It was a weekend of trying to get stuff done while coping with migraines and the sadness that usually settles in from the bureaucratic shortening of the days. Put away a manifesto of sorts* and cast-off in frustration some gratuitously French academic writing** that annoyed the hell out of me in both the source and my native tongue.

Still, needed a bit of something to settle down with at bedtime, so started rooting around the horribly disorganized bookshelves that recently went up in my room. The something ended up being nothing I'd normally choose: a mystery.



Found these at the Acton Library sale a few weeks ago. Since it was the last few hours of the sale, they were selling brown bags at a fixed price. Took them more for the cover art than anything else.

My mom and dad were big mystery readers and remember these stories around the house when I was a little kid. Since I could read at a very young age - two? three? I remember specifically picking up the books (Book of the Month Club editions, so hardbound with gold lettering) thinking that they were about a rabbit and just not understanding anything about what was going on between the covers. When I mentioned not understanding the Rabbit story, my mother got the biggest kick out of it; told me that it was a Rabbi, or Jewish Priest and not a rabbit. So much for that.

More recently, found an omnibus edition of the Rabbi Small works translated in French for the Frenchie. He, another big mystery fan, found them entertaining. (Never got around to looking at them because I was reading something depressing either by Henning Mankell or Didier Daeninckx. Both are good writers; not always good choices, though, if you are looking to go to bed in a good mood and not have nightmares.)

Anyway, finished the first story in two nights (probably would have pulled an all-nighter if I didn't have so much running around and headache fighting to do the next day). Enjoyed the novel means of problem-solving, the development of (glad to see) recurring characters, the slice-of-life (it takes place very near to home before I was born - so the issues of how the different communities in this little North Shore town are also very interesting.) aspect. Best of all, though the author (subtly) gave me a few clues, he did some good baffling as well; didn't know who done it until the last page. Bravo!

I don't read a lot of stuff like this, so am really glad to have hit upon something that was such a joy to read. Am looking forward to the next adventure which starts with the the Rabbi's wife trying to get him fed before the big fasting for Atonement Time.

***

* This is her first longer work for general consumption, I think. Though I generally enjoy her writing, found this to be a bit too repetitive and trying to persuade. Still, there was a lot of good in it - most notably in its nod to the discipline of complexity (something I'm starting to take an interest in). I love also how positive she is. In fact, that's the reason why I picked the book up. Needed something a bit uplifting.

**There's a reason why I did Literature; feel that the form is about as important as the content. Generally this filters out anyone with a Paris-[pick a with a Social-Sciences division Roman numeral] after their name. A friend suggested it to me more to see after how long I'd take to stop reading than anything else, I think.

Instead of turning on the TV and zoning out, the housemate and I like to either play a game of cribbage or scrabble, then read aloud to one another*.

We've gotten through quite a few books this way - mainly adventure/travel literature. For whatever reasons, this genre lends itself well to Pavel's delivery.

Anyway, last night, we finished a favorite story of mine: Joshua Slocum's Sailing Alone Around the World. Pavel was a little surprised** at how much he ended up enjoying*** the old salt's accounts of the people he met and the things he saw during his three year voyage on the little boat he acquired and was required to rebuild down in Fairhaven, MA.

The tough thing about finishing a book is having to choose another. Since we've got our sea legs now, should we go back in time and read some of Marco Polo's accounts of his voyages in the same areas as Slocum's? Should we move up in time and cross the Atlantic with Thor Heyerdahl? Or maybe, should we put ourselves back on Terra Firma and follow Cabeza de Vaca across Texas on foot?

***

* It usually ends up that Pavel does the reading while I listen and knit. He does this very well, and I think he should consider volunteering to record books for the sight-impaired.

** Part of Pavel's surprise had to do that this was a Shambhala book. Generally stuff published by them tends to be a bit on the esoteric side, and I think he believed that I was forcing some sort of Book of the Dead like thing on him.

*** He's actually sort of researching a trip to Mauritius based on what he read. Slocum really liked the people there.

Airplane Knitting.



Storks nests aren't covered in Audubon's survey. Figured the lace pattern inspired by their nests looked good against the book cover art anyway. The scarf's being worked in Green Mountain Spinnery's Sylvan Spirit, color Antique Brass.

When I fly, I generally plan for little if any human interaction. There's so much technology available on planes nowadays for shutting one's neighbor's out. (Doesn't help matters that am pretty painfully shy; shy to the point of looking rude.)

For the last trip, packed two sink-one's-teeth-into lace patterns and a couple of books I've really been savoring lately. Didn't make much headway into anything, as both flights were filled with much more social interaction than I'd have expected.

Was a bit surprised to see a familiar face in the security line at Logan: turned out that an old friend from school was heading out to wherever his company outsources their manoeuvre to nowadays. Since it was a jam-packed 747, about the only place we could go to catch up on things was in one of the emergency exit doorways in front of a toilet. Somehow we managed during our chat to not annoy anyone too much (I hope) and to not get cricks in our backs from standing hunched over for as long as we did.

