daily delight - february 28

here we are, the last day of february and the last day of my daily delights. maybe i'll even continue because it's become a habit now. today, there were several and i didn't photograph very many of them. warm, homemade, browned butter blondies, some time at the sewing machine, a coffee and a brownie with a good friend, where we got to laugh and complain a little bit and talk through a recent stumbling block we both encountered. it put it all in perspective to talk it out and laugh a bit. i also listened to a bunch of podcasts and made some really delicious mushroom soup. it wasn't as warm today as yesterday, so i didn't spend that much time outside, but the sun came out for awhile and that was good. i spent ages looking for my chekhov books in various boxes (i have a lot of boxes of books) so that i can dig into my new book in earnest. i read the intro to it this morning and while i wanted to do nothing else but read it today, i also kind of didn't, because i already know that i will feel bereft when i'm done with it. you know that kind of book? bittersweet delight. and that's surely the right note to end this month of delights.

 

daily delight - february 25

this has been a crazy week with a really big project at work. long days filled with teams meetings online and long evenings working. it's both exhilarating and exhausting and one last zoom at the end of the work day that stretched to almost two hours was a bit miserable (see previous post). more than a bit actually. and i cried real tears when it was over. at least that one wasn't work. the work stuff is good, even it is very intense right now. or maybe because it's very intense right now. but the book i ordered the other day - george saunders' a swim in a pond in the rain - arrived today and though the stupid post person left it out in the rain, leaned up against the door, it wasn't there long enough to get more than a bit damp. and though i have a lot of books piled on the shelf beside the bed, there's something delightful about a brand new book, freshly arrived. 

a few random things i've been thinking about

into the fog

after listening to that great episode of the ezra klein show with george saunders yesterday, i've definitely been pondering how to get more ideas and less netflix into my life. one big step would be just to read more actual books. after four years of being glued to my phone by the latest antics of the former guy (twitter's new name for him, thanks to biden), i feel like i got dumber. hell, the whole world did. i think we're going to have to have to claw our way back to intelligence, one great book at a time.  and we need to have deep conversations about those books. in fact, we need to have more deep conversations in general. 

i feel like my ability to understand the world has degraded. perhaps because i more or less stopped reading books. i didn't stop reading - i just do most of it on my phone these days. and that's clearly not good for me, nor for my understanding of the world. after four years of constant abuse at the hands of a sadistic narcissist, i feel bruised and damaged and my brain is fogged and confused and it honestly feels harder to make sense of things. mostly because truth is so strangely up for debate. i hope it's not a permanent state, but i feel like i will need to work hard to make sure that it's not.

even just my ability to understand people and their motivations and actions feels like it's degraded. perhaps it's from working at home and not seeing or being around other people - more or less not really seeing anyone but husband these days. and all those old people i try to avoid at the grocery store don't count. i feel like i'm forgetting how to be around people. and communicating via messenger and email and teams doesn't help.

as usual, i find myself bewildered by people who don't look like who they are. that's kind of ironic, since right here on this blog, i wrote a post about how i didn't look like who i was. but in this case, the person looks super creative and alternative and fun and turns out to have the equivalent of a very straight-laced, persnickity, finger-wagging, rule-following accountant on the inside, without actually being an  accountant, in fact, i don't really know what this person does for a living, but it must involve following lots of rules and even coming up with new ones to also follow. maybe i object because it's so disappointing. i think if it was the other way around - someone who looked like a straight-laced accountant, but was actually super creative and alternative - i wouldn't be disappointed, but pleasantly surprised. and maybe even a little bit giddy. which is maybe why the actual situation leaves me confused and maybe even a bit sad.

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oh oh, bye-bye laughing emoji. i guess it's gone the way of thumbs up.

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found a new substack - psychopolitica
i'm hoping it helps with the whole deeper thoughts and conversations thing.

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there's also the sad news that they will stop making the dumle suckers. that delectable caramel, chocolate-covered goodness handed out in danish primary schools. the child is bereft. and i may be wondering if we can get into germany at the moment, so i could run for the border shops.

my media diet

stumbling upon the WITI (why is this interesting?) newsletter, i found myself reading the whole stack of their monday media diet entries. aside: what is it about substack, it seems like all the cool kids are writing there these days.

when i first saw the title "media diet" - i was like, YES, i could use one of those. but it's more general than that, it's more like what media do you feed yourself with these days, rather than which media are you cutting out of your life to save on mental calories.

i recently did the latter, not reading any news, not listening to my usual news podcasts (the daily, post reports and today, explained), not even watching trevor noah, colbert or seth meyers. all of the anxiety out there has not been good for my sleep, i can tell you and staying up on the news does not help. but it did help very much to give myself some distance from it for about a week to ten days. i slept and felt much better. but slowly, i've started reading and listening and watching it all again. but never right before bed. then, i'm reading a book. at the moment, i'm rereading all of the mrs. pollifax series. comfort reading. i highly recommend it.

