In which I wonder where I've been

Ok, ok, ok - I know I'm out of touch. But I thought the important things would have gotten through. I don't expect to be up on the current SCA gossip any more, or know who got offered what awards. But I feel like I'm really out of touch when I find out weeks or months after members of my extended family have died. I do moderate the scribes list, and so I do see some of the posts. I confess that I do not do it well - it seems that anything having to do with the scribal arts comes with too much pain for me to make it something I'm very motivated to do. I have lost contact with many of my scribal friends, but continue to maintain the list out of a sense of duty to those whom I used to promote, defend, and nominally lead. I do miss them, but it still hurts, and yet I don't know why it should. Seems silly, but there it is. I try not to think about it too much.

I vaguely recall that Margherita da Foire was offered membership in the order of the Laurel last summer. Margherita was one of the most dependable of scribes, and was talented besides. I was not sure of her suitability for the accolade, but in my absence would have to rely on the wisdom of my fellows in the circle. It was a joy to stand witness at her apprenticeship to Cailte, and I still treasure the gifts that she bestowed on me that day. I took away a deep respect for her generous nature. I was never sure of her heritage, but her English was punctuated with an accent from a place far away from New Mexico. Being out of the scribal community for these past four and a half years (was that day in April really so long ago?) I had not thought about her. I didn't know she was ill. So it's kind of a shock.

I had to put the pieces together. Mistress? Cailte's student? Yes, and yes. It's sad enough, but I regret the years of not knowing her better.

A few months ago, I posted to a list of close friends that I was blogging, and if they had blogs, I'd like to know, so we could read each others' blogs. (I've got them all bookmarked, btw.) In perusing friend's blogs, I found out that Sorcha's brother had been killed in a mining accident. This was the boy for whom she'd feared for years. I recall when we were rooming together that she'd said that every time there was an accident, that she'd wonder if today was the day that she'd hear that her brother was in there. I can't imagine her pain - her narrative of the incident was heart-wrenching. I do wish that I had heard sooner - it seems so laxidasical to say months later, "by the way, I heard, and I'm sorry..." because that's where I'm at.

There has been so much grief in my circle of acquaintances, friends, and family since Evan was born. I find it difficult to commiserate; I am too soft-hearted, and tend to never get over these sorts of things myself. Every occasion becomes an opportunity for my own pain to re-surface. To express sympathy seems to open my own wounds.

I seem to have a limited capacity to attend to things. I guess I don't multask well. Perhaps someone told me that Margherita was ill or Sorcha's brother had been killed. I may just not have rememebred it. But I don't think so. Maybe it's because I tend to be very much in the "now", and have a hard time visualing the future or remembering the past. I don't know where I've been, but I would have liked to have known.