I have decided to steal a page from Helen Hollick‘s book and not only send out my newsletter to subscribers, but also share it here on my blog. I must admit I am somewhat irregular with my newsletters – I am hoping this decision will force me to be more disciplined. Not that I necessarily need more discipline in my life – I am one of those “long to-do list” people who is always, always, always trying to make sure everything is crossed off the list.
Anyway: here is my newsletter. Enjoy!
I have been remiss. It is over two months since you last heard from me, and there are various reasons for this.
First of all, February is one of the most challenging work months of the year for me. I have drowned in Annual Reports, Sustainability Statements and Fourth Quarter Reports. Numbers, dear peeps, have sort of spouted from my ears. Now, I LIKE numbers. I enjoy completing complex financial routines that result in balanced books. But I do believe I love words more 😊
Secondly, things have happened on the private front. Like this:
I give you Valter Belfrage, who entered the world a few days early. My mother-in-law always said grandchildren were life’s dessert, and after welcoming this the fourth precious grandbaby bundle to our family I must say I agree. Grandparents have the luxury of just being with their little grandbabies, leaving the practicalities and actual rearing to the parents. Which is why I will happily spend hours playing with our eldest grandson, August (he is old enough now to have understood the basics of hide-and-seek. He is still too young to grasp that he should remain hidden until someone finds you, having a tendency to pop up the moment I’ve finished counting)
The third reason is one that in think is plaguing many of us: the sheer unrest around us. From a European perspective, the new US administration is acting in an utterly incomprehensible way. For us that have Russia breathing down our neck, it is evident who is the real enemy, and yet the new US administration seems hellbent on blaming Ukraine, the victim.
Karl XII, pointing due east to the REAL enemy, Russia.The world is topsy-turvy, and given various of Mr Trump’s statements (like suggesting the Gaza survivors be expelled from THEIR land) I fear the rest of the world is reassessing everything they believed about the USA.
For decades, we have perceived the USA as a respected and trustworthy ally, someone the world can count on to defend democracy. Now? It is sad, how in less than 60 days that respect and trust has basically evaporated.
Obviously, this doesn’t mean us European don’t trust individual Americans. I have many, many dear friends in the US I respect and love. But for the present US Administration it is hard to feel anything but distrust. Let’s just say the recent meeting between two overgrown bullies (in suits) and the leader of Ukraine (in black) cemented that feeling.
With all this going on around us—us Swedes have all been sent out a booklet called “When the war comes”, which just underlines the geopolitical unrest—finding the headspace to write is hard. Writing for me is a form of escapism, but with reality banging on the door like it does at present, it is hard to sink into 14th century Castile and find anything I write relevant. I have, however, included a little excerpt further down. I appreciate any feedback!
However, not everything is doom and gloom! I am actually very excited about March, because for the entire month I will be hosting fifteen authors who, together with myself, will offer a daily post dedicated to historical women—all this in celebration of Women’s History Month. Things kick off for real tomorrow, but there is already a post with some info.
Now to the promised excerpt. As you may guess from the above image, it is set in an apothecary. I hope you enjoy it!
The interior smelled of dried plants, of ginger and beeswax. An older man peered up from where he was preparing some sort of concoction—a pungent thing laden with peppermint. A distinctive yellow cap covered his head, a heavy leather apron protected fine garments in silk—the same sort of jubba Alma herself was wearing, but in a sober shade that looked grey in the murky interior of the little shop.
“Yes, little mistress?” the man asked.
Alma self-consciously adjusted her veil. “I am in need of herbs.” She rattled off what she needed, adding peppermint, lavender and ginger to her original list, while making a mental note to harvest some sprigs of rosemary from the kitchen garden.
The apothecary went back and forth, setting one bunch of herbs after the other on the worn wooden counter. Alma cast a look over her shoulder. Manuel was standing just outside, arms crossed over his chest. Well, let him wait! Come to think of it, she might just as well pay a visit to Santa Eulalia and pray for the saint’s blessing on her upcoming marriage. She shivered at the thought: she, wed!
The door banged open just as the apothecary was suggesting she buy some calendula for the bruising. She flushed, self-consciously tightening the ends of her veil to cover her neck.
“Don Simon!” the newcomer said, prancing inside with a sack in one hand. “I bring you serpents, excellent serpents.”
“Serpents?” Alma asked, echoing Manuel who’d followed the stranger inside.
“Asps,” the man said. “Very venomous.”
Don Simon shook his head. “I have no need of such, not today.”
“But Don Simon, these are excellent specimens.”
“I am sure they are, but I still have plenty of snake flesh left.” Don Simon made a shooing motion. “Maybe next time, Luis.”
Luis gave the apothecary a sullen look but left, with Manuel nigh on treading on his heels, subjecting the man to a barrage of questions.
“What do you use the snake flesh for?” Alma asked, nodding as the apothecary added a small ceramic pot of calamite to her growing pile.
“I make my own theriac,” Don Simon said, straightening up. “Best theriac in Castile.”
“Ah.” Alma bit back a smile. Many were the apothecaries that made their own theriac, just as many claimed theirs as the best.
“The secret is to add not only snake flesh but snake venom,” Don Simon said. He tapped his nose. “I cannot divulge in what proportions, of course.”
“I have heard say that it is only the Venetian theriac that is truly potent,” Alma said.
“Pah! We have been making it locally for centuries, ever since the great Nachmanides revealed its ingredients.”
Alma paid for her purchases, setting a small pile of maravedis on the counter, and packed them into her basket.
“I’d wager that old Jew uses snake venom to poison good, upstanding Christians,” Manuel said to her as she emerged from the shop. He didn’t even bother to keep his voice down.
“I think not,” she replied, seeing no reason to tell him that while the bite of an asp could be terribly painful—or so Don Simon said—rarely would it lead to death. Besides, only a fool of an apothecary would poison potential customers. “And he didn’t buy any snakes.”