and as for my media consumption, i've fallen in love with the peaceful, serene videos from chinese youtuber li ziqi. she cooks and farms and dyes indigo and weaves cloth and makes a soft cotton mattress from cotton she grew herself and she just knows how to do all of it so calmly and beautifully and cinematically. it's mesmerizing. the guardian wrote about her in january, but i only just discovered her through the wonderful reply all newsletter. watch her and feel your blood pressure come down to a manageable level.

i've been reading a lot of substack newsletters. like this one from sluggo mczipp, and drawing links and nisha chattel's internet totebag. they have all led me to music i didn't know, or interesting things to read or delicious recipes to make or made me think or made me laugh. i highly recommend either these or others like them (please let me know yours in the comments, like it's 2008) to distract from the global pandemic. it's good when not all the things you read are about the latest stupidity to exit the spray-tanned clown's mouth. there are still smart people in the world, doing and writing interesting things. it gives me hope.

also on my media diet is a real life subscription to the paris review. i so love their podcast that i subscribed not long ago in order to support their work. it's nice to go to the mailbox and find a physical, real paper magazine in your hands,  and then to sit in a favorite chair, turning the pages, reading poetry and just generally good, thought-provoking writing. i highly recommend. and i actually just start at the beginning and read it through to the end. preferably while sitting in a comfortable chair with a latte or a hot cup of tea at hand.

a rainy sunday afternoon

it's raining at last, after an entire month of sunshine. we've never had an entire month of sunshine in a row, so it was very welcome, but so is the rain. the rain has made me slow down - i can't be in the garden, picking strawberries or weeding or mowing or hoeing, so i'm in the plant-filled front entry with a cup of creamy coffee, a book, my journal, my camera and the kittens. i must admit it's bliss and precisely what i needed. i've been reading some more of knausgaard's small autumn essays. it's a book i've had on the nightstand for some time - you can just pick it up, read one or two as you wish, and then put it down again for some weeks. it lends itself to this slow way of reading it; each essay is shining, deep and luminous and i must get the rest of the seasons to savour as well (as you might guess, there are four volumes in all). they are small musing on single words - words like badger, war, labia - very diverse - written by knausgaard to his unborn daughter, as they awaited her. they're not exactly micro-memoirs, which i've also been pondering since hearing about them on the bittersweet life podcast, more like little perfect essayistic musings on being human. in looking for more small, perfect essays, i came across brevity, an online magazine filled with them. check it out if you're looking for something to read on a rainy sunday afternoon.

#fivethingsfriday

1. why didn’t i write a book to my child from when she was born? of course, it wouldn’t have been this luminous, beautiful thing that knausgaard wrote. but it would have been my beautiful thing. for my beautiful child.

2. this dark, dreary, rainy part of the year is hard to get through. but candles and comfy socks and cats make it more bearable. all seasons have their time.

3. jane the virgin. what a series! so charming and full of hope amidst the drama. and we need hope amidst the drama these days.

4. life can change in an instant. hold on for the ride. so tight.

5. other people can never really understand your life. no one is in it like you are. this is both terrifying and beautiful.

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these seem much longer on instagram.

cataloging and compos(t)ing the weekend

i swear something happened to the blue of this photo in the upload. it doesn't look like that in iPhoto

a weekend of physical work outdoors. spring cleaning - of bunny cages, stalls, the chicken coop and the little barn where we store the chicken feed and feed the cats. plus lots of work in the garden. planting willow and moving some little oak trees. husband is creating a oak "hedge" in the middle of the garden to create a bit of protection from our ever-present west wind. cutting down last year's raspberry canes, working in the strawberry beds, preparing the soil for moving some asparagus that's way too close to the rhubarb (we didn't expect the rhubarb to do so well and get so big), fertilizing all of the fruit trees and bushes (that horse poo from the stalls had to go somewhere). it felt great. fresh, cool air. lots of sunshine (today at least). results that you can really see when you're finished. happy chickens. happy bunnies, happy horses. and the cats thought it was awesome that we were outside all day - molly and tiger thought we were there just to hang out with them. we even ate lunch in the garden today, it was so nice outside. tho' it clouded up and rained at the end of the day, i was tired by then anyway, so it was ok to go inside.

such a list of activities might sound a bit boring, but it felt so satisfying. there is something about honest, repetitive physical work and fresh air that soothes the soul. much of the time, i listened to various podcasts (99% invisible, radio lab and benjamen walker's theory of everything). it was good for my mind. the work was good for my body. and i think cleaning and tidying was good for my soul. it's just nice to do tasks where you see a concrete result when they are done. there's also something to there being no shortcuts. all of these things just take the time they take, there is no shortcut. i think it was just very good for me. i certainly feel much more at ease inside my skin at the moment. ready to welcome the week ahead with open arms, whatever it may bring.

