Our personal life was a trifle complicated at that time. I had spent most of the fortnight leading up to the Queen’s death living in an Oxford college doing in-person readings with a group of academic friends of the complete works of Christopher Marlowe and plays influenced by or influencing his work. (The day after the accession of King Charles III, as it happened, we read Edward III and Richard III.) My mobility was very poor – I found it impossible to walk as far as a supermarket, so lived on sandwiches and salads bought for me by Dave – so I was pretty much permanently exhausted.
We finished on the Friday and spent the weekend packing, leaving the country for our first holiday on the continent since the pandemic started. For three weeks we were out of the country, travelling or staying in rented holiday apartments. Both of us had health problems during this period; physical and emotional in each case. This may in part explain what happened, though I do not offer it as an excuse.
The next day I had an email from one of the team saying she was “there for me” – it felt like arrant hypocrisy. It may simply have been tone-deafness in an emotional sense.
And on that point, I really don’t see the value of that site continuing. It was founded, as I understood it, with the primary purpose of being supportive, forgiving, helpful – above all, safe. It’s turned out to be none of the above.
So, it's a fandom kerfuffle. They used to be two a penny. Fewer now, as there are fewer in the fandom. A good sign? Great.
If you've read this far, thanks. Once more, I am very much not asking anyone to act or speak up on my behalf. But it's affected me deeply and will take a fair bit of getting over, so I thought I would share it here, so people understand where I'm coming from.
ETA: I am making this open to everyone, not just my flist, so if you know someone who was a friend of hers, feel free to point them here. The same will apply to FB people.
This was published on FB by Lisa McLeod, and I share it here with her permission. tx_cronopio was a lovely human being, vibrant, caring, intelligent. All of us who knew her have lost someone special.
This is long.
My friend Pat died on December 11, 2021 … I knew her almost entirely from online communities, and we bonded over academia, fandom, and political orientation. For years, I have been so angry about how the world treated her – she was brilliant and had a huge heart. She was a natural teacher – I mean, her online handles often included “Cronopio”, which turned out to be a sort of human/being in the writing of Julio Cortázar, an Argentinian who moved to France. Pat was a Texan, a committed Texan, like Ann Richards. She traveled! I don’t even know where all she traveled – I know she spent several months in India, probably as part of administration for a study abroad trip. She was fluent in Spanish and Portuguese as well as English. She loved music – Lyle Lovett and Willie Nelson, of course, but also all kinds of 70s singer-songwriter stuff that we both loved from our childhood/youth. She loved dogs, so much, and always wanted to adopt the ones that no one else would take. She didn’t regret this policy, although she had a lot of heartbreak for the elderly ones, the troublesome ones. She got to know them and did what she could to see that they got to enjoy the time they had with her. I’ll just name Zelda and Zeke here, as they were the last two. I won’t recount the heartbreaking story of how she lost them, as I don’t know all the details and that’s not what this is about. I will say they were very lucky to have been plucked from the shelter by such a big-hearted dog lady.
She should have had a long and happy career in university teaching. However, very smart women who speak their minds don’t always get that opportunity. I don’t know all of these details, either, but I am certain she deserved that long career at least as much, and even more than many of the white men I know who have screwed up and screwed up and not even known it, or considered it a funny little foible, and kept their job and their retirement and even family around to make their last days comfortable. But that’s another story.
Pat loved camping, real camping, in a tent; it was hard for her to find folks to camp in TX with who understood what camping really meant – it doesn’t mean sleeping in an RV, for example. We had such plans for a camping trip that got scuttled, by her father’s health problems, then depression – first me, then her, then me again, then money problems. Then COVID. Fuck COVID.
She loved reading, obviously. She loved watching the LOTR movies. I loved Pat so much I would have even watched them with her. I was counting the weeks until March or April so I could make a trip out to TX and we could go camping – real camping! Hoping COVID and workloads would cooperate.
Last spring and summer she got sick and finally figured out it was COVID and then long COVID; she would get out of the hospital and then had to go back in. She fell and hurt herself, then had to go back in. She hated it. She lived by herself, was as bad as I am about understanding the stupid world of smart phones and so getting information was hard. Finally we heard that she’d gone into hospice care.
When I had finally given my last grades I made a last-minute decision to go sit with her in hospice. Because her family was more or less estranged and her friends were scattered to the four corners, etc. I just wanted her to have a friendly presence, even if she was non-responsive. She died the day before I would have gotten there. Probably a kindness, really, but I’m so sorry to have missed that chance.
Her dying and her death left me so sad and angry. But I’m almost ready to focus on the happy memories, the rich lives and friendships. The good times and great dogs and the jokes that had me laughing out loud, really, in front of my computer.
We had plans to be irritating crones together on yearly occasions; to take trips with Road Scholar and make life hard for mansplainers and bigots. I miss her online, I miss having plans. I am so sorry not to have been a better friend, but mainly I want to hold her up and say, Pat was so great.
