The dead days aren't as dead when the sun shines
Wednesday, December 27th, 2017 08:49 pmEven if it does it from a polar vortex.
There was a beetle crawling around on the study shoji this morning. Lord knows where it came from and how it survived; I expect it was on its last legs and is gone now. There was also half a rainbow behind the buildings on Spadina as I came back from acupuncture. Vortex or no, Chinatown's sidewalks are still greasy and slippery, not at all like the squeaky packed snow off the main drags.
( Last meme of the year )
There was a beetle crawling around on the study shoji this morning. Lord knows where it came from and how it survived; I expect it was on its last legs and is gone now. There was also half a rainbow behind the buildings on Spadina as I came back from acupuncture. Vortex or no, Chinatown's sidewalks are still greasy and slippery, not at all like the squeaky packed snow off the main drags.
( Last meme of the year )
In the bleak midwinter once more
Sunday, December 24th, 2017 07:28 pmVallista was very entertaining. Unfortunately it's left me with the desire to reread the whole series again, in my lazy end-of-year snowed-in fashion.
Not sure if we *are* snowed in, or if it will stop at 2-3 inches. But the tendinitis went ballistic today, turning into worrying and painful neck twinges, and I won't be exacerbating it with shovelling. Should not be exacerbating it with typing even, so must stop here.
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and to all a good night.
Not sure if we *are* snowed in, or if it will stop at 2-3 inches. But the tendinitis went ballistic today, turning into worrying and painful neck twinges, and I won't be exacerbating it with shovelling. Should not be exacerbating it with typing even, so must stop here.
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and to all a good night.
Fast away the old order passes
Wednesday, December 20th, 2017 08:35 pmThey were cutting down the Bloor-facing sign at Honest Ed's this afternoon. Many people were out with cell phones and video cameras to record them doing it. Honest Ed's frontage had a million lights that twirled cheerfully about the red and yellow signage. Yes, it was garish, but it was an innocent garish, as the hokiness of Ed's signs was an innocent hokiness. The suits on Bay St would never do such a thing, and never would have done such a thing, and that's why Ed was a Toronto institution and the suits are the reason non-Torontonians spit at the mention of Toronto.
Also I have lost my watch, unless the backpack of holding has swallowed it again. I took it off at acupuncture last night and failed, as I often do, to put it back on; and as I put it in the open side pocket, the odds of it slipping out are very good indeed. People nowadays use their phones; I can only say, there's no comparison.
( Meme )
Also I have lost my watch, unless the backpack of holding has swallowed it again. I took it off at acupuncture last night and failed, as I often do, to put it back on; and as I put it in the open side pocket, the odds of it slipping out are very good indeed. People nowadays use their phones; I can only say, there's no comparison.
( Meme )
(no subject)
Sunday, December 17th, 2017 07:33 pmThe Curious Mr Tarrant ends on a distinctly woo-woo note, totally unexpected of these suave New Yorkers who smoke and drink and summer in New Hampshire. But googling reveals the author to be a devotee of Gurdjieff, which explains why the protag gets sent into exile to achieve some kind of higher plane.
One has come to expect Christmas depressions these days. Not helped by the heavy dank cold and grey of TO in its worst winter guise. Walking is doubtless good for the spirit and the waistline, but lord is it tiring when you haven't done it consistently since summer.
That being the case, I probably shouldn't be reading Angus Wilson's Anglo-Saxon Attitudes. Rereading, actually: but the small-souled nature of mid-century satire evidently didn't bother me in my 30s, and oh but it does now. Wilson, Burgess, Amis (both of them)- didn't these guys ever like anyone? Or were they all possessed by the withered spirit of Evelyn Waugh? (OK, by the withered living ghost of Evelyn Waugh, since he overlapped several of them.)
One has come to expect Christmas depressions these days. Not helped by the heavy dank cold and grey of TO in its worst winter guise. Walking is doubtless good for the spirit and the waistline, but lord is it tiring when you haven't done it consistently since summer.
That being the case, I probably shouldn't be reading Angus Wilson's Anglo-Saxon Attitudes. Rereading, actually: but the small-souled nature of mid-century satire evidently didn't bother me in my 30s, and oh but it does now. Wilson, Burgess, Amis (both of them)- didn't these guys ever like anyone? Or were they all possessed by the withered spirit of Evelyn Waugh? (OK, by the withered living ghost of Evelyn Waugh, since he overlapped several of them.)
State of the me, again
Wednesday, December 13th, 2017 09:34 pmI should wash dishes because I have no more cups for the morning soy milk. But I'm not going to because I've washed the dishes at work for the last three days, even if I was on the dishwashing shift for only one of them, and I have a non-healing crevice in my thumb from dryness and washing hands and washing dishes. Have applied New Skin (for the old ceremony, she adds automatically) several times today. It burns and doesn't provide quite enough protection. So I shall have to use a regular mug for the soya tomorrow.
All this year I've used environmentally indefensible but oh so convenient one-a-day contact lenses in my left eye. They're thinner even than my one a month lenses so I can wear them in the worst of the allergy season(s). In the usual way of things I spend on average three or four months a year on one eye. The brain adjusts to one good eye and one bad, so I can bike and see the screen and play solitaire without difficulty: the foggy eye gives me depth without affecting the clear one's distance focus. But brain has had no such exercise this year and the result is that I can't do any of the above. Must have a lens in or else I can't operate.
Oddly enough, walking in boots is proving easier than walking in shoes. Lower back seems to prefer them. It's still not exactly *pleasant*, but it's a great improvement over the last three months. Or maybe it's just my Gandalf staff that allows me to stretch out more easily than walking unaided. I'm still a bit disconcerted by this, but oh-so-grateful that knees aren't having the conniptions of a year ago when walking on bumpy surfaces.
( Meme )
All this year I've used environmentally indefensible but oh so convenient one-a-day contact lenses in my left eye. They're thinner even than my one a month lenses so I can wear them in the worst of the allergy season(s). In the usual way of things I spend on average three or four months a year on one eye. The brain adjusts to one good eye and one bad, so I can bike and see the screen and play solitaire without difficulty: the foggy eye gives me depth without affecting the clear one's distance focus. But brain has had no such exercise this year and the result is that I can't do any of the above. Must have a lens in or else I can't operate.
Oddly enough, walking in boots is proving easier than walking in shoes. Lower back seems to prefer them. It's still not exactly *pleasant*, but it's a great improvement over the last three months. Or maybe it's just my Gandalf staff that allows me to stretch out more easily than walking unaided. I'm still a bit disconcerted by this, but oh-so-grateful that knees aren't having the conniptions of a year ago when walking on bumpy surfaces.
( Meme )
Someone on a friends' friends feed was musing about horror:
"Horror can stop working as horror if the reader has a sufficiently different cultural background from the author, because what horrified the author may be mundane to the reader. Alternatively, what the author accepts as good and right may horrify the reader in ways the author never intended. This can happen over time as well as across borders.
...
And then there's H.P. Lovecraft, who wanders freely between cosmic horror of "man was not the first, and won't be the last being to rule the Earth, and they will return when the stars are right", the existential horror of losing your identity to undeath, body-theft, gender-change, or species-change; and the racist's abject horror that Those People live in his neighborhood, possibly even right next door!."
At which two things ran through my mind:
1. I do not get the cosmic horror of not being either the first nor last to rule the earth- supposing there's an earth left for those older beings to rule once we've done with it- nor do I get the horror involved in 'and they don't care about us!' News for thee, bunny: viruses don't either, and they're already here.
2. Many people amongst my neighbours to the south of us this year are registering abject horror that H.P. Lovecraft is living in their neighbourhood, possibly right next door to them, and so they should.
( Memeage )
"Horror can stop working as horror if the reader has a sufficiently different cultural background from the author, because what horrified the author may be mundane to the reader. Alternatively, what the author accepts as good and right may horrify the reader in ways the author never intended. This can happen over time as well as across borders.
...
And then there's H.P. Lovecraft, who wanders freely between cosmic horror of "man was not the first, and won't be the last being to rule the Earth, and they will return when the stars are right", the existential horror of losing your identity to undeath, body-theft, gender-change, or species-change; and the racist's abject horror that Those People live in his neighborhood, possibly even right next door!."
At which two things ran through my mind:
1. I do not get the cosmic horror of not being either the first nor last to rule the earth- supposing there's an earth left for those older beings to rule once we've done with it- nor do I get the horror involved in 'and they don't care about us!' News for thee, bunny: viruses don't either, and they're already here.
2. Many people amongst my neighbours to the south of us this year are registering abject horror that H.P. Lovecraft is living in their neighbourhood, possibly right next door to them, and so they should.
( Memeage )
(no subject)
Wednesday, November 29th, 2017 08:37 pmMy (still) laudably clean house gladdens my heart, but the vacuuming and mopping needed to keep it that way annoys my tendinitis no end. Have taken to vacuuming with two hands to spread the strain.
Have had two days off thanks to sickly infings, and achieved this and that- sent package to Japan, stocked up on soy milk against eventual snow, found- finally!- a proper foot scraper on a stick for my dry callouses. (Pumice does nothing. Pumice crumbles into tiny shreds that hurt your feet if you step on it.) Shoppers Drug & Loblaws, that marriage made in hell, are betrayers. Rexall and IDA have all your needs, for less.
Went to AGO, intending to treat me to a $25 hamburger. But it was the '5 to 7' menu and I had del Toro inspired guacamole (bland) with corn chips (unsalted). Then intended to wander about the gallery for an hour before my acupuncture, but suddenly they wouldn't let me carry my backpack with me. 'Too big!' though it was fine last summer and winter. Carrying the backpack instead of wearing it is indeed a pain, but I could cope. Cannot cope with being separated from cell phone and wallet. So I left and found a Chinese bakery to sit in instead.
( Brief memery )
Have had two days off thanks to sickly infings, and achieved this and that- sent package to Japan, stocked up on soy milk against eventual snow, found- finally!- a proper foot scraper on a stick for my dry callouses. (Pumice does nothing. Pumice crumbles into tiny shreds that hurt your feet if you step on it.) Shoppers Drug & Loblaws, that marriage made in hell, are betrayers. Rexall and IDA have all your needs, for less.
Went to AGO, intending to treat me to a $25 hamburger. But it was the '5 to 7' menu and I had del Toro inspired guacamole (bland) with corn chips (unsalted). Then intended to wander about the gallery for an hour before my acupuncture, but suddenly they wouldn't let me carry my backpack with me. 'Too big!' though it was fine last summer and winter. Carrying the backpack instead of wearing it is indeed a pain, but I could cope. Cannot cope with being separated from cell phone and wallet. So I left and found a Chinese bakery to sit in instead.