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i did quite a lot of reading this weekend as well. i've got several books of essays on the go. ursula le guin's the wave in the mind. i've never read le guin before, but i do admire the way she thinks and she says, "i think best in writing." i can so relate. i'm picking and choosing among the essays in this book, reading whatever grabs my fancy, but her thoughtful way of looking at the world definitely makes me want to read more of her work. i'm not sure why i never had read her before. i especially enjoyed her essay on fiction vs. non-fiction. 

i'm also reading siri hustvedt's book of essays, living, thinking, looking. i have enjoyed her novels, but these essays are grabbing me much less than le guin's at the moment. there is kind of a haughty, over-wise, pretentiousness in them that i'm just not in the mood for. it's rather disappointing, actually, as i normally love her work.

the last volume is musings on mortality edited by victor brombert. it's got pieces on the topic by such folks as tolstoy, kafka, camus (the reason i ordered it from the library) and virginia wolff. not exactly light reading.

i'm also reading all russians love birch trees, a novel by olga grjasnowa on my iPad via the kindle app. i am not impressed with the kindle app, i must say. i haven't actually read that many books that way and i've never used a real kindle. i, a great writer-inner-of-books from way back, cannot stand the dotted underlining of passages according to what others have underlined. the help claims you should be able to turn it off, but it doesn't seem to work, at least not in my version. i find it so distracting and it makes me just loathe it. the app, not the book. i'm enjoying the book. it's fiction that feels quite autobiographical, which is interesting in light of reading the le guin. she talks about the way that writers are influenced by their experiences and suggests that they form a kind of layer of compost from which the writer draws her fiction.

quite fitting to think of words that way when my weekend was spent in the garden, don't you think?

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another thought-provoking look at the LEGO community

on the building debates blog.

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go for a walk and find the answers to life, the universe and everything. 

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this rather makes one not want to be on twitter.

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this will give your brain pain. in a good way.

reading and listening and strangers and historical perspective

i just finished the last book of ken follett's century trilogy. i know they were novels, but as historical fiction, i feel like they gave me a more personal take on the sweeping history of the 20th century and a greater understanding of things like the cuban missile crisis and the fall of the berlin wall. literature can do that, as can 20+ years to reflect on the events. it struck me that it's very hard to know the meaning of things immediately after they happen. or even a decade after. i think we are definitely still struggling to make sense of september 11, 2001. and i think our round-the-clock style of news doesn't do us any favors. the nature of today's media means that analysis must begin immediately, before we even really know what's happening and i think it's diminishing the human race. we can't possibly know the meaning of things without reflecting on them. but that certainly doesn't stop the relentless talking heads on television. makes me glad i pretty much only watch netflix and hbo nordic these days (plus my guilty pleasure of a few programs on tlc).

i've also been listening to as many of the strangers podcasts as are available on iTunes. they are filled with stories that make me long for more stories. stories of people who were strangers to one another, strangers to themselves, and then strangers no more. since the host is danish and refers to that fact quite often, i feel a strange connection with her that makes me wonder if it borders on stalkerish. she's been in my country a little bit longer than i've been in hers and she is at times as bewildered by the US as i am by denmark. she seems like someone i'd love to invite over to dinner.

this listening, coupled with reading the edge of eternity got me thinking about marina ivanovna, the very soviet-style russian teacher i had at iowa back in the early 90s. she struck fear in our hearts - using public humiliation as her main motivator. that works for me, i must admit, so despite how tough she was, i quite liked her. she lived in russian house, a big old house on a tree-lined iowa city street where a bunch of russian majors lived - kind of a sorority/fraternity house for slavic geeks. and i wonder what she made of it all? so weird that i never wondered that at the time - i thought of her as a teacher, not as a person. i think we all did with teachers at some point in our lives - being surprised at seeing them outside of school with their families or just mowing their lawn or something entirely normal. it seemed so strange that they were just ordinary people, living ordinary lives.

but here was marina ivanovna, a professor from moscow university who must have lived her entire life under the soviet system, plopped down in iowa city, just as the soviet union was dissolving. it must have been so bewildering and overwhelming in many ways - the nature of the students, the abundance of consumer goods, the informality of it all. i wonder what she made of it and whether she had aching moments of homesickness or whether she felt so fortunate to be there. what did she think? did she find it all so strange? was she happy or frustrated or overwhelmed or puzzled? she was probably all of those things at different moments, just like i am here in denmark, even after all of these years.