Mutual friends of tx_cronopio will be sad to hear that she is very unwell. One of her personal (RL) friends on FB posted:
Patricia's brother contacted me on Saturday. She is in a hospice in Arlington, with weeks to a month to live. I am beyond devastated, as I am sure you all are. Here is her information. I don't think calling is an option, but if you can send flowers or well wishes ASAP, it would be appreciated.
If anyone would like the (snail) address, please PM me.
If you know anybody who would like to know more, please signal-boost or direct them here - I will make this post open to anyone, which is why I am not putting the address in plain view.
Just a quick ficlet, a response to a challenge on nekid_spike - follow on from the given first line.
It helps to follow this if you know that there is sporty-type stuff happening, the European Football (soccer) Championships (Euros) and that England is playing tonight in Rome.
Possibly FR-15 for implied sex? No more than that anyway.
It's my day at seasonal_spuffy today, and this is my entry. It's distinctly more explicit than I'm used to writing, so be warned if that's not quite your thing.
Buffy had a serious cash crisis in early S6, which didn't seem to be a problem by the time she had to cope with the crises during the last part of the season. Did she find an alternative source of finance?
I've been writing all month for the Elysian Fields Artistic Challenge Month. This year it's a banner-based challenge, and there were so many to choose from! In the end I chose this one, by fellow-Brit AlloSpoike
The request included a requirement that Buffy should rescue Spike from a fire. Well, she did that, but it's gone beyond that. A Special Guest Star appears throughout.
So far it's up to four chapters; I hope to get it finished within the challenge month. You know the drill - characters not mine, just playing with them, promise I'll put them back tidily.
Rating: R, veering towards NC-17. Spuffy. Season Six, with the sex and violence that involves.
After some discussion on EF about Spike and the Buffybot I found myself thinking about the thematic importance of Warren's short-lived creation. This is the result - comments would be welcome, especially if you want to engage with or rebut my ideas, but if meta isn't your thing, feel free to pass on by.
As I sorta accidentally volunteered to help the mods, I thought I'd better try to do the challenge this year, perhaps get a little further on than before.
In your own space, introduce yourself! Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
I'm Gill, mid-60s, living in the English Midlands in a small town with a big castle. I used to teach English and drama, but after some MH issues I left teaching in 2011 and since then have been a serial student, doing MAs at our nearest universities, Warwick (English) and Birmingham (Shakespeare and Theatre at the Shakespeare Institute in Stratford-upon-Avon.) As a result I am an even bigger Shakespeare and Early Modern theatre fangirl than ever. I don't as yet write in the fandom, though, apart from academic essays, because treading on the turf of the Greatest Ever Writer seems a bit cheeky. I've been involved in a Zoom reading group of plays from that period since June, and it's been a real support in these strange times.
I do write in the BtVS/AtS universe, with an emphasis on Spuffy. You can find most of my fics here on DW/LJ, on Elysian Fields and AO3. I'm mildly fannish about a whole range of other shows: Doctor Who (I saw the first episode in 1963), Staged, Green Wing, Good Omens, and lots of books. I am a Literature Nerd.
I have two married daughters, one of whom has a daughter and a son. I miss them terribly in this bizarre plague time when even meeting your own family is dangerous. I am lucky to have been married to my Dave for 42 years and counting.
So many actors from the Buffyverse, gathering on Vimeo to thank an anaesthetist/anesthiologist. Her responses are just adorable, but by the end she's a wreck. Well, I would be too.
Today is the centenary of the death of he young poet, Wilfred Owen. ONE WEEK before the Armistice he was shot by a sniper.
Turkey had surrendered. The War was clearly coming to an end. But still the young men were sent out to kill and be killed. The last man to die lived after the Eleventh Hour, about an hour and a half. His general wanted a bit more glory.
So much waste. So much futility.
Anthem for Doomed Youth By Wilfred Owen
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,— The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
We will remember them. We must never forget, or allow our children and grandchildren to forget, the horror of war. And the pity of it.
Today is the centenary of the death of he young poet, Wilfred Owen. ONE WEEK before the Armistice he was shot by a sniper.
Turkey had surrendered. The War was clearly coming to an end. But still the young men were sent out to kill and be killed. The last man to die lived after the Eleventh Hour, about an hour and a half. His general wanted a bit more glory.
So much waste. So much futility.
Anthem for Doomed Youth By Wilfred Owen
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,— The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
We will remember them. We must never forget, or allow our children and grandchildren to forget, the horror of war. And the pity of it.
As some of my flist know, velvetwhip has had a terrible time. She lost her mother very suddenly from a horrible, rare infection, and is now struggling with debt way beyond her resources to deal with. The wonderful purple_feenix happened to be staying with her at the time and has taken her under her wing, but the financial situation is scary - we're talking hospital and funeral here, not lavishness. She has set up a GoFundMe for Gabrielle, who is one of the sweetest and most supportive people in the entire Buffy fandom. If you could see your way to adding even a little it would really help.
