Early warning system

 

Thankfully what I have is much smaller.

Wandering the stacks

One of the perks of working in a library: you come across titles like these:

• Hubbub: Filth, noise, and stench in England, 1600-1770

• At Day's Close: Night in Times Past

• Stirring the mud: on swamps, bogs, and the human imagination

• The science of fairy tales: an enquiry into fairy mythology
  (which you can read in full at Google Books, if you so desire, along with tons of other stuff)

Thursday evening

Bloggy readers - I have been remiss in my posts.  Simply put, after a day of working on the computer, I'm rather reluctant to spend any more time on the computer when I get home.  I'd rather stare out the window at the black steers moving slow as the tide over the pasture out back and let my eyes move out of pixel dimensions back into the real world.  Or crochet as I let my mind wander--it's strangely relaxing how creating purposeful knots (which is what crocheting is all about) works out the kinks in your mind.  Or read.  I'm always reading.  I devour books: it's what I do.

So I'm trying to jot my thoughts down during the day so I'll have something to post, rather than staring at a computer screen for another hour at the end of the day trying to think of something to tell you all.

Far country

Now that we've turned a corner into the new year, our trip to Great Britain suddenly seems imminent.  The dream and the reality abruptly coalesced.  We're at the top of the precipice, and the trip is now within sight.  Every day nearer June, the momentum of our approach increases.  I think by April or May we'll be hopping about like schoolboys anxious for the summer to arrive already.

A new order

Meet Theolonius Monk (Monk for short, in keeping with our religious order of cats...though Monk occupies a much lower rank than the vaulted position occupied by Pope).  He's a laid-back tomcat, lean as a whip with beautiful long legs and black markings on his back that look like wings. 

We adopted him from the humane society.  What better way to honor the memory of Pope, a former shelter cat himself?

Water and the machine

I had an adventure this past Thursday night and Friday morning.

My hearing aid stopped working. 

This is always a curious experience, because not only is it a machine, it's also my hearing.  When a machine breaks down, you're appropriately put-out while you run through the list of possible reasons.  On the other hand, when your hearing breaks down, a host of other, more dire, concerns pushes to the forefront: am I losing what little hearing I have left? have I been afflicted with some disease of the ear?  will I be able to continue my present job if I'm completely deaf?  will I ever hear the birds again?!

I had to wait until the audiologist's office opened Friday morning.  When you have to wait, your concerns tend to multiply and take over your existence.  Thursday night and early Friday morning I kept clicking my tongue and calling the cats, just to assure myself that what little hearing I had was still functional (it was...but I had to be sure).  During the half hour drive to the audiologist's office, I started over-analyzing every vibration in the car, almost certain it was going to break down on me.

Then I told myself to get over it, shoved all my little worries into the back of my head, and let my mind wander.  Thinking is a lot easier when you don't have any sounds to distract you.  I can't recall most of what I daydreamed--for all I know, I was close to figuring out the meaning of life.  Then I got to the audiologist, where she pulled out a box of what looked like torture devices, fiddled around with the tubes of my hearing aid, poked out a 1/4 inch filter and restored my hearing. 

"These things are more trouble than they're worth," she said, holding up the tiny slip of filter, which had become logged with moisture.  Moisture is what obstructed my hearing.  I couldn't help but feel a new-found appreciation for the elements of nature.  We construct all manner of devices to overcome the inconveniences that nature puts in our way, and she can still manage to be inconvenient.

History of a nation

While it's a door-stopper of a book that, "if thrown with a good over arm action, [would] bring a water buffalo to its knees*," Rebecca Fraser's The Story of Britain has been a pure delight to read, even if I'm only able to retain about a tenth of the information that I've read so far (I'm already planning to read it through again).  She has accomplished the seemingly impossible: condensed 2,000 years of British history into an entertaining, thoughtful, and well-written book.

Check out the image of Britain covered in snow, taken by NASA's Terra satellite.  Startlingly beautiful.

*from Nancy Banks-Smith's review of M.M. Kaye's "The Far Pavilions"

Thief in the night

Our cat Pope died Monday night. 

The house is quiet, and my heart aches.

"I love cats because I enjoy my home;

and little by little, they become its visible soul."

- Jean Cocteau

Promises to keep

My New Year's resolution for 2010 is the same as it was for 2009 with a slight amendment:

Read and keep a reading journal.

I'm pretty sure I won't stay true to that amendment, but I would like to savor my reading more and make note of the interesting ideas I come across.  Taking notes, even if it's just quotes or brief summaries, is a great way to remember the content of a book, long after you've put it down.

Books of 2009

I read about 60 books last year.  Not as nearly much as I did for the year 2008 (see this post It's always books), but it's been a year of changes and adjustments (new job, new house) so I don't feel too bad about that.  At least I was still able to read some.

