Descriptive demons

I skimmed a letter from Sarah to Helen (niece and wife, I believe), and almost described it as “gossip.” Which is not untrue, but such a dismissive term; using it—especially in what is already an overwhelmingly male-dominated context—would feel like ovarian betrayal. I said “interpersonal news” instead.

Labels and folders are, currently, precious. I resisted the temptation to leave uncorrected a physical label and AT entry dated March 21, 1874. It’s clearly the 31st—clearly written on the page, and clear from the scope and contents note in AT that it’s the same letter. I am sort of proud of myself, but at the same time recognize I’m just being anal because any user would’ve easily been able to find the letter even with the minor discrepancy. But somewhere down the line maybe it means one fewer snarky footnote about misdated materials.

I studiously ignore the semicolons at the end of item titles. This is presumably an artifact of importation from Access. (Although other fields, like date expression, lack deliminiting characters, and you’d really hope they’d pick something a bit less fraught, at least a carrot. I have not yet asked Access to talk to AT.) I cleaned up the Frazer collection manually, because it’s small. LeConte requires either an automated clean up or someone far more anal and masochistic than me. I don’t fret about the persistent “Le Conte” or inconsistent rendering of dates (though I think about both). Nor have I worried my head about accent marks (another presumable side effect of importation), except on the labels I type up myself. “Lacordaire, The#odore” is eminently human readable.