I keep hate-reading plague literature from the medieval era, but as depressed as it makes me there is always one historical tidbit that makes me feel a little bittersweet and I like to revisit it. That’s the story of the village of Eyam.
Happy St. Pádraig day to my anglophone followers. One of the sorrows of history is the death of languages, whether through capitalism/colonialism, genocide, or natural disaster (though the first two are far more common than the last). I'm too tired to truly reflect on the global scale of tragedy that comes with severing people from their language (and culture), so I will focus only on Celtic culture and language. Both Irish and Socttish Gaelic are endangered languages, arguably because of English colonization of the British Isles. Native languages of the country we call France are also in danger of dying from similar forces, some of which have celtic roots as well. Native languages like Irish, Welsh, and Scottish Gaelic are not just "spicy english" or funny spellings, they are the remnants of a conquered people of England. You can see the scale and severity of endangerment at https://www.theguardian.com/news/datablog/2011/apr/15/language-extinct-endangered
Nicky always carrying 50 things at once but they’re at a supermarket and Nicolò “we don’t need a shopping cart” Di Genova is balancing enough food for a small army in his arms, eggs on the verge of falling and holding way too many carrots between his head and shoulder, with only the power of spite on his side