( Brief memery )
Reasonable content
Sunday, November 26th, 2017 07:45 pm1. Next door has had flies as well. She: 'One or two.' He: 'I've killed at least six.' Yes, me too, and more. But seems the plague is not rat-caused, and I've seen no more today (fingers crossed) so shall unblock the vents again.
2. My hiking staff arrived. It looks like this and is indeed much more Gandalfy than the photo makes it appear. Am of two minds about the bulgy-out bit, which comes at an awkward place, but may not when I'm poling through the snow in boots. And now I think maybe I should get an adjustable walker as well for the other side. My walk distinctly lacks balance, and an adjustable would let me decide the best length on any given day.
3. Given that I found Horowitz's The House of Silk disappointing and unlikely and, in the end, unreadable, it's surprising how much I'm enjoying The Magpie Murders. OTOH I haven't read the blurb, but I vaguely understand that there's meta or silliness of some kind to follow. Hope it doesn't ruin what's so far a cracking good mystery.
2. My hiking staff arrived. It looks like this and is indeed much more Gandalfy than the photo makes it appear. Am of two minds about the bulgy-out bit, which comes at an awkward place, but may not when I'm poling through the snow in boots. And now I think maybe I should get an adjustable walker as well for the other side. My walk distinctly lacks balance, and an adjustable would let me decide the best length on any given day.
3. Given that I found Horowitz's The House of Silk disappointing and unlikely and, in the end, unreadable, it's surprising how much I'm enjoying The Magpie Murders. OTOH I haven't read the blurb, but I vaguely understand that there's meta or silliness of some kind to follow. Hope it doesn't ruin what's so far a cracking good mystery.
Brief return of reading Wednesday
Wednesday, November 22nd, 2017 09:40 pmI thought last November was a bust but it's nothing like this one. Mind, last year was pure post-election funk, and this is... extreme tiredness, largely, from all the work I'm doing, and achiness from November and the perennial hurty in the lower back that nothing seems to cure. For a change, reading isn't my main activity, so I do very little reading. Yeah, OK, some of that is funk still: what's the point of reading challenges or challenging reading in the Latter Days? I just want to be elsewhere for a bit, and elsewheres are hard to come by. However-
Last finished?
Brust, Hawk. Vlad can't ever catch a break, can he? Vlad doesn't deserve a break: discuss.
Reading now?
Still with the Kipling strange short stories. His attitudes may occasionally curl my hair, but. But. It says something that I can read him with ease and pleasure and not feel in the least futile while doing it, which I can't say about anyone else these days: so he's probably as masterly a short story writer as Gaiman says he is.
Next?
Adam Thorpe's Ulverton is on its way from the library. Am hoping to find it a stylistic tour-de-force on the lines of Joyce's Ulysses but not so culturally-freighted.
Last finished?
Brust, Hawk. Vlad can't ever catch a break, can he? Vlad doesn't deserve a break: discuss.
Reading now?
Still with the Kipling strange short stories. His attitudes may occasionally curl my hair, but. But. It says something that I can read him with ease and pleasure and not feel in the least futile while doing it, which I can't say about anyone else these days: so he's probably as masterly a short story writer as Gaiman says he is.
Next?
Adam Thorpe's Ulverton is on its way from the library. Am hoping to find it a stylistic tour-de-force on the lines of Joyce's Ulysses but not so culturally-freighted.
Four things make a post
Sunday, November 19th, 2017 09:03 pm1. Accomplishment for the day- 1 load of dishes, 2 loads of laundry, dust and vacuum and wash front hall and living room, finish boiling three sets of chicken bones for stock, and buy a hiking staff online. I'd prefer something thicker and more Gandalfy, but with luck this will get me through the snow more comfortably than a cane does.
2. They've taken down the inner walls of Honest Ed's, the east and west wings, leaving the outer shell. This a mere eleven months after the store closed. The other buildings on Markham are largely untouched, and could happily have stayed open through the summer, like that inexplicable health food store on Bathurst, still operating while the entire rest of the block was vacated at the end of January.
3. Yesterday was grey and warm and mizzly and wanhopey, though again that might have been hangover from Friday's marathon. Today was freezing cold and bright, and I walked down to Bloor and back with, let's say, less pain than any time in the last two weeks. Also waited till mid-afternoon when all the Santa Claus Paraders had departed, and their suburban cars with them.
4. Kipling's Tales of Horror and Fantasy is about the only thing I feel like reading these days, so a good thing there's so much of it. Eventually one gets used to his 'sink or swim' style of writing about the Indian Occupation. The Raj is what it is, though as before, when reading his autobiography, I find myself lacking sympathy for the white-skinned occupiers going mad in the Indian heat. Go back to Torquay if the heat bothers you; and no truly it was your decision to interfere in the running of the native states, so don't gripe about the officials you have to deal with. Twits.
(I must also wonder about that corpse hidden in the ceiling. Seems to me that if you put a body anywhere in an Indian bungalow at whatever season, you'll be uncomfortably aware of it in very short order.)
2. They've taken down the inner walls of Honest Ed's, the east and west wings, leaving the outer shell. This a mere eleven months after the store closed. The other buildings on Markham are largely untouched, and could happily have stayed open through the summer, like that inexplicable health food store on Bathurst, still operating while the entire rest of the block was vacated at the end of January.
3. Yesterday was grey and warm and mizzly and wanhopey, though again that might have been hangover from Friday's marathon. Today was freezing cold and bright, and I walked down to Bloor and back with, let's say, less pain than any time in the last two weeks. Also waited till mid-afternoon when all the Santa Claus Paraders had departed, and their suburban cars with them.
4. Kipling's Tales of Horror and Fantasy is about the only thing I feel like reading these days, so a good thing there's so much of it. Eventually one gets used to his 'sink or swim' style of writing about the Indian Occupation. The Raj is what it is, though as before, when reading his autobiography, I find myself lacking sympathy for the white-skinned occupiers going mad in the Indian heat. Go back to Torquay if the heat bothers you; and no truly it was your decision to interfere in the running of the native states, so don't gripe about the officials you have to deal with. Twits.
(I must also wonder about that corpse hidden in the ceiling. Seems to me that if you put a body anywhere in an Indian bungalow at whatever season, you'll be uncomfortably aware of it in very short order.)
Non-reading Wednesday
Wednesday, November 8th, 2017 09:30 pmDunno. Haven't felt like reading lately. Finished Brust's Tiassa, am waiting for Hawk to come from the library, and Vallista, whichever comes first. Reading Brust reminds me of May 2012 when I reread his up-to-then oeuvre in toto and also, flow-wise, had dinner with a visiting Petronia. So there's that nostalgia factor.
But what I do instead is clean. Largely in a spirit of inquiry: how often does one need to vacuum before one stops picking up dust? The answer would seem to be, every other day: because once a week fills a canister quite happily. As demonstrated with the bedroom and upper hallway that were pristine just last Wednesday. Those vents really need to be cleaned out. Meanwhile, living in a tidy house makes me feel like someone else. We shall see how long this lasts.
But what I do instead is clean. Largely in a spirit of inquiry: how often does one need to vacuum before one stops picking up dust? The answer would seem to be, every other day: because once a week fills a canister quite happily. As demonstrated with the bedroom and upper hallway that were pristine just last Wednesday. Those vents really need to be cleaned out. Meanwhile, living in a tidy house makes me feel like someone else. We shall see how long this lasts.
Rainy Sunday
Sunday, November 5th, 2017 08:49 pmWell, that was a waste of a day, at least from a Puritan aspect. Yesterday's what-was-I-thinking? 5 pm latte was not followed by antihistamines or muscle relaxants or anything to counter the effect, so I lay in bed from 1 to 4 Old Style, got up and read some Brust, went back to bed at 4 New Style and was immovably awake four hours later. Outside was rain and mild temperatures in the teensC, 50sF, but my house and I were alike *cold*. Futzed about, playing addiction solitaire and feeling unambitious; managed to at least walk up the street to the super and back for the indispensable hot packs.
Then wrapped up in the wool blanket and comforter in the side room, ready to tackle Brust again, but my head grew heavy and my eyes grew dim and instead I lay flat and had a three hour nap. This BTW constitutes an *excellent* way to spend the afternoon, if you're Japanese. I'm not, but it's still not a bad thing from time to time.
Then wrapped up in the wool blanket and comforter in the side room, ready to tackle Brust again, but my head grew heavy and my eyes grew dim and instead I lay flat and had a three hour nap. This BTW constitutes an *excellent* way to spend the afternoon, if you're Japanese. I'm not, but it's still not a bad thing from time to time.
Accomplished
Sunday, October 29th, 2017 09:01 pmSpent the weekend cleaning because someone's visiting next week, and also because I'm at a loose end in this unsatisfactory fall. The latter may explain why I started with rooms S. won't even go into, like my bedroom and the mudroom, and only today proceeded to kitchen, hallway, and bathroom. Much time was spent carrying things from the upstairs to the downstairs and the downstairs to the upstairs, as ever. I flattened all the mudroom boxes that I've been thinking I ought to flatten for the last seven years, carted large bags of throw rugs and curtains to the church drop-off round the corner ('If you haven't used it since the 90s you're not going to now'), and in passing mended several things that have been sitting in the side bedroom for weeks. So go me: but oh! what I would give for a self-cleaning house, or even a ferocious cleaning woman!
Amazingly, the dust allergies have only just started to tickle my nose. You know, I'd settle for a self-dusting house even.
LJ informs me that I did indeed read Tiassa five years ago, but it appears I didn't buy it. There's a nice trade paperback of Iorich, which I *do* remember buying at the time, but of Tiassa not a trace. No matter: library loan will get it to me soon, doubtless before it gets me Vallista. And now I feel the urge to reread Brust again. There are more worthwhile authors, but Brust is painless reading, and he does drop hints that get picked up later-- which puts him ahead of mindless detective fic.
Amazingly, the dust allergies have only just started to tickle my nose. You know, I'd settle for a self-dusting house even.
LJ informs me that I did indeed read Tiassa five years ago, but it appears I didn't buy it. There's a nice trade paperback of Iorich, which I *do* remember buying at the time, but of Tiassa not a trace. No matter: library loan will get it to me soon, doubtless before it gets me Vallista. And now I feel the urge to reread Brust again. There are more worthwhile authors, but Brust is painless reading, and he does drop hints that get picked up later-- which puts him ahead of mindless detective fic.
Up and Down
Thursday, October 26th, 2017 07:59 pmUp- my copy of Li He's poems arrived today.