we can all feel like strangers at times, even when we live in our own cultures, but it is magnified when we live abroad. i guess all we can do is keep telling stories to try to make sense of it all, and remember to be patient, because it may take the vantage point of years before it does indeed begin to make sense.

where do you read?

i read nearly anywhere (even sometimes while driving), but the best place is on a lazy summer day in the backyard of my falling down farmhouse out in the countryside. essential ingredients are a library book (of course), a hand-stitched quilt made by my great great grandmother annie back in the 1940s, a couple of pillows and a beverage. in this photo, a cider, but it could just as well be a cold glass of minted lemonade or a summery st. germain cocktail (we've jumped on the st. germain bandwagon around here). what's important is the scent of the lilac-drenched air, the song of the birds and the occasional cat stopping by to flop down in the shade. i can't think of a better place to read. come on by, bring your book, i'll make you a cocktail too...

the arbness of book lists

book lists, i really don't get them. whether it's 32 books that will change your life or 50 incredibly difficult books for extreme readers or the guardian's top 100 books of all time or just the list that my goodreads literary adventures group wants to read in 2014, they're all so subjective. tho' the guardian isn't as far off as the others. i mean, that 50 difficult books list doesn't even include ulysses. not even i, who have had an entire semester-long course devoted only to ulysses and wrote a 25 page paper on it, have finished the damn thing. then there's my own list of the 88 books i read in 2013 (+ 7 harry potter, which aren't on the list). it's not so much subjective as eclectic. and i'm not recommending that anyone else follow it. i just like that goodreads helps me keep track of what i've read. i'd never have remembered reading all those books. hell, at my age, i hardly remember yesterday.

that said, i do love the book lists on brainpickings. they're often recommendations by theme, like this one of 9 books on reading and writing. especially because no. 9, mortimer j. adler's how to read a book, advocates writing in books as you read them (something which i love to do), saying that it's even essential to do so (with apologies to denmark's libraries). or this one, on the year's best books on writing and creativity. or the best children's, illustrated and picture books of 2013.  quality lists, thoughtfully composed, that i like.

my reading right now (and most of the time) is all over the place. i've spent far too long on this nick harkaway angelmaker book. it was recommended by the same bloggy friend who recommended edna farber's marvelous so big, so i had to read it, even if it wasn't the kind of book i'd normally read.  it is very imaginative and well-written, with lovely and unique turns of phrase, and even features some steampunk machinery, which i love, but for some reason, i'm reading it at a snail's pace. and it's not going to help that liz gilbert's signature of all things just arrived via amazon today, as i'm going to want to dive right into that. and i have to, because in ten days, i have a book club meeting where we're going to discuss it (plus it was my idea to read it for the book club, so i'd better have finished it).

how do you decide what to read? do you read more than one book at a time (that's part of my problem)? does the internet get in the way of your reading? or does knitting? i recently listened to an audio book of a danish thriller while knitting but i wonder if that counts as reading? when do you read? i tend to read before going to sleep, but if i'm enthralled by a book, i read whenever i can. i also often read while i'm eating lunch. i also like to read in front of the fire in the evening, that's probably my favorite reading time, but that can also be social, family time, so i don't always get to indulge in that.

what are you reading right now? and what will you read next? will you consult a list?

capturing moments in time

you may have noticed that i gave up on the small stones thing. it didn't feel like me. my noticing moments in my daily life are the photos i take. i've trained myself carefully and dutifully in that for four years, so i'm just going to go with it.

the other reason i'm abandoning the project is that i'm reading another david whyte book. the three marriages. it's essentially a book of deep philosophical self-help and to underline his ideas, he uses a lot of poetry. he quoted a long section of wordsworth. a poem in which wordsworth documents a walk and a spiritual awakening of sorts. and i'll admit it made the small stone thing seem a little hollow and empty. here's the wordsworth:

The Prelude

Two miles I had to walk along the fields
Before I reached my home. Magnificent
The morning was, a memorable pomp,
More glorious than I ever had beheld,
The sea was laughing at a distance; all
The solid mountains were as bright as clouds,
Grain tinctured, drenched in empyrean light;
And in the meadows and the lower grounds
Was all the sweetness of a common dawn,
Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds,
And Labourers going forth into the fields.
Ah! need I say, dear Friend, but to the brim
My heart was full; I made no vows, but vows
Were then made for me; bond unknown to me
Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly,
A dedicated Spirit. On I walk'd
In blessedness, which even yet remains.

tell me, what do you think?

somehow wordsworth manages to capture a moment in time and preserve it in poetry - far more powerfully than any small stone.

more about the whyte book soon. i'm only about 1/3 of the way through.

