A Few Deep Thoughts on Vocabulary

Sacred and ruthless. Image generated with Gemini.

Sometimes, my brain wanders a bit far afield…

Did you ever notice that sacred seems to be the past tense of some other word? It is. It’s the past tense of sacre, a now obsolete word that meant, at one time or another, to consecrate as king or bishop; to make holy or sanctify; or dedicate.

And what about ruthless? Being ruthless means to have no pity, to be cruel or merciless. But, if you can be less of ruth, then can you be full of ruth? Yes, yes you can. Ruthful means being full of sorrow or woeful; causing sorrow; or tender, full of ruth. Full of ruth? What is ruth? Ruth means having compassion for another’s misery, or sorrow for your own faults (remorse).

Account of the Scotts

This is an “old” document that was passed around my grandmother’s family. It gives some history of the Scott family of Annegrove Abbey in Ireland. I’m sharing it here in case it is useful or interesting to others.

And, for my own personal record keeping, here are a few links I’ve found online about parts of this family:

Account of the Scotts

Copied by M. E. Scott, Dec 30th, 1896.
[Parenthetical notes added by Blas Uberuaga]

James Scott from whom our branch of the family has sprung, came to Ireland [around 1690] as an officer [captain] in the army of William III.

With better fortune than his brother officer, Thomas Scott, who came to the country at the same time, he survived the Irish Civil War, and lived to turn his weapons of war into ploughshares and pruning hooks, which he seems to have wielded with a skill and success suggestive of a conjecture that he came from a family occupying some property or estate in England, where he became acquainted with the details of pastoral or agricultural pursuits.

At the commencement of the 18th century, he purchased some properties [Annegrove Abbey, then called Cahirdaragh] in the Queen’s County [now called County Laois or Leix], and entered on his new career with an energy and courage deserving of the highest praise.

To comprehend in any degree the dangers and difficulties he had to encounter we must refer to the state of Ireland, semi-civilized at that time, and read the graphic accounts recently written by those brave sons of noblemen and gentlemen, who for various reasons have emigrated to Australia, New Zealand, America and Canada. There were no Banks for the safe-custody and management of money; no well-kept roads or carriages suited to long journeys, so our Pilgrim Father was compelled to mount his sure-footed roadster, and with his money in his saddle-bags, and Pistols in his holster, to travel to Limerick and the surrounding districts for the purpose of purchasing young stock to grow and fatten on his rich Queen’s County farm. In this way he evidently increased his original capital, exhibiting that untiring activity and fixity of purpose which are usually found to characterize a life of successful speculation in lawful pursuits.

This James married Sarah Llewellyn (who died 1734) having issue one son James who married a Miss Stanley of whom were descended three sons, James, John, and Edward, who appears to have obtained a Commission in the Army and to have been killed in battle.

[James was my 7th great-grandfather]

JAMES. When Curate of Cl—– [missing in the source], nearly fifty years ago, I had old parishoners who knew James well, and always spoke of him with the greatest regard and respect. According to their account some years elapsed before there came an increase of family, which very much grieved Mrs. Scott; when one morning a strange woman came to the door seeking charity. As was her custom, the kind-hearted lady not only relieved her pleaded want, but spoke some comforting words at the same time; after which the pretended beggar acknowledged the object she had in view, stating that she knew her goodness and her trouble, and came to say a word to her. What that word was did not transpire; but was represented as the harbinger of a birth which brought joy to the hearts of the worthy couple.

This James was spoken of to me as a man of remarkably sound judgement, whose opinion on various subjects was really valuable, and whose decision as a J.P. was never reversed. He was said to be remarkably frugal and economical, retaining larger sums of money that usual in his own custody; for this there may have been a very natural and laudable motive, his paternal affection bending him to leave his only child, a son, as independent as possible, having, I believe, previously settled Annegrove Abbey on him at his marriage. Of this however I am uncertain, but be this as it may, affection could not have been better bestowed than on my very dear and valued friend James Edmund Scott [1904 Burke’s lists middle name as Edward], “Captain Scott” as his contemporaries loved to call him, and who was without doubt one of the very finest specimens of an old Irish gentleman I ever came across. Hospitable almost to extravagance, and ever ready to do a kind act to those he esteemed, with a genial manner and pleasant humour which made his guests at Annegrove at home and happy, a happiness to which the many gifts of their kind hostess contributed.