Down- Customs' random snatch caught it and levied $14 duty on a $28 book.
Up- Customs didn't catch the Clear the Air order which was worth three times that.
Up- City workers delivered my new medium sized blue bin.
Also up- workers decanted my recycles from the old bin into it.
Down- bin is actually larger than the small size- higher and wider. I thought it would be small size minus the solid foot of plastic in the lower half which is there for no reason I can see.
Up- blessed blessed central heating on this cold night.
Down- still do not dare open the study vent and the study is cold
Up- Nor the bathroom one, but bathroom walls are warm and the only window is small
( Wednesday meme on Thursday )
Down- Customs' random snatch caught it and levied $14 duty on a $28 book.
Up- Customs didn't catch the Clear the Air order which was worth three times that.
Up- City workers delivered my new medium sized blue bin.
Also up- workers decanted my recycles from the old bin into it.
Down- bin is actually larger than the small size- higher and wider. I thought it would be small size minus the solid foot of plastic in the lower half which is there for no reason I can see.
Up- blessed blessed central heating on this cold night.
Down- still do not dare open the study vent and the study is cold
Up- Nor the bathroom one, but bathroom walls are warm and the only window is small
( Wednesday meme on Thursday )
It's been a decade since I used amazon Japan, so I'd forgotten the sad lesson I learned there: if a company uses Fedex, run away as fast as possible. $30 US shipping for a $48 order, plus Fedex fee for border paperwork, and Customs or HST on top of that. And then Clear the Air sends me an email telling me how to use their bags, with this helpful addition, which in a spirit of spite I will share with everyone here:
( Still Wednesday )
If you do not want to wait for bags to be shipped to you, it is possible to make your own bags:Hang bag in room to be deodorized and, they claim, odours will vanish within a few hours. This I very much doubt. Vanish for others; not for me.
Go to PETCO and buy Clear the Air Cat Urine Odor Eliminator. It is in the cat section near the cat liter (sic). It is in a pink canister with a white cat on the front. Most PETCO stores carry this product. Buy at least three or four canisters. PETCO SKU # 1564420
Pour the contents of one canister into an old nylon or sock and tie it off. One 14 oz canister will make one bag that will cover approximately 75 square feet.
( Still Wednesday )
Touching Wood
Wednesday, October 11th, 2017 07:22 pmI shall be hearing thumps and bumps and the patter of little feet for a while, since rats are suspicious of new things. But for now I can tell myself that this too will pass: and with luck, pass before any ratlings appear. Exterminator was pleased that I hadn't seen any rat droppings, and the one I did see on the window sill with glass vases on it must have been a mouse, size notwithstanding. Rats don't like climbing, and rats would certainly have knocked all that glass down.
Finished?
Not a thing. Too antsy over the weekend to settle down. Listened to ancient tapes instead, which sent me looking for certain missing ancient tapes (where is my Turandot?), which sent me looking through an archive box at the bottom of the linen cupboard, which led to unearthing a package of the vinyl tiles used in the front hallway thirty years ago, which led to wondering if they might be used again to replace a few hallway tiles that are all worn and scratched from too many bicycle tires. Must call handyman. Ill wind, as they say.
Reading now?
Somehow seem to be reading P.D. James, The Black Tower. I consider James to be fundamentally immoral and Dalgliesh not merely a very unlikely inspector but a very unlikely human being as well. Which said, there are times a PD James hits the spot, as when one is in Tokyo. We shall see f this survives the return of your regularly broadcast reality.
Next?
Maybe the escapist detective stories got from the library; maybe something else entirely. Talking to a friend lately who's reading Buddhism and philosophy, in search of the meaning of life. Told her I couldn't manage that level of heavy any more.
'But what do you read instead?' she asked.
'Detective stories, mostly.'
'I read a detective story once,' she said, 'and when I finished it I couldn't understand what I'd read it for.'
Thus the difference between the brainy and the brainless.
Finished?
Not a thing. Too antsy over the weekend to settle down. Listened to ancient tapes instead, which sent me looking for certain missing ancient tapes (where is my Turandot?), which sent me looking through an archive box at the bottom of the linen cupboard, which led to unearthing a package of the vinyl tiles used in the front hallway thirty years ago, which led to wondering if they might be used again to replace a few hallway tiles that are all worn and scratched from too many bicycle tires. Must call handyman. Ill wind, as they say.
Reading now?
Somehow seem to be reading P.D. James, The Black Tower. I consider James to be fundamentally immoral and Dalgliesh not merely a very unlikely inspector but a very unlikely human being as well. Which said, there are times a PD James hits the spot, as when one is in Tokyo. We shall see f this survives the return of your regularly broadcast reality.
Next?
Maybe the escapist detective stories got from the library; maybe something else entirely. Talking to a friend lately who's reading Buddhism and philosophy, in search of the meaning of life. Told her I couldn't manage that level of heavy any more.
'But what do you read instead?' she asked.
'Detective stories, mostly.'
'I read a detective story once,' she said, 'and when I finished it I couldn't understand what I'd read it for.'
Thus the difference between the brainy and the brainless.
Mid-Autumn Festival, like Midsummer, comes just after the start of the season
Wednesday, October 4th, 2017 09:05 pmMoon Festival moon peers in the window. Cool breeze follows unseasonably warm day. Unseasonable warmth will return on Saturday. 'Cast not a clout'- do not put the fans away until the first snow falls.
Not a good day to dine in Chinatown, obviously, so I went to the Art Gallery's Members' Lounge to see what they had. They had a tiny portion of baba ghanoush for nine dollars. Ah well, have done that and need not do it again. Would have gone back to the exhibitions but my bloody hip was hurting too much to walk happily. This after acupuncture. Not sure what to try next: maybe strengthening abdominals?
( And still Wednesday keeps recurring )
Not a good day to dine in Chinatown, obviously, so I went to the Art Gallery's Members' Lounge to see what they had. They had a tiny portion of baba ghanoush for nine dollars. Ah well, have done that and need not do it again. Would have gone back to the exhibitions but my bloody hip was hurting too much to walk happily. This after acupuncture. Not sure what to try next: maybe strengthening abdominals?
( And still Wednesday keeps recurring )
This sporting life is gonna be the death of me
Wednesday, September 27th, 2017 09:07 pmIt's nice to be assured, repeatedly, that the thanks of a grateful daycare is mine, for my simple presence as Fourth Body when the unhappy new bugs are requiring one person apiece and hence playing hob with the programme. But ohh my arms hurt and my elbows hurt and my shoulders hurt and and and. On the other paw, as I've often noted, the immediate and pressing needs of small people make any other concerns disappear swa heo na waere. So I shall keep on appearing and will get, at the very least, and expensive dinner out of it come Christmas, though I think I shall start dropping hints about how a bottle of gin would be much more appreciated.
My mysteriously vanishing blue t-shirt turned up at work where I'd forgotten I'd left it. The mysteriously vanishing grey pants have not turned up anywhere, which is puzzling, because I brought them in off the line last Saturday with my other pair of summer pants, both of which needed mending. I mended the stripey ones and have worn them all week. But the grey ones are not where they should be and not where I must have put them. Vexing and annoying.
Cool blows in at last. 12C tonight! Even my AC was never set that low. Welcome back, autumn: please stay this time.
( Wednesday )
My mysteriously vanishing blue t-shirt turned up at work where I'd forgotten I'd left it. The mysteriously vanishing grey pants have not turned up anywhere, which is puzzling, because I brought them in off the line last Saturday with my other pair of summer pants, both of which needed mending. I mended the stripey ones and have worn them all week. But the grey ones are not where they should be and not where I must have put them. Vexing and annoying.
Cool blows in at last. 12C tonight! Even my AC was never set that low. Welcome back, autumn: please stay this time.
( Wednesday )
And now we're back
Wednesday, September 20th, 2017 10:48 pmThis is the crazy time of year when new babies start one per fortnight: which, yes, is better than one a week. But we're getting little babies, five or six months, and they teethe and fall sick and hate their bottles and cry piteously because the Boob has gone and everything hurts oh oh oh. Thus I spend my days patting their backs and rocking them to sleep and am sometimes paid for my labours, and come home knackered.
Possible the fatigue causes brain rot, but in fact I'd had it in mind for a while to call the gas company to ask if I'd booked my furnace check-up and if so, for when. Came home last night from two Long Island Ice Teas and a salad, to several calls on the machine. First from the gas guy to ascertain if I was at home that morning, which I wasn't; then to say he'd have to cancel because his car had broken down; and a third silence, which might have been him or, equally likely, some call centre. Dodged a bullet there, whichever. And now I *must* call the dentist to ascertain if my appointment is Oct 10 or Oct 19, because both are marked on the calendar.
( Wednesday )
Possible the fatigue causes brain rot, but in fact I'd had it in mind for a while to call the gas company to ask if I'd booked my furnace check-up and if so, for when. Came home last night from two Long Island Ice Teas and a salad, to several calls on the machine. First from the gas guy to ascertain if I was at home that morning, which I wasn't; then to say he'd have to cancel because his car had broken down; and a third silence, which might have been him or, equally likely, some call centre. Dodged a bullet there, whichever. And now I *must* call the dentist to ascertain if my appointment is Oct 10 or Oct 19, because both are marked on the calendar.
( Wednesday )
Haven't posted because nothing has been happening aside from the usual- work and wandering aches. Lower back/ lumbar at the moment, making walking unpleasant. Have had this pain before, many times: it recurs in spite of chiropracty, physiotherapy, acupuncture, and weight fluctuations. Can't remember what if anything made it go away the last time, and the time before, and back in 2015 when it seriously interfered with meditation, and and and.
But today I went down to the AGO to see what 2018 calendars they have. Not many and nothing that says 'This is IT!!' like last year's Emma Haworth calendar with its long distance views of London. Hokusai, Carr, and O'Keefe, of course; a whole calendar devoted to sections of The Garden of Earthly Delights which I have hanging over my bed and don't need to see in greater detail; and a Canadian artist who does odd representations of animals, so far the best bet. (Midoco had a Hasui calendar with all the warhorses, most disappointing. Maybe when they get more stock in... I mean, I always buy next door a Mucha calendar- the man was beyond prolific- and have no idea what to do if they stop producing art nouveau calendars.)
But being there decided to eat in their restaurant: a $15 Long Island Tea and a $15 appetizer of smoked slamon and marble bread (two slices, I grant you) plus assorted obscure small vegetables. Wish I was rich enough to indulge in a $25 hamburger which has no meat in it, being- as I understand it- a portobello mushroom with trimmings and fries on the side. Pretentions go- well, a lot farther in fashionable restaurants, I believe- but for a sort-of common person's venue like the AGO, that's pretty pretentious.
