A new member of the family
This esteemed lady followed us home from a small resort town in the middle of the forest. Says her name is Jadwiga and she is sick of picking toadstools and making foul potions with them. Has a real broom, fabulous red leather shoes and the funniest face I’ve ever seen (but don’t let her know I said that).
But make no mistake; she is not some New Age girl, dabbling in white magic. She’s a Real Witch. The one who causes cows to loose milk and calls up hails and thunders that destroy the crops. She can also turn stupid people into toads (and for her most of the people are stupid). So it’s better to stay on her good side.
Dorothy Perkins short sleeve cotton shirt, £14
Oasis pleated a line skirt, £45
Wolford pantyhose, $30
Carvela strap shoes, £75
Structured handbag, £345
Yellow gold jewelry, $695
Bow glove, £27
wallpaperstogo.com PIZV8X3 Carey Lind Contract / Commercial Wallpaper
C’est Magnifique Wallpaper, $88
The evening that never was by simbellmyne
So yesterday I was supposed to go out to town with my friend - I put together an outfit similar to this - and then a rainstorm from hell started. I was left watching Vampire Diaries and eating popcorn in my robe and fancy evening make-up. And the tragedy is - the outfit was left unworn.
PEONIES + CHALKBOARD (by LoveMissB)
So, I’ve been watching waaay to much Gossip Girl in the past few days (what? it’s summer and I’m bored and on vacation and don’t judge me), and because of that I seem to have developed a deep craving for colourful coats and peonies. I have a few coats, and it’s too hot for them anyway, but, unfortunately, peonies are impossible to get. I’ve prowled all the flower shops I know, and nothing. No peonies anywhere to be fond :(
It feels kind of weird to come back to tumbrl with such a post, but I’ve always marked historical occasions here. And I must mark this.
These are train cars for transporting cattle. 70 years ago they took tens of thousands of people to be starved and worked to death in Siberia. My grandmother’s family escaped them - they were warned that they were in the deportation lists and fled across the country. My friend’s great uncle wasn’t in the lists - he and his son were taken from the middle of the street because the soldiers had a quota to fill. My grandfather had a half-brother - a boy who was raised in his family, because his own was taken. Almost everyone here can tell similar stories.
Those deported were the most dangerous people for the Soviet system. Teachers. Writers. Priests. Artists. Officers and government clerks. Their families. Half of the people deported were children under 16. After the war ended even more people were exiled. This left countries, including mine, without their intellectual, cultural and moral elite. And the people that remained were left in fear. This left a mark on the national consciousness, a mark so strong, that even I, born decades after that and raised in a free world, still have a belief that a nation that hasn’t lived through a tragedy is somehow unfinished and incomplete. And alongside this belief there is also a deep-seated feeling of wrongness and anger that Stalin died in his bed with his sycophants kissing his hand, and did not receive a Nuremberg.
Hansa Days festival
Today is the fourth day my town hosts the Hansa Days festival. It’s medieval, big and very very awesome. You can find representations of Hansa cities in the main square:
And ladies in pretty dresses:
And knights in combat:
The mirth of an overworked mind
I’ve just written this sentence in my thesis’ introduction:
“The lengthy flirtation with ideas of regionalism established a special relationship between subnational and supranational actors in the EU”.
Is there a prize for making the most boring things sound dirty?
My dad was watching some kind of a local TV play and I caught one sentence. It’s one of those awesome sentences that fit an entire story inside them.
Shouted out by a country girl:
“What became of the sacred promises you gave me on the haystack?!”
fyeahhistorymajorheraldicbeast:
The Library has a serious lack of proper table space for research papers.
I once had to write a final, school-leaving exam, a literature interpretation essay on a table meant for a first-grader. No room for legs under it, no room for the text, the draft and the clean copy on top of it. Now THAT was frustrating.
I am studying public administration. Once, when taking a class about organizational and office culture I almost wrote an essay about the organizational culture of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the homework was some stupid SPSS data entry.
(Source: fyeahpoliscipanda)
I am writing a Master’s thesis. In between playing City of Wonder and looking at Tumbrl. That’s my table - it reflects the naive hope that getting pretty binders and leather covered journals and golden pens would motivate me to work.
The cat’s name is Maurice. And there is some vanilla chai latte in the Mucha cup.
Thesis writing
Today I’ve finally kind of sort of stopped procrastinating and sat down to work at my Master’s thesis. So at first I was like this
And now I’m like this
PHDComics sometimes makes me feel like somebody’s looking at my life over my shoulder.
I cannot bear to even think of you,
Like apple-tree, with fruit so heavy,
My hands droop down like in a tragedy,
And then you say: stand tall as freedom’s standing.
I beg then – lock me up, my homeland, inside you,
Like death locks up a song inside the throat,
Or night locks up the evening shadows.
And then you say to me – I am your freedom.
Justinas Marcinkevičius (translation by me)
Today my country celebrates it’s Independence Day. It’s so cold that raising flags hurts your hands, but the sun is shining, people are gathering in squares and for at least one day nobody seems to care about heating bills, gas prices and the newest pop-scandals.
About me
A girl living in a figurative ivory tower not too far from the literal middle of Europe. Good at keeping my head in the clouds, bad at making my feet stay on the ground.
