Little stray book, oh how you have delivered. Possibly to the point of pandering to my tastes, but so few authors know the way into my heart and my bookshelves is via Hamlet quotes and ravens that I doubt any pandering was intentional. (Here follows blockquotes from Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus
! You . . . you knew that was coming, right? I mean, when do I ever not share blockquotes with you? Especially when they are so delicious as these.)
The sign proclaims something called the Ice Garden, and Celia smiles at the addendum below which contains an apology for any thermal inconvenience.
Despite the name, she is not prepared for what awaits her in the tent.
It is exactly what the sign described. But it is so much more than that.
There are no stripes visible on the walls, everything is sparking and white. She cannot tell how far it stretches, the size of the tent is obscured by cascading willows and twisting vines.
The air itself is magical. Crisp and sweet in her lungs as she breathes, sending a shiver down to her toes that is caused by more than the forewarned drop in temperature.
There are no patrons visible in the tent as she explores, circling alone around trellises covered in pale roses and a softly bubbling, elaborately carved fountain.
And everything, save for occasional lengths of white silk ribbon strung like garlands, is made of ice.
"Which tent is your favorite?" he asks.
"The Ice Garden," Celia answers, without even pausing to consider.
"Why is that?" Marco asks.
"Because of the way it feels," she says. "It's like walking into a dream. As though it is someplace else entirely and not simply another tent. Perhaps I am just fond of snow. However did you come up with it?"
Marco reflects on the process, as he has never been asked the origin of his ideas before.
"I thought it might be interesting to have a conservatory, but of course it necessitated a lack of color," he says. "I pondered a great many options before setting on fabricating everything from ice. I am pleased you think it like a dream, as that is where the core of the idea came from."
"It's the reason I made the Wishing Tree," Celia says. "I thought a tree covered in fire would make for a proper complement to ones made from ice."
I know, I know. Spring is arriving in the northern hemisphere and frozen things are at their least wanted at this point in time. Particularly landscapes devoid of color and hue. Well. I will just say this: pollen season; heat stroke. Both of which I have been struggling this past week during a temperature flux of more than 25 degrees upwards. Ice gardens sound exquisite and highly appealing.
"Stories have changed, my dear boy," the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. "There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going one, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-cclad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act? Though perhaps it is a singular wolf who goes to such lengths as to dress as a grandmother to to with its prey."
Widget sips his glass of wine, considering the words before he replies.
"But wouldn't that mean that there were never any simple tales at all?" he asks.
. . . . . . . . . .
"Thank you," she says to Tsukiko as they leave. "I enjoyed that more than I had expected to."
"The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones," Tsukiko replies.
You may find the exchange of Hamlet quotes and ravens on your own, at your leisure. I can't go around distributing all the best bits in one go, can I?
I leave westward for Nova Albion
in a week,† and now need to consider my travel reading . . . hmmmmmmmm . . . I did
unearth my copy of The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen
as adapted by Terry Jones from the Gilliam movie just the other day. That seems suitably frivolous.
† Yes, Nova Albion—of the Tediously Brief Most Lamentable Comedie Of Errors, Or, Friends Don't Let Friends Travel Through The Donner Pass incident! I have signed up to do it again. And this time I shall not make the same mistakes. Instead, there will be entirely new ones—this I promise. I will let you know what they are when I find out, I'm sure.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/94679.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
"Oh I'll just go to the library and drop off my books because clearly getting ready for Nova Albion in a month is not going to give me time to read anything new. Hatting and panicking and printmaking, that is all I'm good for just now."
"What? Oh you want to come along and browse? Alright. I'll be here waiting next to the book sale shelves, contemplating how many unfortunate souls bought those Danielle Steele novels in the first place, for lo, it is a sad world."
"These shelves can't entirely be filled with Danielle Steele titles, can they? I mean, I picked up that hardcover of Fly By Night
here for a nickel before. What about this last shelf?"
"Well, damn. I suppose I have two dollars somewhere in my bag for this thing that has been on my reading list for over a year but is still too current for the library to have a copy of."
And that is how a copy of Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus
ended up in my bag and has been fairly insistent that it never leave my side. I've never met a book with separation anxiety before. Though I suppose such things will happen, if I keep plucking books from the literary equivalent of the animal shelter.
