Dearest Diary,
I have missed you this past year. We have not had the pleasure of conversing as we once did, and I deem it a tragedy in many ways. For I have neglected to tell you of the potential suitors with whom I have dined in and out, and begged a dance or two. There have not been more than a handful, and yet not a one has peaked my future interest, or perhaps vice versa. It is of little consequence in the world that I am presently unwed, and yet I have yet to pass a year without it weighing upon me heavily at one moment or another. Nay, I have yet to pass a day where it does not concern me to some end.
I do not wish to be downhearted on the topic, for I have much to commend the day. But I cannot make you to believe that I am not also bothered by it at this present moment, this present hour. I ask you, dear Diary, to ignore it. Put away any knowledge of my candor on the topic and rejoice with me over the pleasant sounds of the rain falling on the grounds of the Ashford place, and upon the gardens. Let us pretend that such sounds are not that of sorrow. That they are sounds of refreshment, and of life. Perhaps with such pleasantries we might imagine a world in which maidenhood is also to our advantage. For I'm convinced such a world exists, and I aim to find it on the morrow!
Monday, June 16, 2014
Thursday, July 18, 2013
July 18, 2013
Dearest Diary,
It has been well beyond a fortnight since our last encounter. I have spent the chief of my days doing the sorts of activities one is prone to do when on holiday in the summer. The peninsula has given way to great rainstorms and therefore my visits to the coastal regions have been few. I have not had the leisure to travel as one ought, nor have I entertained many visitors. I can attest to reading literature, pruning gardens, taking carriage rides through the countryside, and giving the occasional music lesson.
I have desired to give advice to those in authority regarding certain organizations, but I have neglected to do so fearing my warnings would be ill-received. And yet I am admittedly most discouraged by what has recently transpired. It is no secret that I have yet to find the particular person for which this Diary exists. But it is perhaps less known that I have ceased looking for him. You might have perceived that, given my absence, dear Diary. I have determined that it is not within my power to discover him, for I have run out of places to look. I am at present relying heavily on faith alone. I am aware that he might arise through a mutual acquaintance, a chance meeting in the markets, or any manner that gentlemen are introduced to ladies. However, to rely on my own occupation or congregation, is becoming less profitable in such an account as the months pass. In effort to build friendships among others of my status, the local Parrish has elected to establish a social event not too unlike a ball. Contrary to such, however we shall be separated, the gentlemen from the ladies, in effort that no introductions shall be a distraction to either party. What a peculiar manner of engagement, indeed! I have lost all hope in their methods.
I do not mention it that I might be pitied, old friend, but as a mere statement of fact. I can do no more to improve the situation, if I should even believe my situation needs improvement. I endeavour to declare that there are a great many women who run their own households without the aid of an husband, and they live on quite happily. On the contrary, I at once wish to deny it for fear I might be one of them. The sum of it is, dear Diary, that I cannot be sure of whence to go from here. I have done all that I might in locating him, and I can henceforth see no advantage to the search. I have only to state that I remain here, at Ashford and otherwise, awaiting his appearance. I do not expect his arrival on the morrow.
It has been well beyond a fortnight since our last encounter. I have spent the chief of my days doing the sorts of activities one is prone to do when on holiday in the summer. The peninsula has given way to great rainstorms and therefore my visits to the coastal regions have been few. I have not had the leisure to travel as one ought, nor have I entertained many visitors. I can attest to reading literature, pruning gardens, taking carriage rides through the countryside, and giving the occasional music lesson.
I have desired to give advice to those in authority regarding certain organizations, but I have neglected to do so fearing my warnings would be ill-received. And yet I am admittedly most discouraged by what has recently transpired. It is no secret that I have yet to find the particular person for which this Diary exists. But it is perhaps less known that I have ceased looking for him. You might have perceived that, given my absence, dear Diary. I have determined that it is not within my power to discover him, for I have run out of places to look. I am at present relying heavily on faith alone. I am aware that he might arise through a mutual acquaintance, a chance meeting in the markets, or any manner that gentlemen are introduced to ladies. However, to rely on my own occupation or congregation, is becoming less profitable in such an account as the months pass. In effort to build friendships among others of my status, the local Parrish has elected to establish a social event not too unlike a ball. Contrary to such, however we shall be separated, the gentlemen from the ladies, in effort that no introductions shall be a distraction to either party. What a peculiar manner of engagement, indeed! I have lost all hope in their methods.