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whoa, some seriously creative textile art going on here (scroll down for the hair nest).

when istanbul was constantinople

i just read about orhan pamuk's newly-opened museum of innocence in istanbul. it's a brilliant concept, actually - because the museum is an extension of his novel of the same name. a novel and a museum as two representations of the same story - quite clever, really. and it makes me long to go to istanbul. i haven't read that novel (am ordering it immediately from the library), but from what i can gather, it is permeated with nostalgia for an instanbul that is no more. there's something about balkan writers - they walk a fine line between kitsch and nostalgia and usually, they walk it well. go and read the piece about the museum. then i'll meet you there!

a little collection of what's on my mind

after seeing the delightfully weird me and you and everyone we know on the silver channel a few weeks ago, i ordered one of miranda july's books of short stories from the library. she had written and directed and even starred in (if you can call it that) the film. like the film, the stories in no one belongs here more than you are quite internal, lonely, odd, strangely sexual and have an undertone of a desperate hanging on (to love, to life, to sanity). they're provocative and both depressed and depressing. they're not really that good for the kind of bedtime reading that i like to do. i'm just not sure i need that much loneliness right before bedtime.

which isn't to say that i don't like the book, i do (i'm only about halfway done with it). i think miranda july (i can't make either of her names look right alone, so i have to use both) captures a kind of internal voice that we maybe all have, tho' many of us have been socialized to repress it. but there's also something of the inherent loneliness of the urban world that we inhabit. tho' we are surrounded by people, we are, for much of the time, quite alone. and we are utterly alone in our own thoughts. that also shines through in her film. loneliness is clearly her big theme.

i think her writing is deep and beautiful and i envy it a bit. the seeming freedom with which she expresses the inner, slightly embarrassing thoughts that i'm certain we all have, is a place i just don't dare to go. it has a raw vulnerability that i don't think i ever allow myself in my writing. but it's doing me good to read it and think it over.

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the bugs bunny line repeats over and over in my head in ominous wagnerian tones: "i killed the wabbit." because yesterday, due to a bad decision made by me, this little beauty of a bunny was callously killed by pepchen, our mama kitty.

we have a big cage that we put out on the lawn for the bunnies to get some sunshine, grass and fresh air. i had solskin and her five babies, who are three and a half weeks old now, out in the cage all afternoon. i kept going out to check on them and they were doing well. they were enjoying themselves and tho' i was going to be leaving to pick up some feed, i consciously decided to leave them out because they were so enjoying frolicking in the sunshine and i wouldn't be gone long. the little bunnies can sometimes find a place to get outside the cage, but they hadn't really done so all day. so i went.

when i came back 20 minutes or so later, i looked out the laundry room window and saw pepchen suspiciously stalking the cage. so i ran out and chased her away. i discovered the little black velvet bunny on the outside of the cage and couldn't find creamy (the bunny above) anywhere. i took the others all inside to their real cage in the barn and proceeded to search and call for creamy for 45 minutes or more. growing more and more concerned. and then, as i was going back to the house, i saw her still little body lying underneath the trampoline. killed, but not eaten (thankfully), by the cat before i stopped her. i will admit i shed tears and felt so guilty about it all evening. the poor little innocent life, taken by the cat. we're mad at pepchen, but in all honesty, she couldn't help herself, it was just her nature. i suppose we'll forgive her in time, but for now, we are mourning the loss of little creamy. she was such a beautiful and sweet little bunny soul and we will miss her.

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playing words with friends isn't much fun if your opponent is using a cheat site.

and p.s. it's easy to tell.

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årstiderne, the fabulous folks behind the weekly deliveries of organic veg and other goodies, have just come out with a gin & tonic box!! handmade in denmark, small batch gin by ørbæk distillery and organic tonic. swoon! i swear their awesomeness knows no bounds.

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i've developed an allergy to the designation DIY that's quite similar to my allergy to LOL. i blame pinterest for this. here's the deal, if it's obvious that it's a craft, you don't need to call it DIY. example: origami? not DIY. stitching? not DIY. knitting? not DIY. hacking an ikea lamp? maybe. the photo above contains several great examples of DIY - the boxes for the herb beds are DIY. the custom-built mini greenhouse that fits over one of the herb bed boxes: DIY. the pizza oven in the background, definitely DIY. because they are definitely Do It Yourself - they are drawn out, designed and built, all by husband, so not really myself, but they are real DIY. origami birds are not. they are just origami. 