The prose is proving to be deceptively simple so far, engaging in the way that blogs and NaNo writings that come of blogging are—in the best possible way. Sensate, descriptive, tactile. The intricacies in the writing become apparent as the plot begins to unfold; asides here, alliances forming there, this storyline intertwining with that character's thread. It would be easy an easy book to dismiss, on the surface of things, if you don't stick around for the pacing to reveal itself. Still, I hear echoes of Edgar Allan Poe furtively constructing the momentum of his short stories while he misdirects the reader with lurid descriptions and vocabulary to engage the senses. There are passages in The Night Circus
which remind me of The Masque of the Red Death
in particular. Not bad company to be keeping.
I will say however that the author's predeliction for tea, the making of and the act of consuming, shows. Very much so. Clearly Erin Morgenstern is a tea fiend and no editorial process can take that out of this book.
Throw in some contact juggling, little stray book, and you can live in my satchel for as long as you like.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/94305.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
The Jane Austen fandom: they are not shoppers.
Or at least, not as far as I can tell, not particularly. I wasn't sure what to expect from them and . . . now I do. Hrm.
In the short term it feels as though my efforts didn't amount to much, but I think that is mostly stress and lack of sleep talking.† To focus on the good points: I developed a new hat style in less than three weeks and the prototypes came out flawless. The (limited) response they received was all positive. And in the longer term, it means half my stock for Nova Albion
is already made and I can therefore spend more time in the printlab and less time panicking.
Less time panicking is good. More time in the printlab is better, especially when it is filled with interesting conversations about scar tissue patterning on lightning strike survivors, linguistic-fu, geology nerdery—and printmaking techniques, obv. Thus, the printlab.
My preparations for the Jane Austen festival have left me with a small crate of prints and also a proper-type tax license, which means that Etsy
will see some of my etchings sooner rather than later. Hurrah? (I hesitate to make promises about posting things because I am looking at my to-do list for the next month and the rate at which it grows onto multiple pages is just effing scary.
) But I will sell prints to you, lovely people of the internets, at some point in the future.
Prints! Hats! I did manage to combine the two in my woodblock workshop back in January. For people whose minds boggle at the thought of one person doing more than one medium, I dedicate this to them.As Miss Ess– says, it is me all over: "Oh sure, "Hm, what can I do that will require the tiniest blade + most # of bitsy yet articulated cuts? Oh... Anything."
† Stress and lack of sleep, you need to shut up and sit the fuck down.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/94081.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
The internets, for some inexplicable reason, are going gaga over Valentine's Day this year. It's like the holiday has been extended from just the one day to a month-long festival of feasting and orgies, without prior notice. There are hearts being shoved in my face every two seconds, and grade-school-esque cut-out-and-keep type downloadable cards popping up everywhere. And while I don't particularly like being forced into the Valentine's Day Haters camp because I don't bear the holiday itself any particular enmity, I am calling bullshit on the whole conspicuously consumptive thing.Here is a set of free downloadable cards
, suitable for many occasions. You may download it and pass them out to people, if that's your thing. Or maybe you just like Avon quotes, and wish to keep one or two on your person at all times. That would be up to you. It is a pretty excellent quote; I bet Spock wishes he had thought of that one.
I advise printing these on a laser printer, since the lettering tends to get swallowed up by the black background on an inkjet. Half of the cards are laid out with black on white, for variety's sake. There is something quite pleasingly final about the white on black version though.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/93668.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
So this happened. Again. And I figured out how to get the ostrich-pouf-trimmed-edge effect with very little effort. Bonus: it glitters. This one will be coming with me to Boston's Arisia 2013
in very short order. You could be among the first to give it a spin! Do stop by!Nota Bene:
It works better if you imagine yourself conquering Europe while trying it on. We discovered this with the previous bicorne
. . . . Unless being a glam rock pirate queen comes naturally to you, but I recognize that not all are blessed with this ability.
Hatting has been eating away at my time quite a lot lately, which is part of the radio silence but certainly not all. Let us see if I can manage some brief dispatches before the year runs away with me . . .
When not hatting, I've been working away at the printlab twice a week, one tarot card after another. November saw me finish up the Three of Swords and I've begun work on The Tower now, which is turning out to be tedious. On deck are a string of other perturbing cards - The Devil, Death. But then ideas for the Two of Cups popped into my head and are being remarkably insistent. To be honest, I think they all want to get done at once.