JOHN SCOTT. John Scott, the second brother of James, was the father of seven sons. He held several valuable and important agencies, possessed considerable property in land about Dublin; built some of the best houses in Harcourt Street adjoining Lord Clonmell’s gardens, which, combined with the intimacy which existed leads me to conjecture that there was some connection or relationship between our Pilgrim Father and Thomas Scott who came over to Ireland with him in the army of William III. This John Scott seems to have paid no small attention to appearances; for instance, he used to ride through Dublin with his sons all mounted on horses or ponies suited to their age and size. He entertained expensively also. He died rather young, leaving his widow in good circumstances and a moderate provision for all his sons.

Humanly speaking, his death was a great misfortune to his family, as it left the boys without paternal advice and control, their Mother being devoted to what is called Society; and to this I attribute in a great measure the want of success of his offspring.

Sons of John Scott

JOHN, who commenced life as an attorney under favourable circumstances, but died without having made any mark in life, leaving one son, who obtained a Commission in the East India Company’s service and married it is reported, a lady of high connections and large property. During his Father’s lifetime he continued to remit to him large sums from India, but has not been heard of for many years. His name was Lambert, and he is said to have been very extravagant.

JAMES, obtained a Commission in the Army. A cheery jovial sort of man, who seemed anxious to enjoy life in his own way, whether rough or smooth. He told good stories and was very much liked in his regiment. On retiring from the Army, he took —— [missing in source], near Abbeyleix and other places in England and Ireland. He had several daughters and one son, who married a sister of Rev. J. H. Scott, of Serr Kyran Glebe, Parsonstown.

GEORGE, commenced life with excellent prospects; well-looking, full of energy, and with right good abilities and business qualifications.

At the early age of twenty-one, he married Sarah Handcock, over whose fair face there never passed a look of anger, nor from her birth to her death was she ever known to utter an unkind word.

With many good qualities, George had a passion for horse-racing and billiards, which necessarily interfered with his office work and produced the usual results. The death of his dear wife to whom he was deeply attached, at last so affected him that he realised that vanity of all earthly enjoyments, and died of a broken heart at the age of fifty-four.

SAMUEL also entered the Army. He was a brave officer, greatly beloved by his men and brother officers. He saw much service during the Peninsular War. When the army was in winter quarters he asked leave of absence to see his Father who was in delicate health. The Duke of Wellington refused permission, but, headstrong as he always was, he gave himself leave, only to find that he had very properly been deprived of his commission. Nothing daunted he rejoined, fought as a volunteer, attracted the Duke’s attention (who had always liked him) and was re-instated. When he was quartered in Dublin, William John Scott of Pallas Green often experienced his hospitality. (His Commission, dated 1810, is in possession of Henry Scott grandson of William Scott of Pallas Green).

BENJAMIN was a universal genius, agent to an Insurance Company, Secretary to companies etc. He married a sister of Dr Adams by whom he had at least two sons. One, Henry, is now Rector of a parish in Australia; who married Jane, second daughter of James Edward and Sally Scott; and the other, Allan, who now I believe has fixed his residence in Montreal. My sister-in-law mentions him as a clever gentlemanlike young man, who has travelled a great deal, and to some purpose.

ROBERT, the softest of the family, was bound by the late Sir Wm Stamer, one of the first wine merchants in Dublin. He married a niece of the late Ventry Henchy, well known in Dublin circles. He and his wife spent more than they gained, and so he emigrated to Australia with his children, all daughters.

EDWARD was said to be the best-looking of all the family. When doing duty as a Militia officer, he attracted the attention of the Commanding Officer of a regiment embarking for foreign service, by an act of extraordinary courage and presence of mind. The officer asked him why he was not in the line. Edward replied that his purchase-money was lodged, but he had not yet heard from the War Office. After a short time he was gazetted to a Cornetcy in a celebrated Dragoon Regiment without purchase. He joined in India, but after a few years returned home. When a little boy I thought him beautiful, and was wonderfully attracted by his gentle, serious, loving manner. He verbally bequeathed to me his stock of Indian silk pocket-handkerchiefs, which I remember being quite proud of, as there were none such to be purchased.

WILLIAM entered Trinity College, Dublin, took his degree and was ordained in due course, and became Rector of Pallas Green. He was a loving Father, and devoted himself to forwarding the education and welfare of his children.

