Issue 29, containing: Housekeeping (Nondiagetic), An Interesting Method for Skimming Wax, Some Advice for Those Seeking the Northwest Passage, A Partial Guide to Avoiding Casual Poisonings, Letters, Commonplaces, &c.
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SOME EDITORIAL NOTES
A new year, and here we are. Welcome. There's fresh bread from the oven, with which I have just eaten a slathering of local maple butter, and with which I will later make a deeply hedonistic grilled cheese.
I will attempt to keep my concentration on the writing of these articles, rather than the promise of dairy yet to come.
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HOUSEKEEPING (NONDIAGETIC)
I sometimes think about the inaccuracy of the subtitle of this microzine-- which, if you'd rather not stare too closely at the miniature text in the header, reads in part:
"a newsletter of miscellany, fiction, and art"
(I am omitting my name from the subtitle, as, if I had my druthers, I would not list a name at all, but rather credit this whole venture to an anonymous collective of Editors bravely trying to rein in an errant essayist who seems hellbent on style over substance.)
(Also I have been reliably informed that I should, quote, "get over it.")
Of the numerous things currently annoying me about the subtitle, above and beyond naming conventions, there is also the use of the terms "newsletter," "fiction," and "art."
("Miscellany" may survive the cull, because it is both accurate and also a pleasant word to say.)
(Miscellany. Mys-cell-aye-nie. It looks like Arkham might loom behind it while the scent of salt and cold brine inexorably rises in a grey and creeping mist.)
"Newsletter" is doesn't feel right, though I haven't quite determined what might be closer. "Fiction," regardless of the actual content of some of these articles, doesn't feel accurate either. And "art," even assuming a gentle reader might deem my photographs as such, was always a stretch.
And so while the header remains as it is for the moment, a change is on the wind. I've been spending an even greater amount of time than usual reading through the older magazines and publications that The Minor Hours seeks to emulate, and, to the Editors' horror, I must confess that the feral urge to use the word "diuerse" grows stronger by the day.
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AN INTERESTING METHOD FOR SKIMMING WAX
As long-time readers may recall, part of my overall journey toward kitchen witchery and experimental archaeology has involved finding and working out the recipes behind historical foods, cosmetics, and home goods.
The most recent of these that exist within the "fairly complete now, thank you" category is the recipe I've worked out for a pomatum suitable for the lips, variants of which I've found in several old scanned and OCR'd texts, with the mid-1600s being the earliest occurrence so far (and somehow involving-- grapes?) and the latest appearing in and around the 1710s.
I would share that recipe but, sadly, I have done so elsewhere; instead, let me share a stranger revelation: the matter of wax, and its cleanup.
One batch of this pomatum requires an ounce of beeswax. I have lately been made aware that beeswax is not a grease, and therefore dish soap has no power over it; it is also not a fat, but woe be to those who seek to pour it down a drain, lest it solidify just as much as a fat might when cooled.
Following the recommendations of those who have come before me in the modern age, I have instead tried to boil the wax off of whatever objects they come in contact with. This works-- to a degree. Since the wax does not magically disappear, I can at best only transfer the wax from one object (my pomatum-making tools) to another (the large pot I found at the thrift store and am sacrificing for the greater good to the wax gods).
There is, however, an intermediary step: skimming.
As the wax melts in the boiling pot, it leaves its moorings and floats to the top of the heated water. From there, a small mesh strainer, as one would use to hoist out a dumpling or, indeed, skim the top of some liquid creation, can be used in a nice repetitive manner to remove the majority of the melted wax.
--Or.
I found, as I skimmed, that I wasn't truly gathering everything. I knew this to be the case because using the strainer was actually my second attempt at collecting wax. The first was the slow but incredibly effective method I found while hunting around to begin with: that of the Cold Metal Spoon.
Take a metal spoon and, in its bowl, set an ice cube (or however many should fit in it). The metal now instantly chilled, draw the back of the spoon across the top of the hot, waxy water. The wax, hitting the cold spoon, will immediately cool and cling to the metal, allowing you to collect far more wax that the mesh strainer managed.
As a demonstration, behold:
Fig. 1. The back of an as-yet-unwaxed spoon.
Fig. 2. Spoon avec ice.
Fig. 3. Besmirched!
Fig. 4. The lady, half revealed.
I am, overall, extremely pleased with this method, and only seek now to find a significantly larger metal ladle.
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SOME ADVICE FOR THOSE SEEKING THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE
Pack a compass.*
* While the pointing Hand of Franklin† has been listed under "Preferred Equipment," it will not be available for the foreseeable future.‡
† No note was made of the properties of the non-capitalized hand of Franklin, and it is therefore excluded from these pages.
‡ This is largely because the body of John Franklin§ is also not available for the foreseeable future.
§ Further, it should be made clear that the Hand of Franklin, regardless of its present location, would be contaminated with lead, botulism, and possibly toothmarks, none of which have been found to be reliable aids to navigation.
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A PARTIAL GUIDE TO AVOIDING CASUAL POISONINGS
With the success of the lip pomatum, I've found myself eager to explore historical recipes further. This leads, unfortunately, to two additional concerns: (1) determining the modern-day equivalent of various ingredients, and (2) ensuring that those same ingredients are not, in fact, poisonous.
[Interestingly, the tertiary concern of "is it legal to seek out or possess these ingredients" does not appear to have made this list. -Eds.]