After my gallivants to Boston, I will come back to a woodblock workshop with the splendid local talents of Tugboat Printshop
. Which is giddyifying, and slightly intimidating. I am an intaglio girl, through and through. The graphic qualities of reduction printmaking do not come naturally to me. Perhaps I will play around with non-symbolic imagery, perhaps something as simple as hats
? (I do love that image and a goof on it would be so pleasing.) We shall see, we shall see.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/92949.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
I read some books this last year (I did!) and I will shortly tell you about them. But, due to my long absence which I am not even going to get into, would you be so kind as to tell me Important Things that may have happened to you while I was away? There apparently is an entry cut-off date for backlogs. Births, deaths, marriages, divorces, disposal of incriminating evidence, that sort of thing; I will be discreet, I promise.She says to the internet.
If I remember correctly, I promised you some quotes about a 16th century Venetian cartographer last time? Here follows what I managed to squeeze into Twitter, and some of what I was saving for a proper blog entry.
Venice! This lagoon of soupy canals, cats' pee, and pageants.
That is undoubtedly the most accurate description of Venice that ever was. I remember at some point I had been collecting non-romanticized descriptions of Venice and now I think I can stop. We have found the pinnacle of tourism write-ups from Fra Mauro, the only possible thing that is missing is a description of the size of Venetian rats. I should put it on a poster. On a less smelly note:
"Through the use of words and vague coastlines, the two of us had attempted to give form to something not of this world."( Also: Sixteenth Century Wallabies, A Brief Footnote In PassingCollapse )
"This is the world I have chosen to describe: an old earth populated by strange wonders and mysterious creatures."
"I ask myself whether this is how the world changes, how it realizes itself anew—not as a shifting planet in the heavens, but as a conjunction of thought in space."
"Such a map would include how people experience their country, and how they exact from it a measure of well-being."
"They have journeyed to Venice, to this monastery, from so many distant places in order to share with me the purest of all deceptions—that of their own willingness to be entranced."
- Fra Mauro (trans. James Cowan), A Mapmaker's Dream
And now, onwards, to books!( LibraryCollapse )( HomeCollapse )
Reading-material-wise, I have definitely skewed to the philosophical and the meditative, filled out with comfort reads. This was the year that I stopped going to the library because I associated it too strongly with the misery of jury duty (the book list reflects this point, starkly). The same for Italo Calvino's Numbers in the Dark
(I am most of the way through it & I may have to resign myself to never finishing it because I cannot stress how traumatic jury duty really was). This was the year that I discovered Angela Carter properly (and you wonder why you don't hear about her when you were younger, and then you remember her unflinching explorations of dark, hidden things and then you realize why). This was the year that I read a truly awful
book just for the ability to mock it in realtime on Twitter (All The Tropes! Every Last One Of Them!) This was the year that I did a rare bookshelf purge for roadrunnertwice
(may he have joy of them, or lolz at least).
This was the year when I concussed myself on my nightstand as I was rolling over at 6:00 am, and my nightstand is a Victorian steamer trunk with iron corner caps. Unforgiving iron corner caps. The upshot is that my room needs to be rearranged so that I can retain my fine motor skills, which means that 2013 will be The Year of MOAR BOOKSHELVES and LESS BOOK ZIGGURATS. Hurrah.
So. How are you? Did you read things? Will you tell me what they are?This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/92795.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
So that was a WorldCon, eh? (To be honest, I do not know how to attend things anymore—assuming that I ever did know how in the first place. What is this programming you speak of. My idea of a this being an enjoyable convention is working in the dealer's room all day, then going out and finding restaurants that put schmancy cheese and slow-roasted grapes on their wood-fired pizzas. Also: not being able to throw a brick without hitting a bookseller, and still
find me better among Toronto's used bookstores and sending me texts with a selection of Angela Carter titles. Apparently, this is how I roll, con-wise. I consider it to be a good gig if one can come by it.)
Hopefully I have satisfied calapine
that I am neither Steerpike, nor Violet Baudelaire, nor an actual broken clock face in person. After so many years on the internets, this remains a vague worry, that people will look for identifying traits such as Being My Userpic. To be fair, I was half-expecting her to be Babs in full Aztec headdress. That would have been amazing. Other persons of interest that I already knew came by my table of hats to visit, which was a pleasantly unexpected surprise. The highlight of these was Kaja Foglio taking a fancy to my newest hat prototype. Splendid, no?