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yesterday, while sabin got a much-needed haircut, i sat playing on my phone while i waited. it was the end of the day and the two young women who have the salon had a friendly banter going with a young man who came in for a haircut. he was probably in his mid-20s and lives in a local group home. he was independent enough to come down to the hairdresser on his own and to hand her an envelope of money to pay for the haircut which had been prepared for him beforehand by someone at the group home. he came in with a bouquet of dandelions behind his back and presented them with a smile. he teased the girl who was cutting his hair, saying he'd rather have the hairdresser who was doing sabin's hair. he talked a lot about a singer he liked and how his hair was white on the ends. he also repeated several times that he was going to the circus that evening and how much he's like one of those circus posters that were up around town. he had sharply observed that there were several different versions of the poster, but he definitely wanted the one with the clown. the girl cutting his hair kept up a cheerful and even teasing banter with him, which made him feel good and validated as a person. and which impressed me greatly as a spectator to the entire encounter. his lack of the social filter that holds us back from fully enjoying and fully jumping into a conversation, made for a pleasant atmosphere in the salon in general. i don't know what his diagnosis was, but i'm pleased we go to a salon where the girls who work there were so good at making him feel like the whole and worthy individual he undoubtedly is. it's a shame that culture and society in general often look upon someone like him in the opposite manner, not appreciating the gifts he has, but rather lamenting those he doesn't. and i'll admit that i wasn't entirely comfortable at first with his lack of the societal mask. but as i sat there, listening, i came to appreciate it very much. we could all learn a lesson from him in being entirely who we are in the moment.

reading steve jobs

as all of my facebook buddies know, i'm reading walter isaacson's steve jobs bio. as a disciple of the religion of apple, i figured i should get to know my god a little better. as i was chatting away with cyndy about it on facebook, i looked down and noticed this rather a fitting scene on my desk - iMac, keyboard, the bio with steve's serious face on the cover, sabin's iPhone, an iPod touch and a 160GB iPod, and a postcard from google - so i took a quick instagram photo of it with my own iPhone.

i was a little bit worried about reading this book, because i kinda already knew that steve jobs was a bit of a volatile person and well, an asshole. i didn't want to ruin my love of the products created by his company by knowing more about it. i think it's why i let the book sit here while i read 4 cadfael mysteries - i was putting it off. happily, it doesn't seem to have put me off my beloved apple products. tho' i am slightly put off isaacson's dry, lifeless, chronological prose, the subject alone is compelling enough to keep me reading.

i think what i'm most struck by (and perhaps envious of) is the milieu in which the ideas steve had arose. he was truly in the right place at the right time. of course, he also had the right brain and what looks like the right sort of mental illness, but the fact that he was adopted by a family who lived in silicon valley just as it was becoming silicon valley and that he grew up there in that environment, surrounded by other computer-interested nerdy people and with access to mind-expanding drugs - it has resulted in the devices on my desk today. and they have changed the world. the confluence of circumstances and people is breathtaking. what if his mother hadn't given him up for adoption and had dragged him off to wisconsin? would there be an  today? or would silicon valley be in madison?

i'm also struck at how CEOs in the computer industry rise and fall - it's a volatile world and fortunes are made and lost overnight and companies change CEOs like we change shoes with the seasons. it's interesting that jobs, tho' fabulously wealthy, didn't go in for the giant house compound like bill gates or the yachts like paul allen and larry ellison. he didn't end up a philanthropist either, but my feeling is that he felt that was as much an ostentatious display of wealth as a yacht would have been. and oddly, it seems that he wasn't really in it for the money as much as he was for the thrill of designing the perfect, world-changing product. and he definitely did that.

he might have been a real jerk, but he had admirable drive, focus and dedication as well as vision and a solid sense of design and the details. and he created truly fantastic products that seriously bring me joy on a daily basis. it will be interesting to see if he left behind a company that is strong enough to continue on the revolutionary path without him.

on reading crap novels. and then not.

i have a problem. it seems pretty insurmountable. i've lived with it for years and i doubt i'll ever overcome it. once i start a novel, i am compelled to finish it, no matter how crappy it is. recent cases in point: iain banks' dead air. jennifer egan's a visit from the good squad. anything by hanne vibeke holst (i've recently read dronningeofret and kongemordet (HVH has her finger on the pulse of danish politics, but as a writer is somewhere between dan brown and steig larsson - in other words - mediocre at best).

it's actually rather strange, since what i studied for rather longer than most was literature. so what is it about a crappy novel that makes me unable to stop reading it when i discover it's crap?  why is it that a conscious awareness that life is too short doesn't even make me stop. in fact, i'll stay up late, frantically reading, rushing towards the finish. just to get it over with. why, oh why do i do this when there are so many good books in the world that warrant my attention?

when i think about authors that have truly captured my attention and deserved to be read to the end and then read again with a kind of manic attention, only two come to mind. only two authors have written stories and created worlds so compelling that i felt quite literally sucked into them...a part of the book and the universe it described. books i looked up from and was surprised to find myself in my own home (or on a plane or in a hotel room or in the car or the bathtub). worlds so deep that i felt i lost a little bit of myself there. and i mourned quietly when i was finished with the book and found that i wasn't inhabiting that world at all, except in the pieces of it i indelibly carry with me, because it was so well-written.

so why is it that when books don't do that, don't even come close to that, i still can't put them aside?

maybe it's because it's so seldom it happens.

there's only one dostoevsky and only one murakami. the rest don't even come close.

wednesday musings or seven random things

1.  many mornings, when i step outside, edie brickell's song picture perfect morning runs through my head unbidden. the light, no matter what time of year, is spectacular and somehow unique and singular. this morning, filled with a cold, steady rain, was not one of those mornings. as you may imagine, this photo is not from today.