Copy of an account of the SCOTTS of ANNEGROVE ABBEY, QUEEN’S COUNTY

written by Miss C. A. Scott (Mrs. Sydserff) Dublin, 1893.

The first James Scott of Annegrove Abbey married a Miss Sarah Llewellyn who died 1734. They had only one son and possibly a daughter who married a Walpole and somewhat beneath her. [James was my 7th great grandfather]

I have heard something of this before and fancy it true. I know who the Walpoles are and have often heard the present members of the family spoken of for their good looks and immense height.

I believe some of them are wool buyers on a large scale. (When Canon Scott was taking duty near Calier at Vicar’s Hill, some Walpoles came into the Church and claimed cousinship, but I do not think the claim was authenticated except by legend. The family was a very large one and they were all very good looking. R.M.S.)

The second James married a Miss Stanley, and there is still some very old plate with the Stanley crest on it. [James was my 6th great grandfather]

They had three sons, James, John [John was my 5th great grandfather], and Edward. James married a Miss Butler of Knocka Castle, Co. Tipperary [she was Anne Butler, daughter of William Butler], and had one child, James Edmund, who married Rose, daughter of Sir R. [Richard] Wheeler Cuffe, Bart. of Leyrath, Co. Kilkenny. They had one son, James William Butler, and three daughters who died unmarried. James Wm. Butler married Elizabeth Rosetta, daughter of J. Bolton Massey Esq., of Ballywire, Tipperary, and 55, Stephen’s Green, Dublin. They had one son, James Wm. Edmund [1904 Burke’s has him as owner of Annegrove Abbey in 1904], and four daughters:

  1. Elizabeth Rosetta, who married Sir Wm. Hanoly Glover [real name was Sir John Hawley Glover, born 24 Feb 1829 in Yateley, Hampshire, England to Rev. Frederick Augustus Glover and Mary Broughton. Died 30 Sep 1885 in London], Governor of Newfoundland.
  2. Jane, killed by a fall from a balcony at Kingstown.
  3. Charlotte Annie, who married J. Buchan Sydserff [full name: John Buchan-Sydserff, born 5 Oct 1848 in Edinburgh, Scotland to Thomas Buchan-Sydserff and Margaret Higgins Mowbray], of Edinburgh. [They had three children: Archibald Thomas Buchan-Sydserff, born 6 Jun 1899, died 17 Dec 1899, Rosetta Margaret Buchan-Sydserff and Norah Kathleen Buchan-Sydserff.]
  4. Frances Katherine, who married Stafford Delmerge Esq [full name: Adam William Stafford Delmege, Esq., son of John Delmege and Maria Anna Barry]. [They had two children Eyre Bolton Massy Delmege and Hugh Barry Evans Delmege, born 25 Mar 1891.]

A Conversation in the Woods

A Conversation in the Woods
Blas Pedro Uberuaga
October 31, 2020

“Can you feel that?”

“Hrm? Huh? Feel what?”

“I… I’m not sure… something is different. Something has changed.”

“Well, it’s getting colder, and I’m starting to turn color, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah, you’ll be naked soon! Tee hee!”

Lisa suggested I enter a local writing contest. I didn’t win. But, I thought I’d post my story anyways.

“No, not that. Something bigger. Something… I’ve never felt before. I don’t know what it is…”

“Will you two keep it down? I’m trying to rest over here.”

“You! You’ve been here forever. Do you know what is happening?”

“Do I know what is happening? Of course I do. The weather’s changing. It’s getting colder.”

“Sigh. It’s not that. Something else is going on. It seems more… I don’t know, peaceful, maybe?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, now that you mention it, I feel it too. It reminds me of the good old days.”

“What do you mean, old timer?”

“Well, this is a while back, before you three were even saplings. I wasn’t that old myself. Things were just different back then. The air was cleaner. The water was fresher. These stupid pests weren’t biting me all the time.”

“I don’t think they’ve been biting you, exactly.”

