This naughty knitting blogger (http://woollywarbler.typepad.com/) is making something extremely cool and amazing and does not say where the pattern comes from, what yarn she is using, or anything else which will allow me to think about making it myself. Actually, I had never visited her blog before. It may be that she has described the object in excrutiating detail so many times that her regular readers are saying, “Quit bragging about your Italian yarns already!” Or, indeed, that the information is there somewhere and I am too inept to find it. But it reminds me to identify stuff.
Chanthaboune recommends that we call our Alsatian (does anyone else think of German Shepherd dogs when they read that?) “Georges, the Troll of Justice and Peace.” This would make up for the fact that I can’t find any actual facts about the guy. I think it highly unlikely that he was really a troll. It seems almost certain that a troll in the family would have caused comment. But being known as Georges, the Troll of Justice and Peace will be his just desserts for never bothering to write letters.
In fact, I think I have solved the troll mystery, as I have discovered that a greffier was a recording clerk for a juge d’instruction. I think the difficult old handwriting misled me. As soon as I determine just what a juge d’instruction was, I will know what Georges did for a living, which is always a good start.
Here is an automatic translation of a site explaining the work of the juge d’instruction: “Before their examination by the repressive jurisdictions of judgement, the criminal businesses and certain correctional businesses are the subject of an instruction, still called legal information.”
I love automatic translations. It is so easy to imagine the repressive jurisdictions and the criminal businesses mixing it up with the trolls. Later, it explains that the juge d’instruction would “undertake all researches for the manifestation of the truth.” I wish I had a job description like that.
La Tenora — an expert quilter of my acquaintance — said I should go ahead and try the Celtic Cross quilt according to the directions they give. “They” in this case would be the Three Swans Studio, a Canadian outfit that specializes in designs for this type of quilt. It involves freezer paper, fabric glue, and tweezers, so I am hesitant, but she seemed to think it was a cool and clever new idea. I may try a little tiny example piece first, just so I don’t commit myself to a horrible process with lots of fabric already bought and cut. Everyone can always use a new pincushion or something, right? Maybe a quilted cell-phone cozy?
…Umm, you don’t think I really own a cell phone, do you?
cell phones are an evil thing…maybe even more than trolls.
I second Dr Drew’s comment.
Sounds like your ancestor was a courtroom clerk. I think I prefer the troll hypothesis 🙂 In Dungeons & Dragons trolls can only be killed by the heroes cutting the troll into little bitty pieces and setting fire to those little bitty bits otherwise all the bits join back together and you have one real mad troll with whom to deal.
‘Tenant farmer’ is probably quite a good definition of my grand father. He joined up with a couple of businessmen who knew nothing about farming but knew a good investment when they saw it. He didn’t help pay for the farm (no money at that time) but staked his interest in it by being the farm manager. His ‘real’ job was a stock auctioneer. He must have been quite well known down south because his name is mentioned a bit in books written about the farming history of the region. Eventually he bought them out and also bought up some other land. In his 70s or 80s he sold the farm back to one of the descendants of one of the original businessmen (at a tidy profit I think). I am eternally grateful that it was one of my uncles who ended up as the next generation farmer, not my father. By no stretch of the imagination can I imagine myself as a farmer’s daughter.
As far as my grandmother scrubbing the floor – it may have been a bit of both. I suspect that she enjoyed making a point. In truth I can’t even visualise her down on her knees scrubbing. I remember her as this tall, slimmish old lady with pure white hair who was always dressed elegantly, held herself with dignity and was my childish stereotype of a duchess. I was also a little scared of her – was never sure that she really approved of the scruffy, unladylike little urchin that I was. Her daughter, TSLOL, has something of her mother’s elegance (not height ‘though) and was always far more approachable.
Just a note about a book you might find amusing. If you read fantasies at all try out ‘Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell’ by Susanna Clarke. It’s very english and quite witty in a very subtle way. It just came out last year.