Wednesday was a quiet day, for me anyway, in the Parlour.
One challenge to being in residence in the Parlour is that this particular room is set up so people, particularly children, can touch and play with the objects, to explore and interact and discover. On one hand, this makes me, a living and hopefully interactive guest, appropriate to the Parlour, whilst on the other hand, if a parent comes in with children who want to play, I suddenly shrink into a corner as ‘my parlour’ becomes a messy pseudo-Victorian living room with enthusiastic young ones for whom I take zero responsibility.
That noted, I also am quite pleased at children (and their parents) discovering the stereoscopes, kaleidoscopes, shell mosaics, doll-houses, paper cut-outs, stained-glass crafts, and other various sparkly and twirly thingys which are, and forever will be, eminently more lasting and interesting than any Nintendo, Gameboy, Playstation, Xbox or otherwise.
However, if I do return to be in residence in the Whipple again, I also think I may try to reside in one of the other galleries. The Parlour is cozy—a shaft of sunlight slants through the glass doors even now, and it is quiet, with no guests at the moment. It does as it claims—‘evokes the atmosphere of a home belonging to a Victorian family in the late 19th century.’ [It also, personally, evokes the atmosphere of a home belonging to my grandmother, which makes me happy.]
Today, then, was not a writing day, but a reading and thinking day, which are certainly necessary.