( Wednesday )
But today I went down to the AGO to see what 2018 calendars they have. Not many and nothing that says 'This is IT!!' like last year's Emma Haworth calendar with its long distance views of London. Hokusai, Carr, and O'Keefe, of course; a whole calendar devoted to sections of The Garden of Earthly Delights which I have hanging over my bed and don't need to see in greater detail; and a Canadian artist who does odd representations of animals, so far the best bet. (Midoco had a Hasui calendar with all the warhorses, most disappointing. Maybe when they get more stock in... I mean, I always buy next door a Mucha calendar- the man was beyond prolific- and have no idea what to do if they stop producing art nouveau calendars.)
But being there decided to eat in their restaurant: a $15 Long Island Tea and a $15 appetizer of smoked slamon and marble bread (two slices, I grant you) plus assorted obscure small vegetables. Wish I was rich enough to indulge in a $25 hamburger which has no meat in it, being- as I understand it- a portobello mushroom with trimmings and fries on the side. Pretentions go- well, a lot farther in fashionable restaurants, I believe- but for a sort-of common person's venue like the AGO, that's pretty pretentious.
( Wednesday )
Reading Wednesday again on Thursday
Thursday, September 7th, 2017 09:28 pmLast finished?
C.S. Harris, Where Serpents Sleep
-- the loonie bin tempted me and I did buy. Number 5 in the Sebastian St. Cyr series about murder and detecting and dark deeds in a Regency London that owes very little to Jane Austen. The Big Bad who *really* runs the country is cousin to the king and behaves like a Mafia don: someone gets in his way, we send our hitman to off them. The author is American. St. Cyr is clearly going to fall for the Big Bad's independent-minded daughter, now that his Twoo Wub is denied him for truly melodramatic reasons. That said, I'd assumed the politicians involved were as invented as the Big Bad cousin, and they're not. Probably a good thing my regency history is as hazy as it is.
Moore and Wossface, Century: 1969
-- a little more meat to it than 1910, but the real point of LoEG is clearly to read them with the online annotations that identify every face in every panel. Yes, I got the Fotherington-Thomas reference myself, but hadn't a clue that Brian Jones died in A.A. Milne's swimming pool. The things you learn
On the go?
V.E Schwab, A Darker Shade of Magic
-- that Library crossover gave me false expectations of the tone. Fun up to the point that everything started going Grand Guignol. Will finish, of course, but hope it doesn't lead to reading the next two (three?) books in the series.
Agatha Christie, The Harlequin Tea Set
-- got for the title story, the last of the Harley Quins. A very very late work, confirming that authors in old age shouldn't let their publishers persuade them to revisit favourite characters- cf L.M. Boston and P.L. Travers. (Though the former actually started writing in what, at the time, was considered old age, so I suppose it was older age for her.)
Ima Ichiko, 100 Demons 26
-- Either Ima-sensei has become even more obscure or my Japanese has gotten even worse than it was. I enjoyed the first story but will have to reread carefully to figure out how all the disparate bits fit together.
I still use my Word Tank for lookups because all the Japanese phone apps that get recommended seem to lack a very basic function: the list of compounds attached to every kanji. The apps all seem geared to learning Japanese: memorizing kanji or learning stroke order rather than functioning as a straightforward dictionary. Maybe when I have a tablet I can find an online source; for sure my phone doesn't have nearly enough memory to download a program whose offline access is touted as an advantage. My phone still keeps trying to deny me use of the camera.
Next?
All the above? Maybe something meatier if I feel serious; maybe a loonie bin Ian Rankin if I don't.
C.S. Harris, Where Serpents Sleep
-- the loonie bin tempted me and I did buy. Number 5 in the Sebastian St. Cyr series about murder and detecting and dark deeds in a Regency London that owes very little to Jane Austen. The Big Bad who *really* runs the country is cousin to the king and behaves like a Mafia don: someone gets in his way, we send our hitman to off them. The author is American. St. Cyr is clearly going to fall for the Big Bad's independent-minded daughter, now that his Twoo Wub is denied him for truly melodramatic reasons. That said, I'd assumed the politicians involved were as invented as the Big Bad cousin, and they're not. Probably a good thing my regency history is as hazy as it is.
Moore and Wossface, Century: 1969
-- a little more meat to it than 1910, but the real point of LoEG is clearly to read them with the online annotations that identify every face in every panel. Yes, I got the Fotherington-Thomas reference myself, but hadn't a clue that Brian Jones died in A.A. Milne's swimming pool. The things you learn
On the go?
V.E Schwab, A Darker Shade of Magic
-- that Library crossover gave me false expectations of the tone. Fun up to the point that everything started going Grand Guignol. Will finish, of course, but hope it doesn't lead to reading the next two (three?) books in the series.
Agatha Christie, The Harlequin Tea Set
-- got for the title story, the last of the Harley Quins. A very very late work, confirming that authors in old age shouldn't let their publishers persuade them to revisit favourite characters- cf L.M. Boston and P.L. Travers. (Though the former actually started writing in what, at the time, was considered old age, so I suppose it was older age for her.)
Ima Ichiko, 100 Demons 26
-- Either Ima-sensei has become even more obscure or my Japanese has gotten even worse than it was. I enjoyed the first story but will have to reread carefully to figure out how all the disparate bits fit together.
I still use my Word Tank for lookups because all the Japanese phone apps that get recommended seem to lack a very basic function: the list of compounds attached to every kanji. The apps all seem geared to learning Japanese: memorizing kanji or learning stroke order rather than functioning as a straightforward dictionary. Maybe when I have a tablet I can find an online source; for sure my phone doesn't have nearly enough memory to download a program whose offline access is touted as an advantage. My phone still keeps trying to deny me use of the camera.
Next?
All the above? Maybe something meatier if I feel serious; maybe a loonie bin Ian Rankin if I don't.
Belated Sept 1 post
Saturday, September 2nd, 2017 08:53 pmWhat happened in August? What happened in August that I remember, and not the stuff I noted in my daybook?
There was an eclipse, nothing amazing, that has itself mixed up with the action of Cyrion.
There was losing my acupuncture studio and starting at another, always on muggy days.
My landline went out and was repaired in blistering heat; two weeks later I had a cortisone shot in the rain.
In between mug and rain there were two pleasant evenings with the Young Ladies and two pleasant afternoons in various Second Cups.
I read a number of graphic novels; I reread three of the Tiffany books; I read a collection of Harley Quin stories: but only the last reminds me of the specific place where I read them.
This year was indeed cooler than last; I never had to use the central AC; but neither were there days and days of invigorating sun and splendid clouds. Nothing precisely wrong with this August but none of the usual delightful tropes either.
Now it's distinctly autumnal- grey clouds, jacket coolness, chestnut leaves turning at the edges, pink and purply cosmos filling whatever gardens go for that (next door did a late landscaping project so their front-lawn crop, usually chest-high and covering the side path, is reduced to a discreet and tiny clump in a corner.) Rain tomorrow; maybe I *will* stay in and read. Who knows?
There was an eclipse, nothing amazing, that has itself mixed up with the action of Cyrion.
There was losing my acupuncture studio and starting at another, always on muggy days.
My landline went out and was repaired in blistering heat; two weeks later I had a cortisone shot in the rain.
In between mug and rain there were two pleasant evenings with the Young Ladies and two pleasant afternoons in various Second Cups.
I read a number of graphic novels; I reread three of the Tiffany books; I read a collection of Harley Quin stories: but only the last reminds me of the specific place where I read them.
This year was indeed cooler than last; I never had to use the central AC; but neither were there days and days of invigorating sun and splendid clouds. Nothing precisely wrong with this August but none of the usual delightful tropes either.
Now it's distinctly autumnal- grey clouds, jacket coolness, chestnut leaves turning at the edges, pink and purply cosmos filling whatever gardens go for that (next door did a late landscaping project so their front-lawn crop, usually chest-high and covering the side path, is reduced to a discreet and tiny clump in a corner.) Rain tomorrow; maybe I *will* stay in and read. Who knows?
Secrets of the ages
Wednesday, August 30th, 2017 09:12 pmMy father puzzled endlessly how it is that garden hoses tie themselves into knots, and was delighted to find an explanation in the subtle expansion and contraction that comes with heating and cooling. I puzzle endlessly as to how my shower mat acquires brown grunge around its little suckers when I always hang it up to dry immediately after a shower. In those five or ten minutes, does enough water accumulate around the suckers to create mineral deposits? I clean them with an old toothbrush, which works but is time-consuming and annoying.
( Wednesday meme )
( Wednesday meme )
Silver-gilt days of late August bring back memories of travels elsewhere- to Florence in '80, to Japan in '90, to- well, Saiyuki-land in 2000. A good run, I suppose, even if I'm not likely to ever do it again. For one thing, flying is now an ordeal I'm really not up for anymore.
I keep telling myself to note the provenance of things I put on hold. I know where I got Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra, which I returned to the library five pages in. Partly because it was large-print, and large-print destroys the text for me; partly because it was ever so slightly off in its pastiche. (Truly, I do wonder at people who indiscriminately read fanfic of a beloved series: the beloved character is simply not themself.)
But why did I put a hold on A Lesson in Dying, however long ago that was? The summary sounds exactly what I want- "A murder mystery begins in a Northumberland village when the local headmaster is killed. As he was hated by one and all, the village is forced to look among its own for the murderer. Before the truth emerges from Superintendent Ramsay's investigation however, another murder is committed." North of England, small towns, detective-inspectors. But I don't know Ann Cleeves from Adam, and I wonder where I came across her. Also am not impressed by this one: characters as thin as Christie's but not nearly as much fun.
I keep telling myself to note the provenance of things I put on hold. I know where I got Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra, which I returned to the library five pages in. Partly because it was large-print, and large-print destroys the text for me; partly because it was ever so slightly off in its pastiche. (Truly, I do wonder at people who indiscriminately read fanfic of a beloved series: the beloved character is simply not themself.)
But why did I put a hold on A Lesson in Dying, however long ago that was? The summary sounds exactly what I want- "A murder mystery begins in a Northumberland village when the local headmaster is killed. As he was hated by one and all, the village is forced to look among its own for the murderer. Before the truth emerges from Superintendent Ramsay's investigation however, another murder is committed." North of England, small towns, detective-inspectors. But I don't know Ann Cleeves from Adam, and I wonder where I came across her. Also am not impressed by this one: characters as thin as Christie's but not nearly as much fun.
