bleodswean (bleodswean) wrote,
bleodswean
bleodswean

all the things we love, we love, we love, we lose

Power went off around two a.m. and isn't predicted to be restored until long after bedtime tomorrow. Today is easy, tomorrow being a work day could be tricky. We just fired up the genny - the hills are alive with the sound! - and will keep it running a few hours to get the day type of things begun. Then on again this evening for dinner and the news. I wish D would consider investing in a whole house generator. They are pricey, but his issue is more that he's hotwired the poolhouse and doesn't want to pay for an electrician to fix that and possibly churn up a whole boatload of fines for not having County-permitted that job. The Viking is an obstreperous sort of person.

I couldn't help but notice waking with horrid congestion and slight asthmatic conditions this morning without my RabbitAir purifier running through the night. Two nights in a row and the mornings were transformed. I could BREATHE! I really want this thing to work. I need it to work. There's no way I can retire on this mountain if I don't find some sort of relief from my breathing issues that only seem to happen here. Every single time I've traveled to the East Coast the relief has been shockingly intense. Bah. Same with our ocean front holidays here, but I know D will never ever buy an ocean house.

Cleansing my palette a bit of Oates and I have picked up Esther Freud's The Sea House. It's really lovely and I adore a good time-layered piece of writing. More than most, I think, I spend an inordinate amount of time inside my head wondering about those who sat here before me, ten, fifty, two hundred years ago and those who will sit here long after I'm gone. Freud does a great job with a smaller separation, anchoring her stories with these gorgeous houses on the coast.

I've also been recommended Expectation by Anna Hope. This novel has been pitched to me as a good examination of personal growth looking back on another time in one's life. I'm really getting hit with dozens of small memories of my thirties. That was such a huge decade in my life, wrapped up in pregnancy, birth, nursing, mothering and the Goddess. I was immersed in a cast of characters who really should be written out. I'm keeping notes, not sure I will jump in. It would be a very different type of writing for me, but perhaps that's the very reason I should do it!

I did write a small piece yesterday that I'm quite pleased with. Not sure if I should share it or hold onto it. Are we all waiting for the next Idol happening or do we want to start a small writers group?


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