Five days worth of conventioning is more than I am cut-out for, I fear. I could definitely feel my extroversion reaching the end of the line there on Sunday and Monday. Also, the hat selection got below critical level on the last day: where everything was either the wrong size, the wrong color or the wrong style, and that tends to leave me a little anxious. Ah well. Perhaps I will be better prepared for next year in San Antonio.(Um yes. You read that correctly. I am taking my wool hats to Texas next August. MADNESS. This is also how I roll.)
The post-con illness has struck, although I rather suspect that I was exposed to someone who had gotten a flu-shot after
leaving Chicago, and have spent the last several days with some variant of stomach flu. Grrr, early vaccinators. I shake my fist at you from beneath this heap of crumpled tissues.
When I become slightly more lucid I will have a selection of blockquotes about Venice and fifteenth century wallabies for you. Because I know you've missed that kind of thing.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/92516.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
- file under:desirable edibles, filthy lucre, gallivants, hear ye, maladies & delirium, millinery, the printed word, zen and the art of blogging
- presently located at:the Hat Cave
- balance of humours:cough, cough, hack, wheeze
- audiory sensation of:Where Is My Mind - Nada Surf
So you'd like to help me with World Domination Through Hats, you say, but you don't know where to start? Here is a helpful reminder of where I will be in the weeks to come, and what events you can visit to try on my hats in person. From there, world domination is just that easy! So do stop by!I WILL BE A WORLDCON, WHICH IS A FACT I AM TRYING TO NOT CONCENTRATE ON TOO HARD OR I WILL HYPERVENTILATE FOR AN IMAGINED LACK OF HATS TO SELL. AUGH, AUGH, AUGH, WHYYYY.
If I have enough time to get things together, I should also have some original limited edition etchings and other prints available for a reasonable fee at the shows. Think of it less like potluck and more like a surprise. What bits of
whimsy & delight will accompany my hats? No one knows! The last packs of Velocipede Press i.d. badges? Of course! Cruelty free unicorn horns? Oh yes. Shiny things to pin on your person? Quite! Bits of frippery? Could be! These little postage-stamp-size tarot? Possibly!
You can even stop by to chat about all of the things I've been remiss in blogging about, to wit: amazing curling clouds, both books infuriating and books meditative, charcuteries filled with the rare and strange, dumpster bin discoveries, expletive-filled bat adventures, and so forth. The life stuff. Or the world domination through hats stuff. Whichever suits your fancy.
I like to think that if Alice's Adventures in Wonderland had been a product of Georgian England rather than Victorian, it would have contained a lot more scenes like the one above, the folly in the gardens at the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley. Minus the giant typography all over the room, natch.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/92224.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
An important point: the DMV is not open on Mondays.
So in the end, I did not have to spend my birthday hanging around in a bureaucratic waiting room to get a new driver's license. Which is just as well since my attention was riveted to the live webcast of Curiosity's landing on Mars, and the ensuing press conferences* in the small hours. (I was a sleepy owl all day today.) In just over the last 24 hours, apparently the internet's attention has been equally split between "OMG ROBOT ON MARS" and "OMG MOHAWK
." Reactions that I find difficult to fault.
Mohawks aside, watching people's reactions from all over
(through social media) to the landing a movable science lab on Mars—to exploring, to celebrating curiosity, to working together, to reaching beyond the sphere of our own world—has been amazing and overwhelming. It warmed the cockles of my heart and gave me a glowing faith in humanity, which is pretty much the best birthday present I could ever have.
. . .
The pre-landing Twitter exchange between Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Curiosity was also pretty priceless:
I maybe perhaps overdid some Curiosity retweets on the Twitter, enough to lose a follower or two. But if we're being honest here, if you can't get behind the excitement of humans on a little blue marble looking up in awe as collectively we reach out to other planets in the spirit of curiosity . . . then I have no business knowing you.
* Astronomy press conferences and the journalists they attract are my very favorite kind.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/91999.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
(Mumblety-mumblety) years back, I shared a whim with jacktellslies
about dissecting an owl pellet and making a little pillow for the bones, stuffed with the leftover fur. So that the creature could experience a refreshing change in the afterlife, having its outsides in and its insides out. Because that is a thing that I would do.