2.  one of my favorite things is to hear husband talking to the cats when he thinks no one is listening.

3.  the new issue of *joie* is out. it's a gorgeous online magazine by indiefixx and lisa and i wrote a story about foraging for it. get a fresh cup of coffee or tea and enjoy it. the whole issue is just lush and gorgeous.

4.  one of husband's favorite things is to reread john seymour's classic complete book of self-sufficiency (the version from the 70s, with those wonderful 70s illustrations). he reads it over and over again. with a cup of tea, in the big armchair in the living room. he learns something new every time.

5.  me, i'm reading dubravka ugresic's museum of unconditional surrender. (hence the numbered paragraphs, it's a stylistic device of hers.) amazon just helpfully informed me that i purchased the book august 3, 2004. i do love that about amazon, even if it is a bit big brotheresque.

6.  speaking of the 70s, husband announced yesterday that he has a crush on them (he was reading john seymour at the time). he feels like it was the last time anyone truly believed in anything. tho' he admitted he wasn't ready to embrace bellbottoms and a granny square vest. there was an earnest innocence to the 70s that i think he feels nostalgic for. me, i just really like orange and yellow.

7.  is it just me, or are those blythe dolls that seem to be everywhere on flickr really friggin' scary? people not only sew for them, but make them new hair! actually, i think dolls in general sorta skeeve me out. (see what i mean about being out of touch with the latest cool phrases? i'm so 90s.)

thoughts from a sunday evening

~ we had wild weather this weekend and there wasn't even a hurricane where we are. but we had loads of wind and a veritable deluge of rain. that's why the bobbaloos, who had wanted to go on a walk and look for mushrooms, are looking wistfully out at the rain.

~ about 15 minutes before the deluge, i convinced husband to go on a walk with me, assuring him that those clouds weren't going to amount to anything. about half a kilometer from home, the rain began and we ran for it, reaching the relative shelter of the trees before it started to come in buckets. it made me think i missed my calling as a weather girl, since i have no apparent ability to predict the weather and it seems that's a prerequisite for that job.

~ when will i learn not to keep reading a book that sucks? why, oh why, when life is as short as it is and books so plentiful, do i slog on through one that i know i don't like. i'm speaking here of anita shreve's all he ever wanted, but i could be talking about the completely over-rated visit from the goon squad by jennifer egan. reprehensible characters about which i don't care should be a sign to stop reading.

~ we attended our annual crayfish & schnapps party last evening and i am blissfully reminded of how very good it is to spend time with intelligent, interesting people. my husband has some seriously awesome family. and i got my quota of laughter for the week. it's pretty mind-blowing how much energy it gives you to laugh well.

~ looking forward to testing out our apple cider press this week. if it works, we're thinking of hosting a cider event at our house - where people can come, bring their apples, help with pressing them and do other fun, autumnal things on the farm.

~ shokoofeh and i are planning on making a 2012 calendar of our film swap photos. we'd like to know whether you'd be interested in buying one?  please note, leaving a comment does not constitute a commitment to buy, we'd just like to have an idea of how much interest is out there, so please let us know if that sounds appealing.

~ lately most everything we're eating is from the garden - zucchini (courgette)/eggplant (aubergine) ratatouille, herbed tomato salsa, broad bean hummus (thank you, kristina for the inspiration), salads of thin ribbons of zucchini and tarragon with a bit of balsamic vinegar and olive oil, artichokes with plenty of butter and salt, mushrooms gathered in the forest. i love having a garden. and this time of year it seems like it would be quite easy to be a vegetarian.