I do not mention it that I might be pitied, old friend, but as a mere statement of fact. I can do no more to improve the situation, if I should even believe my situation needs improvement. I endeavour to declare that there are a great many women who run their own households without the aid of an husband, and they live on quite happily. On the contrary, I at once wish to deny it for fear I might be one of them. The sum of it is, dear Diary, that I cannot be sure of whence to go from here. I have done all that I might in locating him, and I can henceforth see no advantage to the search. I have only to state that I remain here, at Ashford and otherwise, awaiting his appearance. I do not expect his arrival on the morrow.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
January 19, 2013
Dearest Diary,
I am charged with writing an essay on a recent symposium I had the honour to attend. And upon my delay I am now obliged to write a second one. While I am certainly fitted for the task I have found very little leisure to do so until this very day.
Now as I have almost signed my name to the article, it appears there are more pressing matters at hand. My nephew wishes to set sail at sunset and I shall be among the passengers. I declare that my composition must be put to rest for the moment. Perhaps it shall continue on the morrow.
I am charged with writing an essay on a recent symposium I had the honour to attend. And upon my delay I am now obliged to write a second one. While I am certainly fitted for the task I have found very little leisure to do so until this very day.
Now as I have almost signed my name to the article, it appears there are more pressing matters at hand. My nephew wishes to set sail at sunset and I shall be among the passengers. I declare that my composition must be put to rest for the moment. Perhaps it shall continue on the morrow.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
January 13, 2013
Dearest Diary,
I have made plans to visit York in the Spring, and for that I am greatly enthusiastic. With a bit of practice on the pianoforte this evening, I dare say my day is quite complete.
I have also made the discovery that there is a particular composer I am quite fond of who has commissioned my small ensemble to perform a piece or two at our next recital. I am of course happy to do it and only hope we may do the music justice.
Following the weekend's concerts, I have been endowed with some rather large ambitions in the coming year. I pray I am equal to the task. Perhaps we shall discover it on the morrow.
I have made plans to visit York in the Spring, and for that I am greatly enthusiastic. With a bit of practice on the pianoforte this evening, I dare say my day is quite complete.
I have also made the discovery that there is a particular composer I am quite fond of who has commissioned my small ensemble to perform a piece or two at our next recital. I am of course happy to do it and only hope we may do the music justice.
Following the weekend's concerts, I have been endowed with some rather large ambitions in the coming year. I pray I am equal to the task. Perhaps we shall discover it on the morrow.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
January 12, 2013
Dearest Diary,
I have returned to you once more as a matter of honour. Had I resolved to acquire more rest, than perhaps I would not have returned. Nevertheless, here I am.
It has been a most delightful Saturday, and again I am feeling quite accomplished as the day draws to a close. I discovered upon further exploration, that Ashford's previous owners left behind some useful artifacts that I should like to employ in due time. I also had the good fortune of observing my nephew in a bit of sport this morning. I expect this shall be the first of many spectator opportunities to follow. His display was quite impressive, and I believe he shows immense promise as the athlete his father desires him to be.
I must admit that I am not immune to the competitive nature, however my inspiration of late tends to be more philosophical than physical. I suspect that in order for real change to occur, one must in fact practice the changes on which she would wax philosophical. It is quite possibly useless to consider them from the comfort of the chaise. That I shall aspire to on the morrow.
I have returned to you once more as a matter of honour. Had I resolved to acquire more rest, than perhaps I would not have returned. Nevertheless, here I am.
It has been a most delightful Saturday, and again I am feeling quite accomplished as the day draws to a close. I discovered upon further exploration, that Ashford's previous owners left behind some useful artifacts that I should like to employ in due time. I also had the good fortune of observing my nephew in a bit of sport this morning. I expect this shall be the first of many spectator opportunities to follow. His display was quite impressive, and I believe he shows immense promise as the athlete his father desires him to be.
I must admit that I am not immune to the competitive nature, however my inspiration of late tends to be more philosophical than physical. I suspect that in order for real change to occur, one must in fact practice the changes on which she would wax philosophical. It is quite possibly useless to consider them from the comfort of the chaise. That I shall aspire to on the morrow.
Friday, January 11, 2013
January 11, 2013
Dearest Diary,
It seems that the Advent Season has come and gone once again and we have begun the lessons and running of the household once more. This happened nearly a fortnight ago, and yet I have only now had the time to sit and compose such a letter. The season brought many welcome visitors to the estate, and in their present absence, I suppose I find myself with a bit of melancholy at the silence and stillness that is now life at Ashford.