Some highlights from my reading for 2009:

The Magician's Book: a Skeptic's Adventures in Narnia - a fresh view of the series and doubly interesting as it was written from a non-Christian perspective

A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from my Kitchen Table - good food is an integral part of everyday life; blend of essays and recipes

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie - you'll be charmed by the protagonist of this quirky mystery, an 11 year old aspiring chemist who lives in a ramshackle country estate in England

Spirit and Flesh: Life in a Fundamentalist Baptist Church - a sociologist studies the life of a church for over 20 years - fascinating insights into the mindset of fundamentalist christians

The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane - an academic mystery that manages to be engrossing, despite inordinate amounts of time spent in the library; interesting depiction of colonial America

An Elegant Madness: High Society in Regency England - it's always amazing to learn what the worldview of people was at a certain point in history, not to mention that this was the period that Jane Austen lived in

Snow

Snow is the weight of silence.

More snowy scences at Slate.

Snow and hobbits

I'm watching the movie Fellowship of the Ring, first in the Lord of the Rings series.  Watching Shakespearean actors gravely imbue Tolkien-esque lines with nuances of meaning is a pleasure.  I can't get enough of Saruman when he says things like "The dwarves delved too deep," or, quite simply, "Shadow and flame."

While a movie can never compete with a book (your imagination is still the richest bed for enlivening a story), being able to hear a beloved story come to life enriches the experience even more.

Whenever it snows, J. and I recite Sean Bean's (Boromir) heartfelt exclamation: "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

Pizza and streudel

J. and I spent a day and a half in Chicago while visiting my folks.  We try to visit the Windy City everytime we go up for a visit, since my hometown is so close.  This time around, we attempted a culinary tour of Chicago.  First up was Chicago-style pizza at the Gino's East restaurant near downtown Chicago.  It wasn't too bad, but I don't think it tops Giordano's.  We ordered a small, with 2 slices for each of us, and left with bulging bellies.  The crust of Gino's East pizza seemed to border on fried cornbread, which was a different touch.

The next day we returned to Chicago in heavy snow, which proved an adventure to slog through on foot in the neighborhoods of Chicago that we visited.  We intended to get pastries at the Swedish Bakery in the Andersonville neighborhood, but the place was a crammed whirlwind of customers waiting for their holiday orders.  The waiting lines made no sense, so we wanded back up the street to a cafe and got crepes stuffed with strawberries and nutella.  The main stretch of Andersonville, a historically Swedish neighborhood, was particularly picturesque that day, with fat snowflakes falling, mounding on the sidewalks and streets.  Buildings here and there were painted the colors of Sweden, yellow and blue, and the snow made it all look so cozy and festive.

After a detour to the REI store, we wound up in the West Town neighborhood, at Podhalanka, directly across from the Division station of the Blue Line train.  Podhalanka was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, with 2 little old ladies working in the kitchen, icons decorating the walls, and an old TV set to the Polish channel.  We had a feast that warmed us up after a day of wading through snow and slush.  I got sour borscht soup, and we shared potato pancakes, stuffed cabbage rolls, and pierogi, which are dumplings stuffed with spiced meats, potatoes, and an interesting type of sweet cheese.  Quite delicious. 

As always, we also visited Christkindlmarket, for streudels and glogg, mulled wine that will put hair on your chest.  My introversion emerges in full force at this market, as people are packed like sardines among the booths set up on Daley Plaza, and I'm usually itching to leave almost as soon as we arrive.  I wish there was some kind of force field I could erect around my person--something that would force people away, or make them think of someplace else they should be whenever they draw too near.

Anti-social as always, but I still love to visit Chicago.

Snow in the north

Home again after a whirlwind expedition in the frozen north to my other home.  Even though I frequently complain of feeling "cold as death," I truly enjoy snow and winter air.  The night sky is breathtaking in the fierce clarity of winter cold--how the stars pierce the heart!  The trees are transformed into lumbering white beasts, and the cardinal's bright spark pops against the snowy canvas: nature's haiku.

Whistler in the snow

Driving to the airport this morning was like entering one of Whistler's Nocturnes paintings: the sky was a quiet vast blue and the snow-covered landscape blue like shadows.

Elinor and Marianne*

Today I'm thankful for my friend Jenni.

I distinctly remember the day we realized we would be good friends.  In the college cafeteria during dinner, I was talking with Ethan, a mutual friend of ours.  At some point in the conversation, I mentioned how much I liked Pride and Prejudice.  Ethan grinned and looked down the table at Jenni, who was seated a few people down, and said, "You and Jenni have a lot in common, then."  And that's how our friendship began.

We both love reading and Jane Austen, art and cheese, the fall season and tea.  We're both very curious about a lot of things, especially anything British (Harry Potter, the Regency Era, high tea, you name it), and explore this curiosity together. We've done some silly things in the past, such as construct a fort out of blankets, chairs, and tables in the common room of our dorm.  We've dressed up for the first Lord of the Rings movie premiere, the Jane Austen Festival, and the Ladies' Historical Tea Society Halloween tea.  We've tripped our way through some Regency era dances and tried treacle tart (she made it, I helped her eat it).  And now we're sharing in the joy of planning trips to Great Britain, even if we're not going together (someday, though).