“Whatever the hell they are doing, it sure gets under my skin. They’re always leaving their marks. ‘B loves L.’ ‘Class of 2019.’ Don’t they have anything better to do than leave their mark all over the place? If they want to carve up their own skin, that’s one thing, but to carve up mine…”

“Anyways… you were saying, about how much better it was back then.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. There just weren’t so many of these things running around. They’re like a fungus, you know, spreading, finding every last nook and cranny to fill. Killing more of us than I dare remember. But the worst is the air and water. Everything got dirty when they came. Everything they do makes us sick. It used to be that you could take in the air and drink the water without thinking about it. It was always fresh and clean. But, that changed when they came.”

“I think that’s it! That’s what I’m feeling. The air is fresher. The water is cleaner. I feel better than I have since… since as far as I can remember.”

“I haven’t seen as many of those damn pests around here lately. I guess they stopped doing whatever it is they do that makes everything dirty.”

“Maybe it got too dirty even for them?”

“I doubt it. They are almost as bad as cockroaches. They find a way to live with everything. Once, I heard from a passing glider that had traveled a great distance that they live in the coldest places on the planet, on the pinnacle of the highest mountains, and even on the ocean. They are everywhere. You can’t stop them.”

“I don’t mind cockroaches. At least they help clean this place up.”

“Well, something stopped them. They aren’t coming around here anymore.”

“Whatever it was, I’m sure glad they aren’t.”

“I know! I remember a few years ago, I saw a few of them up the hill. I watched in horror as they cut one of my friends up into tiny pieces.”

“Bah! I’ve seen that happen to more of us than you can imagine. They are vicious. They have no regard for anything but themselves. Marching around, destroying everything in their path. Look around. See that stream? See all of the garbage they left behind?”

“At least the water is cleaner.”

“For now. What if they come back?”

“What do you think happened to them?”

“Who knows? Who cares? As long as they are gone.”

“Maybe something else got to them, like they get to us?”

“Like, maybe they were poisoned somehow?”

“What could hurt them? They seem to be immune to everything.”

“But, what if something did get to them? Or something at least scared them, made them stay away, made them stop making everything dirty.”

“I can’t imagine anything that would make them change. When there were just a few of them around here, they would come and go, taking some of us with them or looking for food. But, as more and more of them appeared, things just kept getting worse. None of you are nearly as big and tall as your forebears were. You’re all stunted. And I think it’s the dirty water and dirty air that did it.”

“Who are you calling stunted, you cranky old snag?”

“I don’t mean anything by it, but just look at you. Look at everything around you. It all used to be so lush, so green. We were majestic, reaching for the stars. Now, the few of you that make it past more than a few lustre don’t measure up. You simply aren’t as grand as we once were. I remember my…”

“Give it a rest boomer. We know we aren’t quite as magnificent as you old hardwoods. It’s not like it’s our fault.”

“Yeah! It’s their fault! They dirtied our water and our air.”

“I know, I know. Sorry. I just got carried away.”

“Anyways, whatever made them change, it really made a difference for us. I hope it stays this way.”

“Me too. I’ve never felt better. Just look at my colors. I’m literally glowing red, orange, and yellow. I’ve never been so vibrant!”

“I admit, I feel better too. Those creaks in my joints aren’t as sharp as they used to be. My old snags aren’t quite as brittle as they used to be either.”

“And, have you noticed, there’s a lot more of those small creatures running and flying around? I’ve sure noticed a lot more of the flying ones making their home in my branches.”

“I just love the way they fill the air with music. I think their songs have become richer too.”

“When those pests went away, the rest of the creatures started coming back. It’s almost like they were waiting for them to leave.”

“I agree. Whatever the reason, these little ones are now flourishing.”

“It makes sense. You take away the dirty ones and the rest start coming back. Everything is better with them gone.”

“I’m just scared they’ll come back and make everything dirty again.”

“And they will come back. They always do. I guarantee it.”

“Maybe they’ll change? Maybe they’ll stop making everything dirty?”

“I wish that could happen, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“You don’t actually breathe, you know.”

“Fine, I ‘respire’. It’s a figure of speech. Give me a break.”

“Do you hear that?”

“My hearing ain’t what it used to be. What is it?”

“I think…”

“No! They’re back!”

“So soon? Couldn’t they have given us a longer rest, at least?”

“What are we going to do?”

“What we always do: we endure. We will outlast them, at least some of us will.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve already been here like forever. There is so much I haven’t seen! I can’t go now!”

“Wait! What is it doing?”

“It’s taking off that thing on its face. What is that?”