It is customary for one to propose the likelihood of change in the coming months, whether to one's figure, occupation, or general lifestyle, but I have been remiss at making such resolutions. And I now feel a bit the lesser for it. It would seem a bit folly to now propose a resolution of proposing such resolutions, but nevertheless, that is precisely my aim. However, I suppose my lack of resolve comes not from a lack of ambition, but rather a lack of need for resolution. The year previous has given me an abundance of rewards, and it is hard to think what more must change. I have acquired a modest estate, an occupation in which I feel useful, and a nephew that quite honestly one cannot "resolve" to acquire. As I had resolved last year to do, I read the full text of the Holy Scriptures, and will continue their study in the year to come.
Among these rather large accomplishments, I achieved some smaller victories as well, and I tell you that I ended December quite happy and content. So, what then shall I resolve to do for this thirteenth year? Ought I again to make overtures of my figure, or declare I shall be engaged by year's end? A husband is not a thing to be commanded and obtained because I declared it so. And one's figure is always a topic of improvement in January, that it seems rather trite or cliche to mention it. I cannot bring myself to make such a promise. Would that I had not recently acquired a pianoforte, perhaps I could resolve to do so, but that too has added to my contentment. I tell you, I am a miserably contented woman!
Perhaps rather than seeing life as something on which to improve, I ought instead to see it as something to embrace and experience. And yet, I still feel as though I must insist on resolution. Therefore, I resolve to see you again on the morrow.
It seems that the Advent Season has come and gone once again and we have begun the lessons and running of the household once more. This happened nearly a fortnight ago, and yet I have only now had the time to sit and compose such a letter. The season brought many welcome visitors to the estate, and in their present absence, I suppose I find myself with a bit of melancholy at the silence and stillness that is now life at Ashford.
It is customary for one to propose the likelihood of change in the coming months, whether to one's figure, occupation, or general lifestyle, but I have been remiss at making such resolutions. And I now feel a bit the lesser for it. It would seem a bit folly to now propose a resolution of proposing such resolutions, but nevertheless, that is precisely my aim. However, I suppose my lack of resolve comes not from a lack of ambition, but rather a lack of need for resolution. The year previous has given me an abundance of rewards, and it is hard to think what more must change. I have acquired a modest estate, an occupation in which I feel useful, and a nephew that quite honestly one cannot "resolve" to acquire. As I had resolved last year to do, I read the full text of the Holy Scriptures, and will continue their study in the year to come.
Among these rather large accomplishments, I achieved some smaller victories as well, and I tell you that I ended December quite happy and content. So, what then shall I resolve to do for this thirteenth year? Ought I again to make overtures of my figure, or declare I shall be engaged by year's end? A husband is not a thing to be commanded and obtained because I declared it so. And one's figure is always a topic of improvement in January, that it seems rather trite or cliche to mention it. I cannot bring myself to make such a promise. Would that I had not recently acquired a pianoforte, perhaps I could resolve to do so, but that too has added to my contentment. I tell you, I am a miserably contented woman!
Perhaps rather than seeing life as something on which to improve, I ought instead to see it as something to embrace and experience. And yet, I still feel as though I must insist on resolution. Therefore, I resolve to see you again on the morrow.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
September 30, 2012
Dearest Diary,
I regret to inform you that the beloved Esther Lindsay, my Grandmother, passed away this Lord's Day. I can think of no finer candidate for the gates of Heaven than the one presented this morning. She has for many years struggled with memory, hearing, and eyesight, but it is my belief that such faculties have been returned to her this very afternoon and she is perhaps privy to this letter in the same manner that you and I have knowledge of its contents.
I find consolation in the mutual mourning and admiration of my immediate family as well as that of my aunts and uncles and cousins. I am fortunate to remember her in their company and among them. She has raised six children as parishioners in the local churches and even they as the ordained have raised seventeen more in the care of the Father.
As even the next generation has remained in the church, our beloved Grandmother has established a priesthood among her heirs. She has given light to the proverb of training a child, for her children are many and their creed is one. Her memory will remain well beyond the morrow.
I regret to inform you that the beloved Esther Lindsay, my Grandmother, passed away this Lord's Day. I can think of no finer candidate for the gates of Heaven than the one presented this morning. She has for many years struggled with memory, hearing, and eyesight, but it is my belief that such faculties have been returned to her this very afternoon and she is perhaps privy to this letter in the same manner that you and I have knowledge of its contents.
I find consolation in the mutual mourning and admiration of my immediate family as well as that of my aunts and uncles and cousins. I am fortunate to remember her in their company and among them. She has raised six children as parishioners in the local churches and even they as the ordained have raised seventeen more in the care of the Father.
As even the next generation has remained in the church, our beloved Grandmother has established a priesthood among her heirs. She has given light to the proverb of training a child, for her children are many and their creed is one. Her memory will remain well beyond the morrow.
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