, as my grandmother used to. (No one is quite sure why.)
Now all that remains is to get them out of here.
I imagine they are going to good homes.
Did you make it to your appointment without incident?
I did. And it was actually helpful. I'm very surprised, but not complaining.
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I'm amused by the precipitating fragment of Horace translation. I don't reckon it's any worse than some of the things (fragments of smut, random associations of characters) that fall into my head whilst I'm trying to do something vaguely practical.
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...right, that's Eheu fugaces, the one with the really complicated metre. Interesting translation.
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It's supposed to be made (at least according to our recipe) with slivered almonds, raisins, candied citron peel, and chopped dark chocolate; we left out the citron and replaced the raisins with tart cherries, but the incredibly time-consuming batter was faithfully observed. I will let you know how it comes out.
PS: Am now imagining it as bread by or for Bernhard Bischoff, possibly incorporating small scraps of parchment, or Latin texts written on the top in icing.
. . . Now I really want to make that. Edible Festschrift.
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It's fun! Even if the finished fruitcake is no longer the stoplight-red and lurid green of past years' maraschino cherries.
...right, that's Eheu fugaces, the one with the really complicated metre. Interesting translation.
Thanks. Of course, the rest of the poem couldn't be bothered to show up. I may stare accusingly at it later.
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We mostly mail them to relatives, but I trust (hope) they will be enjoyed by their intended owners. And if not, they make interesting accessories.
I don't reckon it's any worse than some of the things (fragments of smut, random associations of characters) that fall into my head whilst I'm trying to do something vaguely practical.
Traditionally I get ideas in the shower. It's not very useful when it comes to taking notes.
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I should certainly think they will be enjoyed.
I had relations who sent commercially-baked fruitcakes in decorative tins at Christmas when I was a child, which fruitcakes tasted as if they might have been being passed about since the Blessed Mother was a little girl, but the few times we were given genuine homemade fruitcake it was a fine treat, and much appreciated.
Traditionally I get ideas in the shower. It's not very useful when it comes to taking notes.
Ah, yes, that would be so.
I don't think I've ever seen a waterproof digital voice recorder--perhaps one of those slates that scuba divers sometimes use would be helpful? (Of course, the problem with them is that they've only got room for about a sentence and a half, as best I recall from watching National Geographic documentaries. Oh well.)