Helene or Not

The weather is a perfectly seasonal soggish, with more soggishness on the way. Even sunny days have been extremely humid, as is often the case in late September in Virginia. The forecast for the coming fortnight is rain rain rain and a few clouds.

I have a million things I probably should be doing, but all I want to do is curl up with a good mystery and a ginormous cup of tea.

Ghostly Weather

The weather is straight out of a Gothic novel, all dreary damp and cold, with days of rain forecast. The air is cold without the usual autumnal crisp -- it's enough to make a girl want to do nothing more than read or knit.

After finishing Brenda's scarf, I knocked about a bit, uncertain what to put on the needles next. The October Sky blue called to me, and now I have a small fireside throw in the making. It's a bit narrower than most afghans, designed to cover your lap as you sit in a favorite chair and listen to friends with tea or tuck in with popcorn and a movie.

Also, I was missing cables, so it's got oodles of them.

This weekend The Haunting of Bly Manor drops in Netflix, a modern interpretation of James's Turn of the Screw. Knitting and watching a proper English ghost story seems just right.

The Resting Spot

This week was a crush of writing and rain; by Wednesday evening I felt as though I had run a marathon at a sprint. Last night's storm was an articulation of the crashing spirit of exhaustion.

The blog post is edited and submitted. I crafted and then drafted a syllabus, which might serve as the framework for a research proposal; it's the second in what is becoming a series. The editor of an anthology sent me a set of artwork for the upcoming discussions of the stories, pieces that each have a philosophical query at their heart. The abstract for an upcoming conference presentation is sitting in The Resting Spot. I, too, am in a still space today. My calendar has no due dates or task lists, and I've set the phone on Do Not Disturb. There will likely be another patch of rain this evening; I can feel the subtle shifts in the muscles around my skull, just above the right temple. The contractions move my glasses just a bit, like an affectionate great aunt tugging my ear, feeling as though The Way is beckoning me to join it in the quiet. 

Classes begin in ten days, and I'm considering setting an out-of-office automatic replay as I sit with the end of a season. Half-past August always has that gathering-up-to-move energy for me. Writing, music, knitting, the fiction of philosophy. This is my vacation. This is my world.

Goodnight!

The persistence of rain ramped up to a mighty storm tonight, with winds whipping buckets of water about as though the whole house was being tossed at sea and thunder cracking hard enough to open the front door. I loved it, of course. I thought I would go to bed early, but the storm blew in a second round of tempestuousness just as I was turning out the light. I broke open the kindle and read Tana French, the perfect companion to A Night Like This. Tiu got out of his little bed and pulled his blanket near, snuggling down close by. Life is good.

 

Goodnight, bones.

Goodnight, ball.

Goodnight, blanket.

Goodnight, squall.

This rain.

Clouds and storms persist to the point that it's simpler to mention the day -- hours -- of sunshine instead of noting the precipitation. Ever since I put my watch away at the vernal equinox, I have been living by a schedule set by sunlight and dog walks, usually in the cemetery down the block but lately just a nip into the backyard between bouts of wet that oscillate from drizzle to floodgates and back again. The world has been wet for weeks. 

Tiu glares at the rain when we go out, and I wear long sleeves and pants to fend my way through the thicket of mosquitoes, a second plague that seems more insulting than injurious.

I have a blog post to edit.
I should be reading Marriage: A History or rereading The Republic or The Moviegoer.

Instead of any of that--instead of knitting or baking, even (there's a sea-salt Carmel shortbread concoction that is calling me)--I want nothing more on this grey Sun(less)day than to eat pasta tossed with plenty of olive oil, garlic, capers, salt, fresh basil, and a few golden tomatoes and then to curl up on the sofa with my new favorite blanket and some Tana French.
The editing can wait a bit longer.

Just Breathe

Rain - Simply Three

Rain

Rainy Wednesday Morning

The nightly calls are always met with distraction -- Vivian has to choose between talking with me and an activity, and then last night she was getting ready to brush her teeth -- but they happen, and that's the point of it all. Last night she said that she wished she had her own phone so that she could call whenever she wanted. I am of two minds: On the one hand, it would be handy to have her be able to call, but on the other I can see her calling all day long or using calling as a way to be defiant and get her way or tattle. I'm not certain that it's appropriate to put a six year old in charge of the management of the communication, so I think I'm going to pass on the phone for now.

This morning was rainy and grey, a perfect day to take it slow and be gentle and loving. The gym last night was just what I needed. I brought the bag so that I can go again after work, again in the rain, since it's supposed to be like this all day.

I have a doctor appointment this afternoon to follow up on the ER visit (where I think I managed to pick up a head cold).

Jessica Jones

Jessica Jones is the latest installment in the superhero television shows. Set in Hell's Kitchen, the Marvel location for the Daredevil narrative, Jessica presents an anti-hero, possessed of super strength matched only by her jaded resignation. At the core of her altar of disillusionment is a history of mind control, and the themes of domination, captivity and power loom large in this latest Netflix original.

It's not even PG13, as far as I'm concerned, but it's worth watching, because it's worth discussing. If you need something to binge away the rainy day, light a fire and spool up this foray into a universe where women explore power. You'll find not only Jones, who makes many a decision and statement concerning men, society, and humanity at large, but also Jeri Hogarth, an ambitious corporate lawyer hell bent on winning; Hope Schlottmann, a victim of rape and mind control who has a lot to say about freedom and options; Trish Walker, Jessica's best friend and foster sister, who crafts a cultivated life as a shield against the abuses of her mother; Dorothy Walker, Trish's mother, who can't seem to help herself.

Through all the fist fights, Machiavellian machinations, hard liquor and sex, it is love and friendship that have the power to save the day. Don't miss this one.