urkels_beaker

I'm undoubtedly addicted to Facebook of late. I see many who once graced the pages of Livejournal have now turned up on Facefool, doing the ironic trivia rounds and generally taking part in the efforts to minimize the terms upon which we communicate with one another.

I am guilty on all accounts. Or perhaps not...

During my time on Facebook, whilst continually engaging in throwaway rants about my rendition on the state of the nation (or many nations at once), I have also been conducting my real business and playing out my real life beneath the radar. Relationships and drama in real time, full of disheartened and cadaverous disappointment, as well as moments of teeth-tingling everyday inspiration. The stuff of ordinary life in other words.

Part of this life beneath the radar has been the conducting of a great deal of research (primarily, although by no means exclusively, of the desk bound variety) into the life of my late great-aunt, Norah Meade Corcoran, 1889 - 1954.

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So much has been written about the holocaust that to add further words about so seemingly incomprehensible an event would seem simply self indulgent. Yet, after visiting the Auschwitz extermination camp in Poland last week, I feel compelled to say something to the darkness of what I saw there.

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