Times are hard, I know - if you can't afford cash, perhaps you could help boost the signal, on FB, DW/LJ, Tumblr, Twitter, wherever the cool young things hang out these days? It's bad enough to lose your Mum, but this mess is making it ten times tougher for her.
It gets worse. The sodding Home Office destroyed the landing cards of the Windrush generation, collected when they arrived here 50-60 years ago, despite protests by civil servants who pointed out that it could make it harder to establish the immigration status of that generation.
And they did it in 2010. I am incandescent and speechless with fury.
Just how much more shamefully can our government act?
ETA: Particularly interesting is the end of the article:
The former Home Office employee, who worked in a team of around 50 in the data protection unit, said staff had wanted to offer the landing card files to public archives, but were told there was no interest.
He said he asked managers at the time what would happen in the case of a dispute. He said he was told the majority of people on the landing cards were in their 70s and 80s and most of their cases would have been resolved, and the office did “not have the resources to keep them”.
“I suggested digitising but was told there were no resources,” he said. He remembered protesting: “Even if half the people are dead, they are historical records.” His manager responded that the cards were “redundant”.
He said he noticed a change in approach to these cases after the announcement of the “hostile environment” policy by May, then home secretary. In 2009 and 2010, managers gave case workers and members of his team time to look into cases. “Generally speaking, most Home Office staff want to try to do the right thing and be fair, within the rules,” he said.
But from 2013 onwards, he said, staff were “given no leeway to make a judgment call”. The changed atmosphere combined with staff cuts made it a more unpleasant place to work and many experienced staff took redundancy, he said. The people who remained were told: “These are the rules, stick to them.”
He decided to leave at around this time. “I am so angry that people are being treated in a way which is just abhorrent.”
We have winter weather here - unheard of for late February, according to the more hysterical media. (Daily Express, I'm glaring at you.) In Scotland it's actually serious, but here it's a light dusting and temperatures only a few degrees below freezing.
Folks from places with deep snow for months may mock, but it's actually quite rare here, thanks to the Gulf Stream, and snow by the foot is generally a once-a-decade phenomenon. That means it is really not cost-effective to invest in snow tyres/chains for cars or commercial vehicles, and local highways authorities have gritters but few snowploughs. At times like this, that's a problem.
It does help to be a Brit to get this, I know. If you aren't, and have never heard of the late, great, wonderful Victoria Wood, you should go and look her up on YouTube or similar - Acorn Antiques might be a good place to start. But first, watch this:
The Moody Blues headlined the first gig I ever went to, in Leicester when I was 16. I was addicted to their music for most of my remaining teenage years. One of the important elements of their distinctive sound was the flute (think Nights in White Satin) played by Ray Thomas, who died yesterday.
This is a gentle piece Ray wrote - they were not just a pretentious, loud prog-rock band. I still enjoy their music. Well, at least the music that doesn't have insanely pretentious lyrics. RIP, Ray.
In your own space, post recs for at least three fanworks that you did not create. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
I'm going to go with something old, something not too old and something new. And, unapologetically, all are not only in the BtVS fandom, but in the Spuffy quadrant thereof.
To start with, the very new - Every Rose by Sunalso, who also posts at Elysian Fields. Just the first chapter so far, but setting up an extremely intriguing story. Wishverse Buffy, having wiped out the rest of the Fanged Four, goes after William the Bloody, but with an unexpected hitch. So now she has to travel back in time to put a stop to him before he even gets started. I'm really looking forward to updates on this.
Doesn't Matter by Sigyn, who has been working in the fandom for three or four years now, and producing some really good plotty fics but also some one-off portraits like this one, set just after Buffy's return from meeting Angel in early S6, when Spike is the only person she is able to confide in. Subtle and touching, but also with occasional flashes of humour.
And an old one, but still excellent, from the much-missed calove, who vanished about eight years ago, from the world of Spuffy fandom at least. She wrote excellent, powerful stories, mostly with a Spike, if not a Spuffy focus, and with a real feel for voice and context. This one, Five Stages of Grief is an exploration of post-Chosen feelings, alternating between Spike and Buffy. Beautifully done. Click through to read later sections.
So many wonderful writers in this fandom, and so many have moved on elsewhere, to other fandoms, or RL, or into the ether. It makes me sad and nostalgic - but if you haven't come across any of these writers and you enjoy Spuffy, you should seek them out, because they are all very much worth your time and attention. In a fandom dating back 20 years there's a lot of good stuff in the distant past which deserves a new audience.
In other news I visited oxfordia today and spent several hours teaching her delightful daughter how to use a sewing machine. You can take a teacher out of the classroom...
In which I ramble about life, the universe, the Buffyverse, the world of my work and studies, my family, my friends and my sometimes overheated imagination...
All in the past