“I think it’s some kind of mask…”

“Don’t you dare drop it on my floor!”

“It seems to just be standing there, just breathing.”

“It seems so peaceful.”

“What’s it doing now? No, stay away from me!”

“It’s… it’s…”

“It’s giving you a hug! Ah, isn’t that sweet!”

“Harumph!”

“Maybe, maybe they can change.”

“I sure hope so, for all of our sakes!”

The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley

It’s the 1860s. The East India Company is facing an epidemic of malaria in India. They recruit their former smuggler, Merrick Tremayne, to go to Peru to try to get some cuttings of cinchona trees, from which quinine, one of the only medicines effective against malaria, is derived. To protect their economy and monopoly on quinine, local Peruvian bosses pretty much shoot anyone who tries to take these cuttings. So, Merrick has a daunting task ahead of him, never mind the bum leg he got during a shelling on a previous mission to China.

It turns out the Merrick has a long, if to him unknown, history with New Bethlehem, or Bedlam as it is called, a town near the cinchona forests. Better said, his father and grandfather had a history with Bedlam. As Merrick makes his way to Bedlam, accompanied by Clem Markham, an archeologist, and his wife Minna, he learns a lot about not only Bedlam and its strange inhabitants but also his own connection to the place.

He meets Raphael, a priest, who has a mysterious connection with his grandfather. Raphael is prone to sometimes long bouts of catalepsy, in which he enters essentially a catatonic state. What this means for Merrick and his mission, Merrick must find out.

The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley is an interesting story. The plot is pretty straight forward — Merrick and Clem must get to Bedlam and get some cuttings of cinchona trees and get them back to India — however, the real wonder comes from the world that Pulley creates. The people of Bedlam have ancient connections to the Inca that once lived there. These connections still inform their lives, particularly Raphael’s. An enigmatic character, we learn the truth about his connections to the Inca as the plot moves along. Pulley has created an interesting world in which the mysterious coexists with the modern, a place where the unknown can still fascinate science-minded characters such as Merrick. Sometimes, Clem and Merrick’s scientific bent blinds them to the reality that is right in front of them. Merrick, in narrating his adventure, describes his skepticism: “More things in heaven and earth than dreamt of in your philosophy — except there aren’t.”

Some of my other favorite quotes from the book include:

  • Getting annoyed about it was like blaming a butterfly for not being able to spin a web.
  • It would be like burning rupees if you never intended to go to India again and didn’t know anyone else who would.
  • Clem thought that marriage was something that happened naturally to a person, like starting to like olives.
  • In his observations of the people of Bedlam, Merrick says: There must have been minds just like Sing’s [his employer], people who could have been flint-hearted trader millionaires, but would never make a difference to anything because they were too occupied weaving the idiotic read boats.
  • It’s hard to trust a man in his thirties who still loses his temper.

Recursion by Blake Crouch

Ack! Been too long since I read this and I don’t remember the details. This is basically a time travel story, but with memories being the vehicle of time travel. What if you could relive the moment of memories and change their course? That is the premise of Blake Crouch’s Recursion. The title refers to the way that time lines can keep changing as memories change.

The protagonist, Barry Sutton, has a NYPD detective who has hit a rough patch. His daughter was killed in a hit-and-run and his marriage falls apart in the aftermath. Barry has certainly seen better days. But, what if he could go back and save his daughter? How would things have changed?

The power to go back and change events is the underlying sub context. What happens to the people that develop this power? How do they use it to further their own ends?

There are some interesting plot devices that Crouch uses to both add suspense as well as wrinkles to the plot. The way time travel is used here is, to me, pretty novel. Not that I’ve read a lot of time travel stories, but as opposed to say the Back to the Future view where you directly change your future by meddling in your past, or the Marvel view in which going back splits the time line into two, Crouch takes an alternative view in which, in some ways, events overlap.

As with Dark Matter, Crouch has a way of taking interesting scientific concepts and develop a compelling plot around the idea. The idea is the core, but the plot and characters flesh it out to make it a compelling story.

At its heart, Recursion is a story about loss. Crouch explores themes of loss, what if, and second chances. At his low, Barry is wallowing in his loss, his lost chances, his what ifs. “He has wondered lately if that’s all living really is — one long goodbye to those we love.”

Blah, blah, blah… I've got the blahs.