alt_luna | Entries tagged with lists

Books read:

The Ogre Downstairs by Diana Wynne Jones
The Mabinogion
The Once and Future King by T.H. White
Maleficent the Magnificent by Ashter Peacock
The Sentimental Pixie by Ashley Grey
Astonishment Amongst the Crucibles by Lawrence Smelter
A Fine and Private Place by Peter Beagle
The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald
The Princess and Curdie by George MacDonald

Lurking places:

the rose garden
the third fork in the apple tree
the windowseat in my room

Snacks:

toast with marmalade
ginger scones

Projects:
painting the cabinets in my room. Of course, Mrs Brown insists I have to repaint them all white before returning to school, but for now, they've been covered with pictures of legendary magical avalon.
knitting socks ~~for the camps~~. Mrs Weasley, I'll be sending another package to you this week.

Yellow roses instead of red can mean apology.

Hollyhocks can mean ambition.

Purple carnations can mean capriciousness.

Apparently, there are also some vegetables that have hidden meanings, too. Asparagus means fascination and lettuce means cold-heartedness. Isn't that strange? Fruit, too. Pomegranate can mean foolishness.

I'm rather lucky, because I don't have much physical discomfort at my moon flower time. Here are some things that help me:

If you get lower back pain, just fill your socks with little bags of uncooked rice, so you have extra support under your arches. It really, really helps. What's even better is if you mix in a little lavender with the rice (AND it makes your shoes smell nice. The lavender repels moonflies, too, which are always attracted to girls that time of month, which isn't a very good idea, since they make you forgetful).

Putting a silver teaspoon under your mattress helps. This also lessens the chance that you'll have dreams of werewolves. In case you often do and find them troubling.

Eating chocolate helps, too. Although everyone's rather sick of the taste of it now, aren't they?

(Oh, by the way, Mrs Brown? I need new brassieres. Could we go shopping for them at Easter Break? )

Things welcome in the bottom of a bookbag
A new quill, uncrushed
Fresh parchment
Last Tuesday's essay for Charms class, with the big red 'E' at the top.

Things not welcome in the bottom of a bookbag
Jam toast from breakfast

Things welcome in the common room
Crumpets and a crumpet fork
A chess board with all the chess pieces
The nubby purple afghan with the singe mark in the corner

Things not welcome in the common room
Loud conversations when others are trying to revise
Farts

Things seen every day at Hogwarts
Ghosts
Chalkboards
Girls crying over their potions or charms essays

Things rarely seen at Hogwarts, if ever
Orange marmalade
Gurdyroot tea
Celtziggles (they hate the smell of chalk)

Under the 'Rumour' category:

Professor Hooch is going to be the new Head of Gryffindor.

The Slytherin Common Room is going to swap places with the Ravenclaw Common Room, and the Ravenclaw colours will be changing to green and silver, and the Slytherin colours will be changing to blue and bronze. I don't quite believe that one, myself.

Sirius Black is alive, and he was last seen trying to buy a dinner of fish and chips in Manchester. The innkeeper screeched when he recognised his face from the wanted poster, and then when they tried to seize him, Sirius Black sprang into a portrait of King Arthur with the Knights of the Round Table that was hanging on the wall and he mounted the horses of one of the Knights and galloped away, disappearing out of the frame. Which would be quite a neat trick, really, if it's true. I have been told I must not talk about this. Perhaps the method of escape is a secret that the Ministry does not want to get out. Anyway, I am sorry for talking about paintings. Or people who might appear in them.

Under the 'News' category:

~~A Brindled Crowleree was spotted in Surrey. This is quite exciting, because there haven't been any reports of them in probably at least fifty years or so.~~

THERE ARE NO RUMOURS. THERE IS NO NEWS. I AM SORRY.

Mice are actually quite clever creatures.
The bars on an old bird cage are not quite close enough together to keep mice secured inside.
Mrs Brown can scream astonishingly loudly.

Things I like about my new room at the Browns:

The little rag rug that Mrs Weasley gave me fits perfectly beside my bed. Mrs Brown said it's all right for me to have it, because no one will see it.

It's on the uppermost floor--not an attic, really. I think Mrs Brown said it used to be a governess' room. Since it's so high, I can see out my window for miles and miles. There is a little seat by the window, which makes it perfect for curling up there. Perhaps I can make some pillows for the window seat.

Mr Brown said it would be all right if I borrowed books from his library and kept them in my room until I'm finished reading them. He said they wouldn't be missed because no one reads them anyway (I think the library originally came from Mr Brown's father).