Even the pomatum itself required some of this research.
Fig. 5. A recipe containing two bad ideas and one very good way to explode a fine mist of wax over one's entire kitchen.
Of the bad ideas, let it be said that:
Fresh butter was an English addition to this receipt. The original French listed sweet almond oil, which contains significantly less likelihood of poisoning the users of the pomatum through molds, bacteria, and the general horror of applying butter to one's face.
Orcanet required some study, but revealed itself to be an older spelling of alkanet, or what we now might purchase under the name alkanet root, Alkanna tinctoria, or ratan jot. While it is a popular colorant for the makers of "natural" cosmetics, there is some concern regarding what happens to the livers of people who ingest it, and it therefore seems unwise to include in a lip balm.
(Hilariously, the receipt itself only lists orcanet as necessary for thickening-- and assuming that that was the case, I replaced it with powdered arrowroot and went about my business. However, in researching alkanet, I didn't see any particular mention of thickening properties... but I did see that while in alkaline solutions, alkanet turns blue, in acidic solutions -- such as any that might contain orange-flower water and sweet almond oil -- it turns a lovely shade of crimson.)
(But it was included in this receipt only, of course, for thickening.)
Of the good way to explode one's kitchen, let it be said:
An important lesson can be learned regarding the application of room-temperature hydrosols to a wax-and-oil mix heated to somewhere above 145 degrees Fahrenheit.
The lesson is "don't."
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LETTERS
Received by the Magazine via a Dream, Probably, "On the Subject of Mountains":
To the Editors:
While we acknowledge your appropriate appreciation of our regality [Issue 28, "Regarding Mountains" - Eds.], we wish you to know that we of course hold a deep interest in the termination of human lives. We merely do not feel the need to be as obvious about it as our young neighbors to the east. Murder is folded into our orogeny. We cordially invite you to visit again any time to explore further.
Sincerely,
The White Mountains
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From the Editors, to The White Mountains, "We Had to Look Up the Word 'Orogeny'":
The Editors would like to humbly, and from a distance, like to apologize for continuing to think of you as the Green Mountains, due to the unfortunate necessities of nomenclature and the observances of faith required by certain large and bloodthirsty deities previously referenced.
Having now completed the niceties, we would also like to relate that we have been reliably informed that our mountains are stronger, more shredded, and could kick all your asses if you were inclined to meet in the parking lot after school.
We trust that this letter meets you in good health and with kind regards,
-The Editors
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Received by the Magazine through Diuerse Worrying Methods, "As It Pertains to Sleeping in New Places":
Dear Editors:
Please accept our apologies re: the moving of everything to the Wrong Place. [Issue 28, "Sleeping in New Places" - Eds.] AirBnB guests keep moving things, and we hate it. Our malevolence is restricted only to them, not to guests of the family.
Telekinetically yours,
The Ghosts of the House
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From the Editors, to The Ghosts of the House, "Ghost Are Often Memories, Accessed in Ways Both Strange and Humbling":
The Editors have cause to remember other guests in the House-- of which one, more kin to you than the others, decided to wander to the familial cemetery to visit a little while with the dead. It was dark out, and the land rolling underfoot, and they declined a lantern for the way.
Being of a narrative inclination, this struck the Editors unwise; being sadly entrenched in a world that rarely requires the services of the genre-savvy, we can only assume that that which returned from the graves matched in all particulars the person who had left.
It is wise, sometimes, to let the ghosts have their way with things, and to have a healthy respect for howsoever they might wish to conduct their business. To that end the Editors would like to assure the Ghosts of the House that they felt as welcome as any traveler could hope, and that they very definitely won't report any strange activities their Kin might engage in of a ghost-like or alternately-revenant nature.
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COMMONPLACES
From Jessica Hayworth, "story about a lake I did recently":
>>Woman: A LAKE OPENED UP INSIDE MY CHEST.
>> Woman: I THOUGHT WOW, THAT'S NEW. NEVER HAD A BODY OF WATER IN ME BEFORE.
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From Jessica Hayworth, "story about a lake I did recently":
>>Interviewer: DID YOU HAVE TO INVITE IT INSIDE?
>>Woman: I DON'T THINK A LAKE ASKS PERMISSION.
>>Interviewer: [laughing] NO. NO IT PROBABLY DOESN'T.
>>Woman: [laughing] IMAGINE THAT.
>>Both: "HELLO I AM YOUR LAKE. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN YOUR LAKE.
>>Both: "OPEN UP PLEASE. OPEN."
>>Both: "OPEN SESAME."
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ANNOUNCEMENTS
I'm going over-long as it is, but it should be noted that there are New Tiers on the Patreon, which I will probably talk about at some point. I make no promises as to when, however, because time is a lie.
Welcome to 2023. I'm going to go make a grilled cheese.
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Letter to the Magazine: [subject of letter as you would like to see it printed]
If you wish the letter to be anonymous or under a nom de plume, please state so in the body of the email; similarly, if you'd rather not be printed at all, please also state so in the body of the email. It will otherwise be assumed that mail sent to that address is intended for print.
Alternately, commenting on the Patreon post will get you a similar result, with much less fuss.
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As always, you can find me at my regular website, katherinecrighton.com, or sometimes via twitter, at @c_katherine.
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-Until next week, be safe.
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