Monday's optimistic expectation of blissful early slumber was foiled by malign astronomic influences: the conjunction of full moon and eclipse resulted in such next-morning parental notes as 'bad night', 'didn't sleep much', 'restless sleep', and so on. I was corralled for an early shift by an 11 pm phone call and so, naturally, couldn't fall asleep until 1, with, yes, frequent wakings. The resulting 8:15 to 5:45 day passed in a sweaty haze.
But then the wind blew Tuesday evening and suddenly we're in a different world; which is a relief. I was still plagued with leg and ankle and thigh cramps all through last night. They eased off when I finally put my woolly bedsocks on, and I shall hope today's acupuncture has helped. Shall go back to twice a week sessions of same, because once a week has led to five days of lumbar twinges and spastic leg muscles.
( Once again Wednesday )
But then the wind blew Tuesday evening and suddenly we're in a different world; which is a relief. I was still plagued with leg and ankle and thigh cramps all through last night. They eased off when I finally put my woolly bedsocks on, and I shall hope today's acupuncture has helped. Shall go back to twice a week sessions of same, because once a week has led to five days of lumbar twinges and spastic leg muscles.
( Once again Wednesday )
Nothing weekend
Sunday, August 20th, 2017 07:11 pmI'm sorry, this August is a bust. All it does is carry over from July: rain, forecast to rain, looking like rain, etc. I want sunny dry breezy weather and I've never had more than a day at a time this year. The cicadas don't sing, the nights are not cool, and instead of renewed energy I have obscure twinge and ache in body parts that I actually use. Oh, and I sneeze and cough.
So no, accomplished very little either day. Did finish The Lais of Marie de France as well as I Shall Wear Midnight, and am currently rereading LoEG and Tanith Lee's Cyrion. And all of these are obscurely oppressive and fantoddy when I want something cheerful. Also for my nose to stop dripping.
So no, accomplished very little either day. Did finish The Lais of Marie de France as well as I Shall Wear Midnight, and am currently rereading LoEG and Tanith Lee's Cyrion. And all of these are obscurely oppressive and fantoddy when I want something cheerful. Also for my nose to stop dripping.
Turning season does not turn fast enough
Wednesday, August 16th, 2017 08:49 pm"August continues to be August, I hope you are well."
Last finished?
Peter Dickinson, Skeleton-in-waiting
-- sort of sequel to King and Joker. Lacks the dislocating feeling of K&J, now that one has the alt-history and new Royals straight. Not as focussed in plot, which all happened in one place in the first book, and the denouement was a bit too Dickinson for my total satisfaction. I like Poirotesque 'unmask the villain and untangle the plot' in a grand finale of detective fireworks. This one has after the fact deduction, which is nowhere near as fun. Does however have the alt-Royals in the 80s still having to deal with the constant bogey of Mrs.T.
Hugh Greene ed, The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes
-- cads, cracksmen, and confidence men. Baroness Orczy's stories are the standout, with actual detection in them.
I.N.J. Culbard, The King in Yellow
-- mangaization of Chambers' stories. Truly, why bother?
On the go?
Still with the mysterious Mr. Quin, pleasant bed- and mealtime reading.
Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight
-- later Pratchett, sometimes heavily sincere; but still, Pratchett and Tiffany.
Possibly I shall finish the Sandman prequel, though online sources say Do Not Start Here. But I doubt very much that I'm starting anything.
Next?
Erm. I have The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: the omnibus edition, which, it turns out, may not contain anything I haven't read.
I could go back to my perennials, or go on with the third volume of the Rivals of Sherlock Holmes. What I thought would be my next book- Sherry Thomas' A Study in Scarlet Women, was abandoned ten pages in. Dull dull dull.
Last finished?
Peter Dickinson, Skeleton-in-waiting
-- sort of sequel to King and Joker. Lacks the dislocating feeling of K&J, now that one has the alt-history and new Royals straight. Not as focussed in plot, which all happened in one place in the first book, and the denouement was a bit too Dickinson for my total satisfaction. I like Poirotesque 'unmask the villain and untangle the plot' in a grand finale of detective fireworks. This one has after the fact deduction, which is nowhere near as fun. Does however have the alt-Royals in the 80s still having to deal with the constant bogey of Mrs.T.
Hugh Greene ed, The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes
-- cads, cracksmen, and confidence men. Baroness Orczy's stories are the standout, with actual detection in them.
I.N.J. Culbard, The King in Yellow
-- mangaization of Chambers' stories. Truly, why bother?
On the go?
Still with the mysterious Mr. Quin, pleasant bed- and mealtime reading.
Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight
-- later Pratchett, sometimes heavily sincere; but still, Pratchett and Tiffany.
Possibly I shall finish the Sandman prequel, though online sources say Do Not Start Here. But I doubt very much that I'm starting anything.
Next?
Erm. I have The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: the omnibus edition, which, it turns out, may not contain anything I haven't read.
I could go back to my perennials, or go on with the third volume of the Rivals of Sherlock Holmes. What I thought would be my next book- Sherry Thomas' A Study in Scarlet Women, was abandoned ten pages in. Dull dull dull.
I have the feeling Agatha Christie never took a boat to Canada or a train to Alberta. When I was five I sailed from Quebec City to Le Havre and it took a week. These days it's three days travelling time from Quebec City to Banff not counting waits and inevitable train delays, and I fancy that ninety years ago the trains were a lot slower. Certainly in 1974 it took me three days just to get to Saskatoon.
So if in the 1920s you have three weeks to track down a witness in Banff before a man is hanged for murder, and you're leaving from London and travelling by boat and train, I *really* don't think you're going to make it.
So if in the 1920s you have three weeks to track down a witness in Banff before a man is hanged for murder, and you're leaving from London and travelling by boat and train, I *really* don't think you're going to make it.
Otherwheres
Sunday, August 13th, 2017 07:59 pmEvening with the Older Girls last night, watching Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince. Were those things subtitled when they came out? because I swear, they might as well have been speaking French for all I could make out. Words here and there, 90% lost in mumbles. Except, of course, the older stage-trained actors- Michael Gambon, Maggie Smith and but naturally Alan Rickman and his e-nun-ci-a-tion. Though I generally loathe Harry and all his works, I will admit that the movies- when I can see what's happening in them- have a kind of magical far-awayness to them.
Reading graphic novels to see what the genre is about, and have fallen into what I think is a Sandman prequel? Certainly it grabs, and Gaiman's dialogue is miles better than anyone else's I've read; but since it was written twenty years after the original series, why are these anthropomorphic personifications all white people?
Reading graphic novels to see what the genre is about, and have fallen into what I think is a Sandman prequel? Certainly it grabs, and Gaiman's dialogue is miles better than anyone else's I've read; but since it was written twenty years after the original series, why are these anthropomorphic personifications all white people?
Reading Wednesday has itchy eyes
Wednesday, August 9th, 2017 08:48 pmWent to put in my one-a-day lens this morning and it wouldn't stick. Slid all over and blurred my vision. Eventually took it out and then realized I was seeing in focus. This means I either a) somehow put it in this morning without noticing I was doing so or b) didn't take it out last night and slept in it without it drying up and coming off. Both of these are worrying as indicating old age forgetfulness, the more so as a) seems the likelier- because I distinctly remember being fuzzy-visioned while getting breakfast. I only just realized option c)- that the factory accidentally put two lenses in one packet.
What would happen if I stopped indulging in nostalgia/ saudade? I can't imagine me doing it because the past is so intrinsically woven into my present that frequently the past is all I see. Certainly in the worn-out everyday, the past is what gives flavour to the present: as today, dropping in at the Avenue Rd Second Cup, still filled with the flavour of reading Yomogi there in November 2000. Of course I must have been there since, but the most recent memory still belongs to 2003, back in what memory incorrectly insists was a golden age of fandom.
( Wednesday meme )
What would happen if I stopped indulging in nostalgia/ saudade? I can't imagine me doing it because the past is so intrinsically woven into my present that frequently the past is all I see. Certainly in the worn-out everyday, the past is what gives flavour to the present: as today, dropping in at the Avenue Rd Second Cup, still filled with the flavour of reading Yomogi there in November 2000. Of course I must have been there since, but the most recent memory still belongs to 2003, back in what memory incorrectly insists was a golden age of fandom.
( Wednesday meme )
Unravelling the long weekend
Sunday, August 6th, 2017 08:14 pmBlissful to sleep last night with windows open and no fans at all. This is not likely to be repeated soon, because though the forecast mid-teen lows are respectable, they come after muggy August mid-20 highs that feel much warmer than they are.
Friday I got down to the library for a bunch of graphic novels and to the liquor store for mickeys of gin and rye and rum. Then came home moments before a thunderstorm and slashing rain descended. Today I read The Best American Comic 2008, chosen by Lynda Barry. Conclude I really don't like American comics and, actually, never have. Manga are prettier and bandes dessinées (or the ones I read in the 80s) not as nightmarish. Maybe I should look at the volume edited by Alison Bechdel, to see if she's picked people who draw like *her*.
Have gained five pounds in a week, much of which is water weight because I can see that it is. Some may be due to indulgence but I suspect the rest is because of no acupuncture for two weeks. Acupuncture does drain you that way. Thus I have booked an appointment tomorrow down Spadina and hope it doesn't rain as much as it's forecast to.
I lost my sunglasses, the ones I'd put my name on, so bought another two pairs. Broke one of them last week and now have misplaced the other. Must bring the same extreme concentrated mindfulness to bear on where I put my sunglasses down as I do on whether I take my meds in the morning. True, dollar store sunglasses cost a quarter of Loblaws sunglasses but even so, one doesn't want to run through them like water.
A happy reread of A Hat Full of Sky soothes me. Alas, I don't like Wintersmith as much: might just skip on to I Shall Wear Midnight instead.
Friday I got down to the library for a bunch of graphic novels and to the liquor store for mickeys of gin and rye and rum. Then came home moments before a thunderstorm and slashing rain descended. Today I read The Best American Comic 2008, chosen by Lynda Barry. Conclude I really don't like American comics and, actually, never have. Manga are prettier and bandes dessinées (or the ones I read in the 80s) not as nightmarish. Maybe I should look at the volume edited by Alison Bechdel, to see if she's picked people who draw like *her*.
Have gained five pounds in a week, much of which is water weight because I can see that it is. Some may be due to indulgence but I suspect the rest is because of no acupuncture for two weeks. Acupuncture does drain you that way. Thus I have booked an appointment tomorrow down Spadina and hope it doesn't rain as much as it's forecast to.
I lost my sunglasses, the ones I'd put my name on, so bought another two pairs. Broke one of them last week and now have misplaced the other. Must bring the same extreme concentrated mindfulness to bear on where I put my sunglasses down as I do on whether I take my meds in the morning. True, dollar store sunglasses cost a quarter of Loblaws sunglasses but even so, one doesn't want to run through them like water.
