Yesterday intolerably hot. In the evening thunderstorms & torrential rain, flooding the ground some inches deep.
This morning a disaster. One hen dead, another evidently dying. Forget the name of the disease, which has something to do with the throat. The hen is unable to stand & head droops forward. The dead one had evidently perched for the night & then fallen off the perch. May have something to do with perching in the rain, as they all did so, though I put up another perch for them under cover.
Goats a little tamer. The wife of the Arab who works in the orange plantation & looks after the sheep says that the brown goat is in kid.
Orwell Diaries 1938-1942 
George~~
The world was much smaller back then, wasn’t it? Or, was it bigger? We had a nice, much-needed bit of rainfall yesterday, too.
It’s kind of creepy that your torrential thunderstorms would seep forward through the wormhole to my dried-up yard but, thanks.
2(Dead Hens) = Hunger
“This morning a disaster. One hen dead, another evidently dying.” I hope this doesn’t sound to ‘let them eat cakey’ but is a chicken dieing at this point in his life REALLY a disaster? Is it really as simple as 2(dead hens) = Hunger? On the other hand this is during the Great Depression. Wow. I’m just thankful I can’t relate to that at all…but maybe within the next 10 years if things keep up. Maybe I should buy my chickens now while there cheap.
I am softening on my stance that G’s diary is too “asocial” (sp)…..
His obvious distress over his chickens is touching…Reminds me of my effort to rescue baby bunnies,injured birds etc..
Still,I am struck that he can {it seems} more easily empathize with animals than humans…It must be something to do with his mother/faulty teats..
I,me staying tuned…
I too journal every day, and find his observations fascinating.
I think we are currently far more concerned about being politically correct than people were 70 years ago. Rather than finding fault with his observations of people and their conditions, I find it to be a wonderful insight into their lives and they way they were seen by others.
Yeah, yeah, blame his Mother…
Humans are each born with their own nature, and we are getting to know Mr. Orwell’s now.
Each day I read his diary, I am finding it a more and more intimate experience. He is speaking to himself, and I, Godlike, am listening in. It is an almost sacred feeling I’m getting – I am being entrusted with these private thoughts, and I must listen carefully and respond gently. Am I falling in love?
His mother had faulty teats? Did I miss something? What day did Mr. Orwell make that entry?
“Step away from the hookah, Monsieur Blair!” ordered the perspiration-soaked, 400-pound gendarme. “And drop that poule!”
You had me “itwasntme” when you said
“Each day I read his diary, I am finding it a more and more intimate experience. He is speaking to himself, and I, Godlike, am listening in. It is an almost sacred feeling I’m getting”.
I hadn’t quite looked at like that. I mean I get that he’s not trying to entertain us. I guess it’s hard, at this point, to see it interesting in the way it was ‘sold’ by the editor. “a lead up to the war” sort of thing. But I like your take alot. I also like how he’s just soaking it in. Not earnestly trying to ‘create meaning’ in every single thing that happens in his life. I mean this IS a guy that got shot in the neck (if I have my timeline correct). I hope I to would be much more of a, stop to smell the flowers kinda guy. Also, value life, in all it’s aspects, more than before.
But ya kinda lost me with: ‘and I must listen carefully and respond gently. Am I falling in love?’ A little to sappy for my taste. And I’m not sure how responding gently really matters. Not like ya need to please me though, right? :)
I’me reccomending another diary (on line ) Samuel Pepys (1660 fans)
It spans some 9 years-lots of insites to the times. No goats or teats though…..
Anybody know of any other online chronicals (with “provinance”) as opposed to current Lou Dobbs style rants??
Yes. The Pepys Blog is a hoot.
The 343 year-old perspective is from the top of Sam’s nose, looking downward. The role of Edmund Blackadder is flawlessly portrayed by yours truly, while Gordon Comstock is played with exquisitely vicious obsequiousness by Baldrick.
Thanks for your sensitive reply, Billy.
Well, I’m a woman, so I equated my response of “listening carefully and responding gently” to two feelings I’ve experienced: Falling in love with a man, and being the mother of a young man, both of which evoke the above-mentioned response in me.
His mother was a hen.