(Mumblety-mumblety) years later, bzedan
was kind enough to pass along an owl pellet to me on my birthday for just such an undertaking. "Ah!" I thought, "In her honor, I shall embroider the tiny pillow, and, being tiny, it will not take up much time or effort." Ha.
. . .
If you're not aware that there is a point in the realm of the Tiny! where things start becoming exponentially more difficult and time-consuming in proportion to how much tinier you decide to make them, take a moment and consider.
. . .
Needless to say, the whim sat, both unstuffed tiny pillow, half-dissected pellet and piles of rubble and bones, accumulating dust and being decidedly unwhimsical. For (mumblety-mumblety) years.
Sometime last night it occurred to me: that I had a big bag of polyfill at my disposal, which is, you know, used to stuff things; that I never would actually encounter fur in the pellet itself or if I did, it would never be enough to fill even a tiny pillow; that stuffing tiny pillows does not take terribly long; that I probably wasn't going to find another vertebra in the debris. Let us simply call it a day on this thing so that I can get my tweezers back.
Tiny bones! Tiny pillow! Tiny embroidery! All as it should be.
Moral of the story: children, let us not abandon our whims for years at a time. The dust gets to be really gross.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/91779.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
First it was so hot my entire existence was permeated with sweat.
After which I was shut up in a room with four booksellers and as many small press publishers for three days, and that was all a bit of a book-filled blur . . .
And then it was August!
I never did tell you about the westward trip that was most of June? And that I will be in Chicago with my hats at the end of August for WorldCon? That the former has many, many Instagram pictures to illustrate it; the latter really ought to have some sort of poster or proclamation made up for it?
In the meanwhile I've been printing away, trying to figure out how to best make the results available to other people. (It's the archival plastic bags to package them in that I'm hung up on right now.)
As I drive into town to the printlab during the week, I pass through all the overpasses on the Crosstown Boulevard which are covered up in billowing sheeting like a Christo installation while concrete repair work is being done. I like the idea of a Christo-wrapped highway system, though it presents certain . . . impracticalities.
What's been doing with you?This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/91529.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
After doing the weekly garbage-day clean-out, the contents of my refrigerator consist of blueberry syrup, whole blueberries, freshly-made blueberry curd
, half a bottle of seltzer water to be mixed with the remaining syrup to create blueberry soda, a phial of vanilla bean vinaigrette
, some cream, a bit of parmesan cheese and half a lime.
I am at a loss for what to do with half a lime.
(Everything else clearly says to make scones.)
. . .
On top of it all, I spent the afternoon printing an edition of 17: The Star with custom-mixed blueberry ink. Let us hope that I don't have Violet Beauregarde-esque dreams tonight.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/91292.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
The general consensus of "how to dance to Radiohead" is "spastically." They don't, as a band, make it easy to dance to their music.
I mean, unless you're a professional ballet troupe. In which case you dance to Radiohead like so:
The choreography for Radio & Juliet has all of the contortionist fluidity and twitchy reversals that I associate with good contact juggling just—minus the acrylic balls. And yet I see the underpinnings of classical ballet training in it as well. I'd love to watch how the plot from Shakespeare adapts itself to the method they're playing it out, how it flows with Radiohead's music driving it all forward.
(You know of course that Exit Music For A Film was written by Thom Yorke for Baz Luhrmann's Romeo+Juliet
, based on the idea of an alternate ending
where the two crazy kids survive and run away from Verona. The song ended up not being used in the film, but was included on OK Computer instead. So it's not like Radiohead hasn't laid the groundwork for this kind of performance and we can't guess at what kind of changes were made. It'd be nice to see what happens in its entirety all the same.)
Really though, I think I might just put this video clip of the dance on loop for the rest of the night and be amazed at how absolutely perfect it all is.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/90899.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
Spent the morning in a self-indulgent meandering through old internet haunts
, artists' portfolios half-remembered
, finding curious dead ends
after some rabbit-hole detours, compiling imagery to get minced up and respun into something of my own devising.