A happy reread of A Hat Full of Sky soothes me. Alas, I don't like Wintersmith as much: might just skip on to I Shall Wear Midnight instead.
Hey, remember that bit about 'no more water'?
Wednesday, August 2nd, 2017 07:56 pmMy acupuncture studio had its third major leak in its four year tenure last week, and has decided to close for good. Apparently they were going to do it anyway when the lease was up early next year because Fearless Leader #2 has been offered an opportunity out in Scarborough, but the landlord's refusal to repair his building forced their hand. So that's it. It was bad enough when Fearless Leader #1 left two years ago, and I was sad when the studio moved in 2013, but I always hoped to have the community care. Ah well. There are community studios still, one down at Spadina and Dundas which is a much easier transit than to Dufferin and College (and feels closer because it's closer to work, even if technically Dufferin is nearer to me.) But still... Ash and Daryl cured my neck fubars and kept my knees from crippling me completely, and I shall miss them.
Also I suppose a leak in the roof is better than a fire next time.
( Wednesday )
Also I suppose a leak in the roof is better than a fire next time.
( Wednesday )
My browser's text suddenly looks too thin
Saturday, July 29th, 2017 09:42 pmMy local will be closed for a week starting Monday, so I suppose I should get a last latte there tomorrow. But I'd sort of wanted to get back to the AGO and perhaps use my membership to dine in their overpriced but fancy restaurant. OTOH it's a Sunday and the last day of the O'Keeffe exhibition, and even on a Tuesday in January the restaurant smugly announced itself full in spite of empty tables. Also there's a limit these days to expendable money and calories. So another time, I suppose.
Managed some chores my passive-aggressive foot-dragging self was passively refusing to do, like pumping tires, retrieving green bin (draining after Thursday's rain), adding another round of Critter Ridder to next door's deck, washing dishes after a mere two days!, and cleaning dead veg from the fridge and freezer to dump in the compost. This involved eating or at least prepping a lot of the surviving veg, so yay for health. Didn't manage vacuuming the upstairs on the grounds that it stirs up dust and triggers allergies. Well, maybe.
Got a book from Doug Miller's looney bin, Amitav Ghosh's The Shadow Lines. Reason it was only a dollar is the extensive mark-up of the text, random words circled and illegible notations made in the margin. I actually like this sort of thing. It gives some direction to following a text which naive reader me would take at face value, assigning equal weight to everything. (This is what happens when you read genre: what you see is so overwhelmingly often what you get that one forgets the tricks of lit-fic.) The present notations aren't actually any help in following Ghosh's narrative that constantly twists about in time and space, so that I have to keep going back to check who's talking to whom when, and trying to figure just when are we now? Possibly the point is that these recollections inside recollections are supposed to go back and forth this way, and that it's always a kind of narrative meta-now.
My confusion was not helped by the fact that I thought someone was his father and spent half an hour trying to figure how he could only be twenty-eight when his daughter's husband was featured digging a bomb shelter. And I had to make a family tree to understand just how the Indian family is related to each other, because 1) they seem to follow a quasi-Chinese system whereby people of the same generation are treated more or less as siblings and 2) names change at whim and without explanation, so the same person will be called X's husband or by his position's title or by a nickname or by his relation to the narrator at different points in the narration.
Managed some chores my passive-aggressive foot-dragging self was passively refusing to do, like pumping tires, retrieving green bin (draining after Thursday's rain), adding another round of Critter Ridder to next door's deck, washing dishes after a mere two days!, and cleaning dead veg from the fridge and freezer to dump in the compost. This involved eating or at least prepping a lot of the surviving veg, so yay for health. Didn't manage vacuuming the upstairs on the grounds that it stirs up dust and triggers allergies. Well, maybe.
Got a book from Doug Miller's looney bin, Amitav Ghosh's The Shadow Lines. Reason it was only a dollar is the extensive mark-up of the text, random words circled and illegible notations made in the margin. I actually like this sort of thing. It gives some direction to following a text which naive reader me would take at face value, assigning equal weight to everything. (This is what happens when you read genre: what you see is so overwhelmingly often what you get that one forgets the tricks of lit-fic.) The present notations aren't actually any help in following Ghosh's narrative that constantly twists about in time and space, so that I have to keep going back to check who's talking to whom when, and trying to figure just when are we now? Possibly the point is that these recollections inside recollections are supposed to go back and forth this way, and that it's always a kind of narrative meta-now.
My confusion was not helped by the fact that I thought someone was his father and spent half an hour trying to figure how he could only be twenty-eight when his daughter's husband was featured digging a bomb shelter. And I had to make a family tree to understand just how the Indian family is related to each other, because 1) they seem to follow a quasi-Chinese system whereby people of the same generation are treated more or less as siblings and 2) names change at whim and without explanation, so the same person will be called X's husband or by his position's title or by a nickname or by his relation to the narrator at different points in the narration.
Georgia O'Keeffe at the AGO
Wednesday, July 26th, 2017 09:15 pmNot a day off- had to go in for an hour this morning which but-of-course screwed up my sleeping. But after that I took myself down to the Art Gallery and caught the Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit after buying myself a membership which will pay for itself in four visits.
It was a tad too crowded for comfortable viewing: nothing like the terracotta warriors, but those guys were up on plinths and nobody much was trying to read the plaques on the other stuff. This crowd was elderly with canes and wheelchairs, or middle-aged with avoirdupois, so I didn't get to see as much information as I might. Not that it matters. I like houses in my art and when O'Keeffe did those they were very nearly abstract, like that famous patio door which in the paintings hangs above the ground like a black window to nowhere.
So I'm left with flowers that look sexual to me if not to her, and landscapes that relate to nothing I know. Except that her hills look like meat, or liver, or like that dead thing in Dali's Persistence of Memory. Intriguing but disquieting.
( Still Wednesday )
It was a tad too crowded for comfortable viewing: nothing like the terracotta warriors, but those guys were up on plinths and nobody much was trying to read the plaques on the other stuff. This crowd was elderly with canes and wheelchairs, or middle-aged with avoirdupois, so I didn't get to see as much information as I might. Not that it matters. I like houses in my art and when O'Keeffe did those they were very nearly abstract, like that famous patio door which in the paintings hangs above the ground like a black window to nowhere.
So I'm left with flowers that look sexual to me if not to her, and landscapes that relate to nothing I know. Except that her hills look like meat, or liver, or like that dead thing in Dali's Persistence of Memory. Intriguing but disquieting.
( Still Wednesday )
Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders
Tuesday, July 25th, 2017 09:05 pmHave been hoping for the last five years that Kate Griffin would do something that came up to the mark of the Midnight Mayor series, but she hasn't, either before (Horace Lyle) or since (Stray Souls). Kitty Peck is also something very different and, either because it's July or just because, I found it too Hannibal-ish Grand Guignol for my taste. Someone on someone else's FL said her sticking point was violence against women and rape, and I think I agree. Is why I can't read that staple of the mystery genre, the serial killer of young women. Yes it happens; no it is not entertaining.
(Jack the Ripper has much to answer for. Before that, I seem to recall that mysterious mass murders were of families. But that lacks the necessary sexual thrill.)
Which said, I might have gone on to volume two if the library had it in anything but e-form on its clunky incomprehensible e-form platform. Even with a tablet or (unlikely) an e-reader I can't see me going for it. Pity because it does have its points.
Otherwise, my acupuncture studio has had another flood that will close it down, hopefully *not* for a month as in 2015, because at the end of that month I was a cripple with ramifications that went on for the next two years. With exquisite timing, I rescheduled Thursday's cortisone shot/ knee assessment for two weeks from now, thinking I wouldn't be sufficiently recovered from the current internal shenanigans to make it. Ah well, keep exercising and stretching...
(Jack the Ripper has much to answer for. Before that, I seem to recall that mysterious mass murders were of families. But that lacks the necessary sexual thrill.)
Which said, I might have gone on to volume two if the library had it in anything but e-form on its clunky incomprehensible e-form platform. Even with a tablet or (unlikely) an e-reader I can't see me going for it. Pity because it does have its points.
Otherwise, my acupuncture studio has had another flood that will close it down, hopefully *not* for a month as in 2015, because at the end of that month I was a cripple with ramifications that went on for the next two years. With exquisite timing, I rescheduled Thursday's cortisone shot/ knee assessment for two weeks from now, thinking I wouldn't be sufficiently recovered from the current internal shenanigans to make it. Ah well, keep exercising and stretching...
The bookstore tempted me and I did buy
Saturday, July 22nd, 2017 08:38 pmDropping in to BMV the other day (*which* other day is now lost in the mists of July) a cauldron of unholy lusts sang about my ears...* Well actually no, the siren song was muted this time: I think I've finally come to the realization that time is, after all, finite and an endless future of somedays does not in fact extend before me.
Nonetheless they had reissues of some of Zora Neale Hurston's works, so I bought the one about voudoun which I was sorry not to have finished last year. Tempted and fell, also bought Rudyard Kipling's Tales of Horror and Fantasy, another doorstopper. Kipling is an impeccable short story writer and I maybe don't appreciate his stories as much as I should just because they are so impeccable. Not counting the Puck and Mowgli stories of course, which are much more on my level. But English soldiers going spla in India doesn't rivet me the way it did someone who'd watch them go spla. Good riddance, I tend to think.
* a singing *cauldron*, Gus? Cauldrons don't sing. Choruses, yes; tea kettles, yes; but I suppose 'a tea kettle of unholy loves sang about my ears' sounds silly. Supposing Carthaginians had tea kettles to begin with.
Otherwise have decided Daisy Dalrymple is not for me- much too pip pip and toodle-oo, which style works only when Wodehouse does it and tires quickly even when Wodehouse does it. Happily returned two vols to the library, a load off the conscience.
My suspicion that AC defeats malaise seems to have been correct. Slept like a baby and awoke feeling fresh. Did not /stay/ fresh because the day is as muggy-humid as one might expect, interrupted only by glaring sun. Is now set to rain all tomorrow and my shoulder aches again. This summer doesn't deluge the way other rainy summers have, but five days out of every seven are forecast to rain or look as if they'll rain or do rain, and in the end it's simply *wet*. (Like, I don't remember April and May being especially wet, but the Islands flooded all the same.)
