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Oh look, it's snowing
Jan. 13th, 2003 01:57 pm... in the kind of desultory yet persistent fashion that, when experienced in human terms, can result in all the dishes' being mysteriously washed, a vast number of cookies made, or so many games of solitaire played that the player won't confess to having played any.
If it must be bitter cold, snow is better than no snow. I don't know if it will actually play that many games of solitaire, however. The weather forecasters think not.
I forgot, in my time-warped recapitulation of last week, to mention that Eric and I did get to see one another on Saturday night. Weather and viruses and the lackluster performance of the U of M campus generally during winter break conspired to cause him to go home from there rather than coming to my house, but I brought him a couple of containers of the aforementioned tofu dish later in the evening, and we had a lovely leisurely date.
He's reading a riveting biography of William Penn with amazing turns of phrase, and I'm still reading STEALING THE ELF KING'S ROSES. I did take a detour, having inadvertently left the latter behind while cat-sitting, to finish ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE. I really like the characters and the themes and the narrative technique. I had some serious difficulty, however, in suspending my disbelief at the baroque psychological stuff that forms the bones of the actual plot. It seemed fantastical in the wrong way, whereas Peter Dickinson is almost always fantastical in precisely the right one. I wonder if it has dated badly and will seem all right in another twenty years, absorbed into the general oddness of 20th-century theories about the mind.
Pamela
If it must be bitter cold, snow is better than no snow. I don't know if it will actually play that many games of solitaire, however. The weather forecasters think not.
I forgot, in my time-warped recapitulation of last week, to mention that Eric and I did get to see one another on Saturday night. Weather and viruses and the lackluster performance of the U of M campus generally during winter break conspired to cause him to go home from there rather than coming to my house, but I brought him a couple of containers of the aforementioned tofu dish later in the evening, and we had a lovely leisurely date.
He's reading a riveting biography of William Penn with amazing turns of phrase, and I'm still reading STEALING THE ELF KING'S ROSES. I did take a detour, having inadvertently left the latter behind while cat-sitting, to finish ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE. I really like the characters and the themes and the narrative technique. I had some serious difficulty, however, in suspending my disbelief at the baroque psychological stuff that forms the bones of the actual plot. It seemed fantastical in the wrong way, whereas Peter Dickinson is almost always fantastical in precisely the right one. I wonder if it has dated badly and will seem all right in another twenty years, absorbed into the general oddness of 20th-century theories about the mind.
Pamela
