#61.2, Wednesday, Oct. 2, 2024

Historical Setting, 631 C.E. The loft of the Creek Cottage
 

Everyone tries to fix grief.  I know they miss their mother and grief is not mine alone splayed out here for their mending. But, like an old wear-softened tunic, grieving should be worn underneath everything now, always close and always present, but best kept hidden under the new garments.  Old clothes to rags, new fabrics stitched for wearing – continual change is the one thing that never changes.  Only those who grieve for the once-was, ever seem to notice the loss. Mostly, everyone celebrates the new, the new song, the new fabric, the new wins of wars, the new king.

         Dagobert is popular, even though in the usual Merovingian power shake up, Metz was not assigned a new mayor after the death of Warnachar a few years ago.  Instead, Dagobert, ruling Nuestra, moved the court for Burgundy to Luxeuil, maybe a move to empower bishops. Leudegar was raised to the see of Autin. Obviously, empowering nobility through Church office just goes on, even with a more powerful King over Nuestra. ^[Footnote] Probably, only a few of us are disappointed in that. 

         So, what becomes of the old nobility of Metz? There is no power vacuum. Greg and Gaillard are officers in an ever more powerful military now of Burgundy. I expect the boys will be back here very soon. Military horses have been delivered to Haberd’s pastures.  Something is afoot.  More soldiers always become more people grieving.  Wars may sort out old and new, and good and bad, the weak and strong, but always people grieve.  Why do we fear the crab when there are so many ways of destruction at human hands just by choosing war?

         Inky the cat is a big fellow now. He makes a weighty warmth on the covers of Ana’s place in our bed. But I should be finding my own place in the sleeping loft now, so that Hannah and Vizsla can have a proper bed.  Maybe the child Hannah is carrying will be a daughter too.  Daughters are good.

         Tonight, I can’t sleep well. I’ve put this new straw tick in the loft. It might take some getting used to. Apparently Inky found the bed down there crowded with Vizsla and Hannah. When it was Ana and I, he didn’t seem to mind the crowd, and slept right there on the wool blanket.

         Here he is now. It is good that he came up here with me. He is warm and living, purring softly…

^{[Footnote] Fouracre, Paul and Richard A. Gerberding, Late Merovingian France: history and hagiograghy, 640-720, pp 14-15.from materials noted to be Fredegar’s Chronicales, IV}

(Continues tomorrow)