Nonetheless they had reissues of some of Zora Neale Hurston's works, so I bought the one about voudoun which I was sorry not to have finished last year. Tempted and fell, also bought Rudyard Kipling's Tales of Horror and Fantasy, another doorstopper. Kipling is an impeccable short story writer and I maybe don't appreciate his stories as much as I should just because they are so impeccable. Not counting the Puck and Mowgli stories of course, which are much more on my level. But English soldiers going spla in India doesn't rivet me the way it did someone who'd watch them go spla. Good riddance, I tend to think.
* a singing *cauldron*, Gus? Cauldrons don't sing. Choruses, yes; tea kettles, yes; but I suppose 'a tea kettle of unholy loves sang about my ears' sounds silly. Supposing Carthaginians had tea kettles to begin with.
Otherwise have decided Daisy Dalrymple is not for me- much too pip pip and toodle-oo, which style works only when Wodehouse does it and tires quickly even when Wodehouse does it. Happily returned two vols to the library, a load off the conscience.
My suspicion that AC defeats malaise seems to have been correct. Slept like a baby and awoke feeling fresh. Did not /stay/ fresh because the day is as muggy-humid as one might expect, interrupted only by glaring sun. Is now set to rain all tomorrow and my shoulder aches again. This summer doesn't deluge the way other rainy summers have, but five days out of every seven are forecast to rain or look as if they'll rain or do rain, and in the end it's simply *wet*. (Like, I don't remember April and May being especially wet, but the Islands flooded all the same.)
Ah, lassitude
Wednesday, July 19th, 2017 10:59 pmVerging on hot (ie 30C/ 86F) so I succeeded only in picking up my disposable lenses, and finding a case for my foreign cell phone. Made in China universal size (meaning I can't recharge with it in) and probably a rip-off: when people say the price is 20 bucks flat with no mention of sales tax, well...
What I wanted was a stylus because my last one came unscrewed, leaving only the rubber end stuck in the phone. Got two more from the box at Factory Direct, clerk took them and went rooting through box again, then said 'I'm sorry, all these are broken.' Somehow all the rubber tips had vanished from the ends. If I'd been thinking I'd have realized that was exactly what I wanted, but thinking is an activity unknown in July. So, well...
( Wednesday )
What I wanted was a stylus because my last one came unscrewed, leaving only the rubber end stuck in the phone. Got two more from the box at Factory Direct, clerk took them and went rooting through box again, then said 'I'm sorry, all these are broken.' Somehow all the rubber tips had vanished from the ends. If I'd been thinking I'd have realized that was exactly what I wanted, but thinking is an activity unknown in July. So, well...
( Wednesday )
Mouse problems
Sunday, July 16th, 2017 09:11 pmComputer, not domestic. Mouse gets hyper in summer and double-clicks everything, so I can't check boxes or back-click to my last page or insert the cursor inside a word without highlighting everything. Have taken to clicking with my middle finger which evidently doesn't twitch the way my index does.
100 Demons is indeed ideal summer reading, as several people noted on the last post, but Judge Dee is even better, being written in my own language. Block's burglar books go down easily- finished two this weekend- but lack the same heft and oomph. In spite of protag's lesbian best friend and her string of girlfriends, more than the protag has. I'd thought from the first book it'd be the other way round.
Everybody has a hungry house dep't:
Friday evening I went to put my Birks on but couldn't find them. Not in the hallway, not by carpet where I drop them when I go to sit on the couch, not in the mudroom ('did I go out to the back yard?'). Couldn't think where I might have put them when I came home. Rousted out old pair, the ill-balanced ones that twinge my tendons, started out and found Birks by the front door. Where I left them when I'd decided to wear my walking shoes against the forecast downpour.
Then that night my knee was twitching so decided to wear a brace to bed. I have two of them and wore both during the day but could find them nowhere at night. Not on the couch (best bet) nor in the sideroom (second best) nor the bedroom nor the kitchen table. Rousted out an old narrow knee brace and used that instead, wondering why my house had become a devouring monster. Saturday, quite by chance, found them atop the printer by my computer table. Now if only my phone stylus and phone case would reappear from the Dungeon Dimensions they dropped into so many months ago...
100 Demons is indeed ideal summer reading, as several people noted on the last post, but Judge Dee is even better, being written in my own language. Block's burglar books go down easily- finished two this weekend- but lack the same heft and oomph. In spite of protag's lesbian best friend and her string of girlfriends, more than the protag has. I'd thought from the first book it'd be the other way round.
Everybody has a hungry house dep't:
Friday evening I went to put my Birks on but couldn't find them. Not in the hallway, not by carpet where I drop them when I go to sit on the couch, not in the mudroom ('did I go out to the back yard?'). Couldn't think where I might have put them when I came home. Rousted out old pair, the ill-balanced ones that twinge my tendons, started out and found Birks by the front door. Where I left them when I'd decided to wear my walking shoes against the forecast downpour.
Then that night my knee was twitching so decided to wear a brace to bed. I have two of them and wore both during the day but could find them nowhere at night. Not on the couch (best bet) nor in the sideroom (second best) nor the bedroom nor the kitchen table. Rousted out an old narrow knee brace and used that instead, wondering why my house had become a devouring monster. Saturday, quite by chance, found them atop the printer by my computer table. Now if only my phone stylus and phone case would reappear from the Dungeon Dimensions they dropped into so many months ago...
A Lack of Definition
Wednesday, July 12th, 2017 09:54 pmWeather this warm induces a pleasant mental fog that reminds me of that 100 Demons summer story where Ritsu, drowsing in the heat, sees a visitor coming to the house looking for his grandfather, and recalls that she came ten years ago on a similar hot day. At that time Ritsu's grandfather put her off for a decade, and the story goes on in ways I forget. But at the end Ritsu realizes that even ten years ago his grandfather was already dead and couldn't have been nogotiating contracts with youkai or ghosts or whatever the woman is. Or couldn't except he's Ritsu's grandfather and does. But as in that story, if you start reading a book in this heat its reality slops out of the covers and takes over your own for a bit. Not a bad thing, depending on what your reality is like currently and what the reality that replaces it is.
( Wednesday meme )
( Wednesday meme )
Burglars Can't be Choosers
Sunday, July 9th, 2017 06:51 pmHey! I finished a book! In a single day!
Bernie Rhodenbarr, as the title says, is a burglar who finds himself in dire straits after a job goes wrong in an unexpected way. This was published in 1977 and ohh does it show. In 1977 New York the WTC still stands and an honest cop is one who stays bought. (All cops can be bought but not all stay bought: Know Your Bribable Cop, friends.) People are listed in the phone book if you want their addresses and getting information requires many long distance telephone calls. Answering machines, it is generally agreed, are an abomination: self-respecting people have services. And there are many old and dilapidated office buildings which, I am fairly sure, have now been turned into towering steel and glass monstrosities. Watergate is a recent memory and Reagan hasn't happened, hence there's still a middle-class, a dearth of billionaires, and actors who can afford to live in the Village.
One wouldn't want it back, I suppose (the sexual attitudes alone are hair-raising) but there's something terribly innocent about this pre-80s world, where Trump was only worth 2 million dollars (his words and 1977 values, of course.)
Bernie Rhodenbarr, as the title says, is a burglar who finds himself in dire straits after a job goes wrong in an unexpected way. This was published in 1977 and ohh does it show. In 1977 New York the WTC still stands and an honest cop is one who stays bought. (All cops can be bought but not all stay bought: Know Your Bribable Cop, friends.) People are listed in the phone book if you want their addresses and getting information requires many long distance telephone calls. Answering machines, it is generally agreed, are an abomination: self-respecting people have services. And there are many old and dilapidated office buildings which, I am fairly sure, have now been turned into towering steel and glass monstrosities. Watergate is a recent memory and Reagan hasn't happened, hence there's still a middle-class, a dearth of billionaires, and actors who can afford to live in the Village.
One wouldn't want it back, I suppose (the sexual attitudes alone are hair-raising) but there's something terribly innocent about this pre-80s world, where Trump was only worth 2 million dollars (his words and 1977 values, of course.)
Contentment
Wednesday, July 5th, 2017 09:11 pmPartly due to half an ativan taken as corrective to a late afternoon Pepsi and the need to be up at Silly a.m. to get a cortisone shot tomorrow. But partly due to superb summer weather: warm in the day with fresh breezes, and dry and cool at night.
The summer poses problems for the philodendron in the east-facing study. Curtains, shutters, shoji, and sheers must all be moved about to exclude the brite painful morning sun and the brite painful mid-day heat. So Phil gets no light at all, and pines. This year I've moved him to the front porch, on the table shielded by the spindly evergreen bushes and the low-hanging linden branches. He seems to flourish well enough there, but if he looks wan again I'll move him back inside to the study and stick another philodendron outside.
The new tile in the hallway may stick up a little in the places it was jig-saw puzzled into the little spaces between the banister's uprights, but I've been able to remove the winter's runners from the hall and can now walk on cool smoothness down to the bathroom. Well, lately I haven't been able to walk at all with my puffy knees, but that's what the cortisone is for.
( Wednesdays come closer together lately )
The summer poses problems for the philodendron in the east-facing study. Curtains, shutters, shoji, and sheers must all be moved about to exclude the brite painful morning sun and the brite painful mid-day heat. So Phil gets no light at all, and pines. This year I've moved him to the front porch, on the table shielded by the spindly evergreen bushes and the low-hanging linden branches. He seems to flourish well enough there, but if he looks wan again I'll move him back inside to the study and stick another philodendron outside.
The new tile in the hallway may stick up a little in the places it was jig-saw puzzled into the little spaces between the banister's uprights, but I've been able to remove the winter's runners from the hall and can now walk on cool smoothness down to the bathroom. Well, lately I haven't been able to walk at all with my puffy knees, but that's what the cortisone is for.
( Wednesdays come closer together lately )
Horticultural
Wednesday, June 28th, 2017 09:39 pmThe jasmine or honeysuckle or whatever it is that grows round the concrete post at Audrey and Margot's place (they're the kids; their parents' names have of course slipped my discriminating memory) is blooming and scenting the air. Now I see there's the same sweet flowers growing up the post between the Rainbow Flag couple (straight, who shovel my walk in winter) and Signora Who Gardens. This is good. One cannot have too many sweet climbing plants to offset the sickly-smelling lindens and mock orange of June.
In an access of virtue tonight, I vacuumed both upstairs and down (garbage night, so the dust elephants go straight into a bag) bundled up the dead branches and twigs from the hedge, and swept the cherries to date from the back yard path. Bag of hedge clippings is now sitting atop rubber garbage bin of creepers and cherry pits and may not disintegrate in the rain that way.
