Monday, 20 February 2012

A little bewildered

Nephew. Own sons wouldn't want to be in my blog!
Poets I can handle.  Nationalist novels I thought I understood.  Political versus cultural nationalism?  Got it.  I was even okay with the different symbolism in an Aeolian as opposed to a Celtic harp. So much for self-inflicted background reading, to make sure my Chapter 5 wasn't missing anything crucial.

This evening, however, I reached the point where I was reading about maternal breastfeeding versus wet-nursing at the turn of the nineteenth century.  Believe me, I do 'get' the point about wet-nurses offering young children a link with a traditional culture that their own upper-class mothers wouldn't be able to share with them.  And maternal anxiety about children being closer to their wet-nurses than to their own mothers.  (Don't we working mothers share that anxiety about daycare today?)  But - oh, please, I don't think I can go on reading this.  Not when I'm meant to be thinking about minstrels and metaphors in national Celtic song collections.  It's just a step too far.

At the same time, I'm looking at my publisher's handout on indexing - with some interest, I must admit, because I am a librarian after all! - and when I'm not thinking about background reading or indexing, I find myself fretting about images and how much they're going to cost me.  

And over and above all that, there's the day-job.  

My mind is like a lump of bread-dough, adhering to the counter and simultaneously being pulled in all directions by ten very sticky fingers.  The sooner this particular 'loaf' is put in a tin and baked, the better!

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