Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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1 Comments:We didn't get any high drama wind and thunder, or even any drops of rain but, for whatever reason, the temp dropped a bit last night. It was wonderful to just experience the rapid change. However, I think it's going back the other way again today. Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Thursday, July 28, 2005 We gasped our way through the last of the solar oven days yesterday. My car got so hot in the parking lot that I was nearly home before the a/c actually cooled off the metalNglass enough for the conditioned air to actually fill up the interior. Fortunately the library is new enough that the h-vac system actually works. A good portion of the older county buildings have either window units in them or fans. All of them smell like mold, too - what else could you expect from centuries of architecture standing 8 feet above sea level between two marshes? Though I had been home only an hour or so, the air was so oppressive I couldn’t remember how to make a salad and ended up eating blueberries and bananas for dinner. But about 8 o’clock the front rolled in from the north, complete with dancing forests and lightning flashes and a weird greeny pink sunset. We dashed about the house, throwing open windows and propping doors wide with heavy objects. The air was not cold, like it is when you get a direct hit with the rain, but it was a good 15 degrees cooler than the house. Priss, our one dog who is really bothered by storms, danced in and out of the house, trying to decide where she would be safer - indoors, or wherever mama is. Eventually I decided to remove myself from the lightening strike zone and sit on the back porch, and she settled down in my lap. Been a long time since I’ve been willing to hold a dog on my lap. We stayed out on the porch for one sweet hour, just enjoying the excitement and movement and coolness. A little bit of rain fell, but not much more than would wet down the walk. The change in temperatures, the furious wind and surrounding storm sounds left me disinclined to go watch a movie with BD so we chose instead, to read to each other. We’ve been working our way through the 15 minute version of the Harvard Classics, and sadly, not finding much that we’re inclined to go back to. I had now idea how pompous Robert Browning was! - but yesterday’s offering, Goethe’s Hermann and Dorothea, turned out to be a rare treat. Yes it’s grammar structure is a little archaic. This translation, pre 20th century, is strong corroborative evidence that something in the water of 19th century England produced a generation of Tolkein-esque grammarians. And they all must have learned German - because really that’s what this sounds like - continental sentence structure written with English words. Nevertheless, we are enjoying the beautiful word paintings. I am also trying to read Harry Potter VI. I thoroughly enjoyed books 1-4, which I swooped through in a single, 3 day marathon, vacation read. I eagerly looked forward to book V last summer, but it was such a disappointment to me that I only skimmed a few chapters, and actually read only the first and last. I was never a whiny teen and I certainly didn’t raise a sulky brat boy either. Harry at 15 was such a bore. Nor do I find the “I don’t want to talk about it” stoics particularly sympathetic nor interesting. Just a little quirk in my personality. But it seems to me that if you can’t accept something then you ought to speak up about it, for, how can anybody stop irritating you if you don’t tell them exactly where the irritation is? At the end of the book, when Dumbledore gave HP the weepy speech about how he just wanted Harry to be a normal little boy with a normal little childhood - well, I mean - get real. That’s the same thing that turned my stomach with the John Grisham book The Client. Make me vomit, please, with some pathetic plea for the chiiiiiiiiildrun. Rather turned me off Grisham mysteries altogether. Dumbledore, more than anybody else, ought to have known that a normal childhood for HP wasn’t possible. He would have done better just schooling his little prodigy the way little gymnasts or violinists or ice skaters are trained. That whole book just had too much pop psychology weaving through it, and not enough artistic editing done to it. The bratty pose doesn’t have to be on every page - I get the picture - got it in the first chapter. Art isn’t supposed to copy life - detail, by boring detail - it’s supposed to imply reality, sketch it, give us just the outline and let our minds fill in the rest. Do you really want to read hours of transcripts of the last fight you had with your teenager? Or your mom? I mean - you can just go home if you want that sort of entertainment. Alas - having only the gist of the plot of Book V - and not remembering some of the important, but new characters - I find Book VI goes a little slowly. HP is a more bearable character now, so I am going to plow ahead. Besides, I’ve already read the ending so I know where he’s headed. I will do my all to find out how he goes about it. I spun only the littlest bit of the red wool last night. I’m spinning a soft twist yarn similar to last week’s yarn. Goodness - I haven’t even measured to see how many wraps per inch it is. Hmmm. As I contemplate my spinning and the eventual garment, it all takes on more of a “Project” aspect to it - and I am considering making up a whole notebook about my efforts - both the successes and the failures. Besides - there is something so delicious about buying a new notebook. Of course, I must keep reminding myself, shopping for a notebook does not a swing coat make. La - I do hope this is a project I actually finish. Perhaps I ought to make a project out of finishing all the unfinished ones littering my house. Call it the Come to Completion Project. Ah well. But not today. Today I spin red wool, visit the gym, return videos and try try try to get a full night’s sleep. posted by Bess | 5:45 AM |
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