( Wednesday )
In an access of virtue tonight, I vacuumed both upstairs and down (garbage night, so the dust elephants go straight into a bag) bundled up the dead branches and twigs from the hedge, and swept the cherries to date from the back yard path. Bag of hedge clippings is now sitting atop rubber garbage bin of creepers and cherry pits and may not disintegrate in the rain that way.
( Wednesday )
At least it's not raining *now*
Tuesday, June 27th, 2017 09:37 pmWalking and biking around the 'hood, I see the orange mark of death on various trees I'm fond of, like the one in the Greek Gardener's side yard or the one at the corner of the Palmerston Gardens house I lived in in the mid-80s. (Two and a half years that somehow felt like four or more. Ah, youth!) This is because the trees are dead themselves, or dying, and likely to come down on wires and the unwary. Still makes me sad.
The rainy spring has caused mold smells to begin in the basement a good month ahead of time. Can no longer hang clothes there, and must leave door closed. This may also account for the chronic sore throat and general malaise, but my acupuncturist has it too, so it might be universal allergies.
Copped a translation of the Lais of Marie de France from the Wee Free across the street. Shall probably give it The Decameron in return. The translation of both books is uninspired, but I've had it with Boccaccio's dweeby lovers and am ready for something nobler.
The rainy spring has caused mold smells to begin in the basement a good month ahead of time. Can no longer hang clothes there, and must leave door closed. This may also account for the chronic sore throat and general malaise, but my acupuncturist has it too, so it might be universal allergies.
Copped a translation of the Lais of Marie de France from the Wee Free across the street. Shall probably give it The Decameron in return. The translation of both books is uninspired, but I've had it with Boccaccio's dweeby lovers and am ready for something nobler.
Inevitably, perfect days this summer (which I know has technically only just begun, but that's not how it works in reality) are followed by forecast rain and thunder. Mind, this summer even rainy damp days are followed by forecast rain and thunder. It is a wet year. But I shall note that today was a perfect summer day, blue skies, white clouds, cool wind and warm- OK, hot- sun.
I serendipitied into two pairs of good pants at Suzy Shier, not a store I'd ever buy at because I don't fit women's sizes. But they have a small line of plus, and they had two black rayon 2XLs for very little, so now I'm set for everything but the hottest weather. Their 2XL is actually a mite too large, which is heartening, because I can't wear the general run of women's XL; and anything that lets breezes blow about one's limbs is to be encouraged.
Did a wash and hung it on the line and it dried in no time and only the pants had bird poo on them. Win! Tackled the hedge finally, which is now a lot lower than it was, though no healthier on my side. Vast forests of dead wood. Had I a good electric saw or trimmer I'd take the dead bits out and replant, but this will do for the nonce. And finally repotted the philodendron and added the cuttings that have been sprouting in water for more than a year. We shall see if they survive.
So a good sweaty healthy day, and now for a hot shower and hair wash.
(Oh, and LJ on my phone has everyone in my own style. I'm fond of my own style for me, but seeing everybody against a pink background is disconcerting.)
( Reading )
I serendipitied into two pairs of good pants at Suzy Shier, not a store I'd ever buy at because I don't fit women's sizes. But they have a small line of plus, and they had two black rayon 2XLs for very little, so now I'm set for everything but the hottest weather. Their 2XL is actually a mite too large, which is heartening, because I can't wear the general run of women's XL; and anything that lets breezes blow about one's limbs is to be encouraged.
Did a wash and hung it on the line and it dried in no time and only the pants had bird poo on them. Win! Tackled the hedge finally, which is now a lot lower than it was, though no healthier on my side. Vast forests of dead wood. Had I a good electric saw or trimmer I'd take the dead bits out and replant, but this will do for the nonce. And finally repotted the philodendron and added the cuttings that have been sprouting in water for more than a year. We shall see if they survive.
So a good sweaty healthy day, and now for a hot shower and hair wash.
(Oh, and LJ on my phone has everyone in my own style. I'm fond of my own style for me, but seeing everybody against a pink background is disconcerting.)
( Reading )
The rain it raineth every day, still
Sunday, June 18th, 2017 09:00 pmA number of people seem to have had broken nights last night. The current weather doesn't help on the sleeping front, but neither does the vague but persistent daycare malaise. When Daycare Hugh said 'It's been over a week and I still haven't got my appetite back' I didn't realize that means 'It's been over a week and I'm still vaguely queasy all the time'-- even though I didn't have the stomach version and he did.
Am informed that too much ginger causes rather than cures intestinal upsets, which may be a factor. OTOH I've returned to a weight unseen in fifteen months and have cut my anti-inflams to less than half the usual dose.
Current Gallagher has, as ever, married people who cannot keep it in their pants: small towns are indeed a hotbed of adultery and vice. But has also a dotty English family of the Cold Comfort Farm variety, which is a happy change. Also has a trope of the sea rising up and drowning us all etc etc, which in this high water summer, when beaches and Islands are closed because of flooding, is a bit too close for comfort.
Am informed that too much ginger causes rather than cures intestinal upsets, which may be a factor. OTOH I've returned to a weight unseen in fifteen months and have cut my anti-inflams to less than half the usual dose.
Current Gallagher has, as ever, married people who cannot keep it in their pants: small towns are indeed a hotbed of adultery and vice. But has also a dotty English family of the Cold Comfort Farm variety, which is a happy change. Also has a trope of the sea rising up and drowning us all etc etc, which in this high water summer, when beaches and Islands are closed because of flooding, is a bit too close for comfort.
And other impromptu technical puzzles
Saturday, June 17th, 2017 09:08 pmMy cell phone took itself into reboot mode last night when it was supposed to be innocently charging. Controlling my techno-panic, I googled on the desktop and managed to get it out of reboot mode. Mind, google wasn't that much help. 'Press the power and volume buttons simultaneously.' Does anyone tell you where the volume button is on an android? Not a hope, only how to use it to take videos or turn the phone on and off. I had to assume it's the only other thing that moves, and so it proved. Have I ever used it for volume control? Never- because I didn't know that's what it was.
Hottish day with thunderstorms, spent not unhappily in the side bedroom with the fan and a Ruth Gallagher. More of same tomorrow.
Acupuncturist recommended adding turmeric to my ginger tea to combat inflammation. To me, turmeric always has a suffocatingly dusty taste. But the Chinese greengrocers have fresh turmeric and I bought some today on impulse and chopped a little into my afternoon tea. Suffocatingly dusty taste and disagrees with me; also stains fingers yellow. Besides, I'm out of acacia honey; the unpasteurised stuff I bought at the health food store is overwhelming, and the linden honey I bought at the super is 90% crystallized, so I am displeased on that front. But the linden does well enough until I can get down to St Lawrence Market for the real thing.
Hottish day with thunderstorms, spent not unhappily in the side bedroom with the fan and a Ruth Gallagher. More of same tomorrow.
Acupuncturist recommended adding turmeric to my ginger tea to combat inflammation. To me, turmeric always has a suffocatingly dusty taste. But the Chinese greengrocers have fresh turmeric and I bought some today on impulse and chopped a little into my afternoon tea. Suffocatingly dusty taste and disagrees with me; also stains fingers yellow. Besides, I'm out of acacia honey; the unpasteurised stuff I bought at the health food store is overwhelming, and the linden honey I bought at the super is 90% crystallized, so I am displeased on that front. But the linden does well enough until I can get down to St Lawrence Market for the real thing.
Computer is making a new and by definition worrying noise. Knees that barely twinge at home twinge desperately at work. Three hours of same makes me tired and light-headed. Back hurts and I can't seem to unkink it for all my stretching.
On the upside, came in from playground and said to staff, 'Among the many things this daycare has swallowed is my black-' and got no further, because staff said, 'It's behind the water jug.' And there indeed was my black velcro brace. We 'r' psychic at work, or that staff and I are, because she always stops mid-sentence for some reason. As earlier: "Did you tell--" "Yes, I told J's mother he's out of formula." It's like being with family.
( Wednesday again )
On the upside, came in from playground and said to staff, 'Among the many things this daycare has swallowed is my black-' and got no further, because staff said, 'It's behind the water jug.' And there indeed was my black velcro brace. We 'r' psychic at work, or that staff and I are, because she always stops mid-sentence for some reason. As earlier: "Did you tell--" "Yes, I told J's mother he's out of formula." It's like being with family.
( Wednesday again )
(no subject)
Wednesday, June 7th, 2017 09:22 pmAm not working much these days, now we have an influx of summer staff. This is good because my knees remain unhappy, including alas the one so efficiently cortisoned last month. And bad because work gives structure to my day and emotional payoffs. Ah well- what will be will.
( Memeage )
( Memeage )
(no subject)
Monday, June 5th, 2017 09:46 pmDid nothing today, which should probably count as a Gratitude: didn't need to do anything today. Did walk to the coffee shop that, it turns out, only has meals on weekends, and then to the coffee shop that has a limited range of sandwiches. Walking being something I've done little of in the last two years, it's a nostalgic return to an earlier self, and I'd like to keep on doing it. Of course, in the current damp June, the twinges will recur.
If I'd got farther into Winterson's Written on the Body I'd have discovered that the narrator's sex is not stated. I assumed it was female because why wouldn't I, and abandoned it after a few pages because it seemed so much in that Lesbian genre of 'let me tell you how I'm helplessly in love with this woman who is fickle/ perverse/ distant/ ambivalent/ straight-up Bad News.' Sita, Nightwood, and possibly that triangle with Marie-Claire Blais which I read too long ago to remember. Thing being, do heterosexual women write like this about their torturing love affairs with no-good men? No names come to mind: the trope is common enough, alas, but a whole book devoted to the affair and nothing else?
And also, obsessive love is dull. Not as dull as jealousy (is why I'm amazed anyone can get through Proust) but pretty damned dull nonetheless. Yes, I've been obsessively in love. It was adolescent and melodramatic and not something I'd ever give the details of to anybody.
If I'd got farther into Winterson's Written on the Body I'd have discovered that the narrator's sex is not stated. I assumed it was female because why wouldn't I, and abandoned it after a few pages because it seemed so much in that Lesbian genre of 'let me tell you how I'm helplessly in love with this woman who is fickle/ perverse/ distant/ ambivalent/ straight-up Bad News.' Sita, Nightwood, and possibly that triangle with Marie-Claire Blais which I read too long ago to remember. Thing being, do heterosexual women write like this about their torturing love affairs with no-good men? No names come to mind: the trope is common enough, alas, but a whole book devoted to the affair and nothing else?
And also, obsessive love is dull. Not as dull as jealousy (is why I'm amazed anyone can get through Proust) but pretty damned dull nonetheless. Yes, I've been obsessively in love. It was adolescent and melodramatic and not something I'd ever give the details of to anybody.