Nobody can hear me up here.

Current Mood: content

Sally-Anne Perks' origami roses.

The look on Celia's kitten's face when it stretches in the patch of sunlight on her bedspread.

The look on Portia's face when I gave her a valentine. I don't think she expected to get one from anyone.

The firelight in the Common Room.

Sunrise over the Forbidden Forest. I'm very partial to sunrise. I sometimes go out early in the morning before breakfast to watch it.

The painting on the third floor corridor beside the head of the staircase leading down to the Charms classroom. I think it's supposed to be a bacchanal. The nymphs are charming, although I think the satyr has had a bit too much wine to drink. Nobody seems to mind, though, except the Dutch aldermen in the next painting over.

The spider web tucked into the corner of the window over my bed.

The knitted wristlets Ginny Weasley made for me.

other than the obvious, of course.

*It can restore neuraeul (nureal? Neureul?) pathways, if someone's been paralysed. I understand that St Mungo's uses it that way occasionally under very special circumstances.

Did you know that the cruciatus curse was invented by a Ravenclaw? That might not have been one of our House's finest hours, though.

*It can be used to stop a dog fight.

*Opening wine bottles without a corkscrew. It's rather unusual, but something about the magical field generated when you do the curse will make a cork pop out every time (or so I've been told).

*There's a rare Peruvian snake, the topaz-spotted ox slider, that likes to have the cruciatus curse put on it. Something about their nervous system recognizes it as pleasure, instead of pain. But it must be admitted they're rather exceptions to the rule.

Most people dislike it rather a lot.

I've never had it put on me. There are a lot of things I haven't gotten around to experiencing yet: drinking champagne. Eating sea urchins. Diving out of a muggle aeroplane with one of those silk sacks they use for floating to the ground, like a dandelion puff. And experiencing the cruciatus curse.

I should add it to my list of the things I intend to get around to trying some day. Not that I think I would especially enjoy it, might you. But perhaps I might learn something.

Cut some holly. I found a lovely bit of it this year in the woods, with many berries. It will look nice over the fireplace and door.
Hang the mistletoe.
Pull out the ornaments, if I can find the boxes. I think they're buried under the back issues of the Quibbler in the second bedroom upstairs. Father's been a bit preocupied with getting the next issue out. (We don't have a Christmas tree because there's not quite enough room in our big room with the printing press. Instead, we hang the ornaments right on the press.)
Paint stencils of snowflakes on the kitchen cupboards. I'm ready for a change.
Finish making gifts.
Find the Christmas cloth for wrapping gifts.
Cut paper snowflakes for the windows.
Make suet seed balls to hang on the trees outside for the birds. They deserve Christmas, too.

Oh, and clean the kitchen and dust. Father's not been thinking much about housekeeping since I left for school.

Today would have been my mum's 39th birthday.

Since she died, I've usually not done lessons on this day, but spent it with my dad instead, making him a special tea, with the seedcake he likes best. But while I'm at Hogwarts, that's impossible, of course. But Mrs Weasley said she'd go over this afternoon to bring my dad some seedcake for me, and I sent him a letter to arrive today, that I hope will cheer him, even if I can't be there.

Ways I am like my mother:

I have her hair, and her eyes, dad says.
On the other hand, I also have her fingernails. They tend to break easily. And I bite them, like she did.
I'm a Ravenclaw like her--well, like both my parents, really.
I like lots of the same sorts of books. Angela Whizwart with her Shining Silver Wand series, the Chessy-Casey books, and the Flying Carpet children, although I still don't think any of them are as good as the Tolkien books. Dad said she never read them, and that makes me sad. I think she would have loved them.

I miss her.

I'm starting to forget her a little.

Current Mood: sad

- What all the best dressed women wore in the fourteenth century, the really proper ones. (I've found several giggly sorts who love to talk all about fashion, but you can't much of an idea about colours, because, of course, their clothes are all transparent.)

- What all the really improper women of the fourteen century wore. Or did not wear. Oddly enough, you can learn more about that sort of thing more from the male ghosts. Particularly the ones between their late teens and early thirties. I think that at least one or two were killed by jealous husbands.

- What every Professor's favourite dessert is. Ghosts notice things like that. Except Professor Acton, who never eats sweets at all.

- The histories of all the students named on the plaques in the trophy room.

- Which students have nightmares. There are several ghosts who take a rather professional interest (I won't name any names, of course, because I think that's rather personal. I suppose ghosts must get less fussy about personal boundaries after two or three hundred years of passing through walls.)

- Ghosts can be just as lonely as people. Living people, I mean.