June 8, 2008
what I'm thinking and doing § what I'm listening to § what I'm reading
what I'm writing § retrospective: old journal
Okay, an actual entry—something I've been managing to avoid for lo these many long months. I'm not sure why.
What news, what news? Small news.
I was standing on the back deck in between rain showers watching Jim cut back bushes in the yard Friday afternoon, when his pruning shears attacked and he had to have five stitches in his left baby finger. They're bright blue. The Frankenfinger seems to be doing okay and isn't too painful but he has horse-sized antibiotics to take. We had a not-too-horrible wait at urgent care to have him seen to, and conveniently I could stop by the Clarion West office and we were near one of our favourite Thai restaurants and got dinner there, which reminded us why it's a favourite--so much better than any of the nearby ones.
Neither of us have ever had stitches before. For clumsy people, we're amazingly accident free. This just wouldn't stop bleeding, so we figured he was doomed to actually have to be see a medical professional and be sewn back together.
The rag he'd been holding around his finger came home in a bag marked "Biohazard." But we had to bring it home because it was one of our favourite rags, and you can't blame a rag for getting itself bled on.
I also thank the pruning shears for attacking now, and not waiting until, say, Clarion West was in session and I had two hundred other things to be doing. I also thank them for not, say, hitting an artery and actually trying to snip the finger off. For flesh-eating, blood-thirsty shears, they were quite restrained.
|Titus can't bear to look at the next photo.
|Jim salutes the world with stitches. Can you see how blue they are?
1. Yes, I know I'm weird for having favourite rags. I like 100% cotton ones. And I only have a couple of these ones--they're 26 years old and were once my sister's eldest son's diapers. Soft, absorbent, all those good things.
last week's thinking and doing § next week's thinking and doing
I have been utterly obsessing with the first three tracks on the band Natural History Museum's MySpace page. I'm surprised Jim is still talking to me, I've been playing them so much. The sound and lyrics (what I can make out so far) have me utterly captivated. Man, I want these on CD.
Note:last week's listening § next week's listening
2. Jim has actually been known to play these tracks himself in the last week. Why there would be any need to considering the number of times a day I play them, I don't know. But I think he may like them, too.
I read the rest of Paul Park's Roumanian Quartet this week (The Tourmaline, The White Tyger, The Hidden World. It's rich, complex, fascinating. I really got lost in it. Books like this are rare, that give you several fascinating characters and situations that are simultaneously real and fantastic. It's the story of a teenager, Miranda, and two friends in the contemporary world who suddenly find themselves in the real world--their previous world, that seems like ours, was the false one. Once there, they are lost in a world as complicated as our own, where politics and people and magic are tangled and multi-dimensional and there are no obvious to any of the multiple dimensions of trouble in the world. Miranda and her friends find way more than lions and tygers and bears out there.
A fascinating glimpse into another time and place was James McBride's Song Yet Sung, a tale about a slave who has had a horrible blow to her head and starts seeing visions. She is captured by a nasty posse of slave traders/capturers, only to lead another escape, which threatens all the slaves in an entire geographic region and their own plans for possible escape. Not only is is original, ruthless posse after her, there's also a reluctant slave capturer.
Also read a pleasant young adult fantasy, Heather Tomlinson's The Swan Maiden about a third sister, brought up to run a household while her wild elder sisters had swan skins and could fly off and be trained as sorceresses. She's jealous, but then she finds where her mother had hidden her swanskin to keep her near her.
last week's reading § next week's reading
The novel is tiptoeing through its climax.
I'm writing a poem about salmon.
last week's writing § next week's writing
I'm still not retrospective yet.
last week's old journal § next week's old journal
Last Week § Les Semaines index § Next Week
Email comments, questions, and complaints to firstname.lastname@example.org § Neile's main page
1554 people have wandered through this week with me