If that isn't a kindred soul, I don't know what is.

*It should be clear which one I am.

Friends through words

I'm continuing with the theme of thanksgiving, even if Thanksgiving is come and gone. 

Today I'm thankful for my friend Dwain.  I met him my freshman year in college.  I'm not really sure how our paths crossed, or why he even put up with me that year (I was still adjusting to life in college hours from home and family and rather melancholy about it), but I'm glad he did.

We share a common interest in literature and a rather ironic cynical view of life.  While we get along quite well in person, I would say that our friendship has largely been one of letters, even in this internet saturated world that we live in.  When we were first getting to know each other, we used IM a lot.  Now we keep up with each other in our blogs, responding to each other's posts and comments.  We're both writers at heart, and this is part of what has fueled our friendship: the exchange of ideas through words.

We also have one of those different kinds of friendships: the friendly agreement to disagree.  I don't always realize how nice this is: to have a friend who will listen, really listen to you, even if he may disagree with you. How else do you grow?

Some random memories:

• staying up late on IM, when we probably should have been resting up for classes the next day, excitedly discussing the recent announcement that Lord of the Rings would soon begin filming.  We shot messages back and forth, debating Sean Connery as Gandalf or Mel Gibson as Aragorn.

• Sitting on the green in the middle of the college grounds, hotly debating Jane Austen (I was pro and he was con, if I remember correctly), during which Dwain told me that I reminded him of Emma.  To this day, I have no idea why.  But, anyways, I very recently had the last laugh when he admitted that he liked Pride and Prejudice.

• When I saw him a couple months ago, when he and his family were in the states, he complimented my writing, calling it organic and imbued with nature and said he enjoyed reading my blog very much.  A very nice encouragement, and one that made quite plain to me how I write, and perhaps a direction I should make sure I follow.

These memories are all rather me-centered, but illustrate how good a friend Dwain is. 

Vikings and ancestral land

I've made the executive decision* to replace Lechlade Manor with a day and a night in York instead.  For the past several weeks, I've been wondering whether one house (even if it's William Morris's house) is worth all the effort of getting there (bus from Lacock to Chippenham, train to Swindon, bus to Lechlade, walk 3 miles along the Thames River), as well as the fact that we'd be sacrificing a day to just one point of interest.  If you're unsure whether you'll ever return to a place, you want to make sure you've gotten your money's worth.  And I'm not sure one house (where we'd probably only spend 1-2 hours wandering) is worth it.

So why York?  I was swayed when I read about the Shambles, a rather well-preserved street from the medieval era, complete with leaning upper stories that look as if they're straining to kiss.

Some of my ancestors are from North Yorkshire (they emigrated from Marrick, a former lead mining village), and York is as close as I can get.  I was also intrigued to discover that, during the 9th century, Vikings actually set up house in the area during one of their repetitive invasions, establishing the Kingdom of Jorvik. 

I just keep finding more and more things in Great Britain that I want to see.

*J. is ambivalent about travel planning As long as we get to stay in mountains, he doesn't care one way or the other. I'm pretending this was an executive decision.

Thanksgiving 2009

We went to Alabama to spend Thanksgiving with J.'s sister and her brood of animals (3 dogs and 2 cats).  J.'s mother and sister are excellent cooks, so the thanksgiving feast was a  pleasure to eat.  I never liked (and couldn't really stand the sight of) green bean casserole, which was usually composed of a variety of canned items (limp green beans, gelatinous cream of mushroom, sickly looking crunchy onions) until J.'s sister transformed my opinion.  She makes things from scratch, and I got to observe as she personally carmelized the onions down to sweet brown yumminess, simmered mushrooms in real cream, and combined the whole lot with fresh green beans into one pot where, under the powers of her alchemical cooking prowess, they somehow transformed into a dish with a complex, richly layered taste.

Our time in Alabama was a lazy conglomeration of sleeping in late (or, in my case, trying to), chatting, eating, cooing over Walter, J.'s sister's sweet King Charles spaniel (and the rest of the animals, of course), playing video games, eating and more eating, losing dogs and regaining them, chatting, and more eating.  The ladies tried our hand at embroidering, and the results didn't turn out too bad. J.'s mother felt inspired by this post at Posie Gets Cozy and wanted us to try it out.

A good time was had by all.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

The year has turned its circle,

The seasons come and go.

The harvest all is gathered in

And chilly north winds blow.

Orchards have shared their treasures,

The fields, their yellow grain,

So open wide the doorway~

Thanksgiving comes again!

~Old Rhyme

May everyone have a happy Thanksgiving.