~ i made a batch of raspberry jam today. who knew that berries and sugar could smell and taste so heavenly? i'm so glad our raspberry canes are autumn ones.

here's hoping your weekend was wonderful and full of laughter and great conversation.

reading russian literature

occasionally i get an email, asking me what russian literature i would recommend. i love those moments because not only does my almost-Ph.D. come in handy, they sort of wake up a sleeping, dormant part of my soul. and it always makes me wonder why i stopped feeding my soul with that particular kind of marvelous writing. but mostly, it takes me back in a very good way - back to the time when i was so consumed by devouring the russian masters - especially dostoevsky - that i once read 120 pages of the brothers karamazov (from the very book on top) while driving on I-80 west of Des Moines. and yes, i was the driver.

and tho' i want to immediately tell everyone that their life will not be complete until they've read the brothers karamazov, i do realize that that thick tome of religion, rationalism, nihilism, madness and patricide may not be for everyone. i tend to recommend starting with dostoevsky's notes from underground to see if his manic style appeals to you, before embarking on the biggies like brothers k or crime & punishment.

the one book i recommend every time is bulgakov's master & margarita - its brand of russian magical realism is well, magical. it's a book i return to again and again and always find something new - colorful characters, a good story, simply an energy that carries you along. i also tend to recommend nabokov - humbert humbert may be a real creep, but the writing is virtuoso and everyone should experience that.

i'm not a big fan of tolstoy, as he's a bit righteous and preachy for me, but i do love his short work - the sebastopol sketches. i also like gogol's short works - the nose and the overcoat. i tend to recommend that people read some of those first, before tackling a baggy monster like war & peace or anna karenina (and do read anna k if you're only going to read one tolstoy) or dead souls.

it always makes me a bit sad that i don't find myself recommending any women writers. the only one that really springs to mind is anna akhmatova and she was a poet. there are more contemporary women writers - tatiana tolstaya and ludmilla petrushevskaya, but honestly, their works are nowhere near the top of my list.

i feel that literature, like nothing else, has the capacity to illuminate a culture and its history. russian literature especially opens some window, not only into the russian soul, but the very soul of humanity. so if you haven't read any, do get started. and start with master & margarita.

thoughts from sunday afternoon

a splitting headache, brought on by teeth-grinding dreams of my former workplace. i hope those stop soon, but i suppose my brain is still processing and getting rid of the poison of that place. because poison is what it was. a truly diseased atmosphere.

spatterings of rain buffet the windows, followed by fleeting periods of sun.

in all a good day to stay inside on the couch, watching a new scandinavian cooking marathon on BBC lifestyle. they've all featured the earnest andreas viestad, with his fresh, clean norwegian look (as if he'd just wandered off a mountain) and his amusing but charming accent.

*  *  *

i'm mourning that i've finished jonathan franzen's freedom. mourning a little bit how it turned out and simply sad that it's over.  good books are like that, aren't they? like a friend you don't want to see leave. i may have to dig through the boxes of books and find the corrections so i can reread it and wallow a little bit more in that very midwestern sensibility. i realize franzen lives in new york, but he can't really escape his midwestern roots.

*  *  *

it was quite amusing watching the eurovision song contest last evening and following the conversation about it on twitter. most of the entrants were nothing short of heinous and azerbeijan won, leaving me wondering if i should have paid more attention in geography class (not that we had that in the US, since we're brought up to believe we're the only country on earth). but i honestly didn't think azerbeijan was in europe.

if you're not familiar with the eurovision song contest, i think the closest we have in the US is the miss america pageant - where costumed people of limited talent perform and pretend to have ambitions of bringing peace to the world. true to form, the azerbeijani winners have expressed their wish to "bring europe together" (apparently with central asia if my map is correct).

*  *  *

husband is preparing the barn next door so we can bring matilde home and discovered the source of the strange poo i had seen near the cats' dish. it seems our little hedgehog has moved into the barn as well and has been helping herself to the cat food! she had made a little nest underneath some plastic tarps. husband uncovered it, but has built her a new little more protected spot. meanwhile, little penelope (as i've taken to calling her), curled into a ball and held as still as could be. it's amazing the way they don't run.

*  *  *

so i leave you to nurse my headache and work a little bit more on my felted stones, which is about all i can manage as long as the headache persists. enjoy the rest of your sunday. if i can get rid of this headache, i will too.

there, but for the grace of odin...

i'm reading jonathan franzen's freedom. like when i read the corrections, i am totally unable to put it down. and what's odd, it's not because i adore the characters. actually, i don't really like any of them all that much. patty, the main female character is self-absorbed, not at all self-reflective, selfish and generally i hope everything completely falls apart for her. her husband, walter, inexplicably adores her, but needs to just get on with it and have a proper affair with his assistant, because he deserves some modicum of happiness. the son is a complete asshole. the daughter, invisible. really pretty unlikeable all of them.

but i can't put it down. it expresses so much about the midwest, about the american middle class, about american culture, about what i saw and experienced growing up. about the people i knew. about the life i left behind. about the wrong life i didn't want to live, but was on my way to. franzen brilliantly and succinctly captures all of that. it's like he knows me, the innermost, most secret me.

and i can't stop reading it. even tho' i'm not that person anymore. somewhere inside, she's still there. and squirming like crazy as we read this book. but she's also grateful we changed course (and country).