Returned to my seat to the gentleman next to me rousing from a nap. "You're getting home late. Where were you all this time, Young Lady?" Told him that I ran into someone I'd not seen in like 15 years. He expressed (complimentary) surprise that I'd be old enough to know someone for that length of time. His wife, the graceful, egret-looking French lady next to him, laughed.

Over the course of the rest of the flight, learned an awful lot about them: where they worked, where they lived. How they met,* why they chose Boston for settling down, why they went back to France every year, etc. The lady seemed fascinated with what I was knitting, so showed her the pattern and talked about the yarn I was using, which came from a mill in Vermont. (Later learned that she had more than just a passing interest in Rudolf Steiner's educational theory; knitting's a major component of the curriculum.)

Of course, given that this was an Air France flight, we talked about the two downed planes earlier in the Summer. That led to talk about 9/11: they'd actually flown one of the first AA flights out of Logan after the attacks; said that it was a strange, but generally positive (and surprisingly spiritual) experience. Talked about air rage**, fears of stuff falling from the sky, our worries about the world in general. The news was just coming out about one of the Lockerbie bombers being freed soon, something no one was happy about.

Made it to our destination early, though had a fair wait in immigration due to something like six other planes arriving from different parts of Africa. Got to introduce my new friends to the Frenchie, who offered them a ride to their hotel. Turned out that they were going in exactly the opposite direction from us, so said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

***

* The Frenchie, who's a 68er himself in spite of his denials, told me that how they met is a classic scenario for that generation.

** Over the past six flights, have seen three particularly pointed incidents, all with European males losing their tempers. The Frenchie tells me that American airlines have a bad reputation in the French papers for their tough approach to these situations. I don't like to make sweeping generalizations on these sorts of things, but am not so sure that cause-and-effect or an understanding that the world outside one's day-to-day might be different from what one is accustomed to are particularly valued/nurtured in this part of the world.

Wire drops were made in one of the rooms being updated. Lots of detritus carted off, as well. I had yet another Kafka-like interaction with a bureaucracy that's been dogging me for nearly 20 years. Will not let them get me. Eleanor of Aquitaine was imprisoned for the same amount of time by her husband - no money, no freedom, no interactions with others - and she bloomed. What I'm dealing with is far less severe and certainly far less important in the scheme of things. Still, it's important to me. Important enough to have consumed a good bit of my soul over the past several years, anyway.

While the guys were up knocking things around and singing loudly, I went into domestic mode and made some jam:



Queen Eleanor, King Marmalade and some confiture de pêches.

Peaches were $.99/lb at Stah, so went crazy buying. (If there's one thing I like better than eating cheap peaches, it's making jam out of them - ended up with 15 lbs worth of fruit.) Prepped stuff and sterilized the jars. Got about 1/2 way through before I had to clean up and head out to the doctor. Ended up with 15 jars, all of it slightly runny but jelled just the same.

Will finish the rest tomorrow. Then will have to go out and find more jars to start on the strawberries that I went wild over.

Took a walk along the Mystic over by the Wellington yacht club today to get out of the house for a bit. Saw and heard many wonderful things there. Will talk more about that later, though, as am wiped out and just want to curl up with Eleanor and her four kings right now.

(Good night.)

Exams finished; made it through more or less unscathed. Felt myself seizing at about 11/2 hours in, so made a point of getting up and stretching some.

Got all my papers back for the year, as well. Grades were much better than what I thought I'd merited. One paper in particular made me happy and went to talk about it in more depth with the professor during office hours. Offered some other observations on the subject at hand, some other points in time to look at in the continuum, a book to check out. I think I have a nice little something to keep me out of trouble over the summer (at least).

Now to crash. The tension's left the body and I feel like a wet noodle. (Good night.)

While Pavel and the Frenchie worked on a birdhouse (almost done! just needs to be finished. The Frenchie recommends canola oil.), I got the garden plot measured out, cut into and bordered. Got the soil mixed and heaped up in the center of things just before the rain started, so it looks kind of like a newly-dug grave. Pavel took a couple boards, nailed them into a cross and hammered it in. Ought to give the neighbor a bit more food for thought with tomorrow morning's stogie.

Not a big garden - only about 4' x 5' - but should be enough to keep me out of trouble this season. When the weather improves (hopefully by the end of the week; we'll see.), I plan on evening things out and planting the lettuce, pea seeds and radish seeds. After that, tomatoes, cukes, bok choy. Will have to get some more containers for the herbs (sage, thyme, oregano, tarragon, lavender, marjoram, mint) as I used my two big ones up on the strawberries.

***

Time now for a late tea, showers for everyone, an even later dinner, than some other work (reading on Fascism for class and this.) Pavel and the Frenchie are going to attempt this tonight. (Wish them luck).