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The evening smells of woodsmoke
Finished Claudine a Paris. Finally. Suck fairy attack: what a nasty piece of goods that girl was. But done and onto the reject pile it goes.
For my next French language exercise I thought I might read that French historical novel La Dame de Kyoto, about Murasaki Shikibu, but as I was looking over the shelves in the downstairs front room, eye was caught by The Poems of Francois Villon, a facing page French-English text. It's the equivalent of the Muromachi poetry book: read the original, chance a guess at the meaning, check the English. Might go with that, except--
--shriek opera next door has made me start up my sound system, untouched for nearly a decade because it clanks and grinds when changing CDs. It's nice to have something that will play any CD- my much loved and much-lamented Sony boombox won't read anything now- and yes I have music on my side of the wall, but I can't read when music is playing. I subvocalize and music- and songs certainly- interrupt the process. So... we'll see.
Had a dream last night, a proper dream with resonances that actually stuck in my head, about being back in Japan and meeting my former kiddy students who were now only a few years older than then, all of whom were fluent in English and showing me how they could write it. And their handwriting was beautiful and I was so impressed. And there was a long-ago Mom from the daycare who was called Naomi in my dream, though I can't remember if she was in RL, with her four children (I think in reality she *may* have had three sons) 'but one of them died', who was Japanese in my dream but still looked the same. Time telescopes this year: turns out I last saw her in the spring of 2018, going down to the Yayoi Kusama exhibition with no.2 son, and no idea why she's in my dreams now.
For my next French language exercise I thought I might read that French historical novel La Dame de Kyoto, about Murasaki Shikibu, but as I was looking over the shelves in the downstairs front room, eye was caught by The Poems of Francois Villon, a facing page French-English text. It's the equivalent of the Muromachi poetry book: read the original, chance a guess at the meaning, check the English. Might go with that, except--
--shriek opera next door has made me start up my sound system, untouched for nearly a decade because it clanks and grinds when changing CDs. It's nice to have something that will play any CD- my much loved and much-lamented Sony boombox won't read anything now- and yes I have music on my side of the wall, but I can't read when music is playing. I subvocalize and music- and songs certainly- interrupt the process. So... we'll see.
Had a dream last night, a proper dream with resonances that actually stuck in my head, about being back in Japan and meeting my former kiddy students who were now only a few years older than then, all of whom were fluent in English and showing me how they could write it. And their handwriting was beautiful and I was so impressed. And there was a long-ago Mom from the daycare who was called Naomi in my dream, though I can't remember if she was in RL, with her four children (I think in reality she *may* have had three sons) 'but one of them died', who was Japanese in my dream but still looked the same. Time telescopes this year: turns out I last saw her in the spring of 2018, going down to the Yayoi Kusama exhibition with no.2 son, and no idea why she's in my dreams now.
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