Traveling across the continent and back has made my brain feel a bit full and disoriented, so I guess that I needed something familiar to touch back to, as I work my way back into the habit of things—familiar things from when I used to know how to make sentences longer than 140 characters. (And for all that need for the comfortable and known, I have been alerted to the existence of Rembrandt's printing press at his historical residence and this knowledge is burning a hole in my mind
17: The Star is nearing completion, by the way. If only people would stop interrupting me in the middle of working on it to ask me if it's done yet. Strangely fussed by how long it's taking me to get the details right, my fellow printmakers are. Tarot cards are not things that one pushes to get done, nor are they something done half-assedly.
Other than that. You know. Things. Working on five projects at once, wondering why it feels like I'm not making headway on any of them.
PS: Does anyone else miss dictionaryporn
? I recently went through Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber
and that was a delectable chunk of language to parse. It made me miss having some very choice words of the English language routinely cross my path.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/90805.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
The Dovecote Hat pattern has arrived!
((Which will make all the austral knitting folks happy, I'm sure. How's your autumn coming along there?))
Back in October of 2009, ifandany
and I agreed to do a hat swap—because, hats, right?!—and to up the ante we thought it would be fun to each design a hat. You might remember
the results. It charmed enough people that I've had commissions to duplicate it a few times over. Bespoke knitting is all well and good, but wouldn't it be nicer for me to write up instructions so that anyone could make it?
Many, many tweed yarns later, and lots of wonderful bits of handspun from Gnomegarden
, the pattern is all sorted out. And available to buy on Ravelry
! (Some time next week I expect I will have it up in the Etsy shop
as well, but the next three days have other, overwhelming things going on. There will be a big Etsy update coming soon anyway because mushroom berets have been popping up again. I digress.)The Dovecote Hat
! Because I am sure you will want to nestle up with one when the nights get a bit chilly with rain. (See how well it is keeping jacktellslies
dry in the Philadelphia drizzle?) Your leftover bits of Noro or that special skein of handspun yarn will rejoice!This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/90307.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
Wrens colonized the back porch for their nesting efforts this year. The back porch, which is a high-traffic area with people coming and going and the parrots in near proximity and the cat having anxiety issues about the outside world. That back porch.
In the end, I suppose it was good to see those busy, industrious, fiesty, and all-around demanding birds tending to their nest, otherwise I would have thought some very, very small hobbits had built a hobbit hole up there.
They've all gone now, out into the world. Calm has been restored to the area around the back door.
. . .
To replace them, the baby crows have decided to fledge today. Granted, they're doing so in three separate treetops across the hill but they are every bit as noisy. An approximate translation is:
AAAA, SHIT, CRAP. IS THAT THE GROUND, IT'S THE GROUND, OH FFFUUUUUUUUUCCKKKK. HOW IS FLYING THIS DIFFICULT. AAAAA. CRAP, CRAP, CRAP.
Times perhaps a dozen baby crows. With more swears, because most crow translates to swears.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/90029.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
Tax prep, knife sharpening, contact juggling tutorials: things I do in the small hours of the night.
The News Nest (a weekly round up of the doings in the Tiny Owl Knits Ravelry group) very kindly took time to interview me
this last week (about 16:00 min). Because I know not everyone in the world has seen David Bowie in Labyrinth, I went off looking for some relevant videos to perhaps send along with my "contact juggling is my only real 'hobby'-hobby" answer . . . and found this:
What I love about this video in particular from Alvemagi
, apart from her totally owning her look (which I much respect) and the delight she clearly displays while contact juggling, is the silent movie quality she projects. Big eyes! Reactions just a titch below caricature! Hamming up her flubbs, as if the schtick was deliberate, instead of editing them out. There's performance juggling videos and then there's juggling videos where the person just happens to be a performer, you know?
It makes me think that it was a pity that early Hollywood did not get into elves and magical woodland kingdoms in Norway.
It also makes me think that I really ought to invest in a proper acrylic ball, because isolations are incredibly crap with the one I use now. They are also in many respects shinier.This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/89645.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
Today in my excitement of Going Forth and Doing Things, I did not realize the irony of my art supply purchases consisting of (1) my favorite make of mechanical pencil and (2) a pencil sharpener. In fact, it really only just stuck me about two minutes ago. I think I must have been caught up in the context of the store's bewildering array of materials and implements which somehow lacks liquid hard ground for etching
(I would appeal to anyone with a better art supply store than mine for a bottle of the stuff, but it violates seven kinds of postal regulations.)
Elsewhere, I window shopped for enormous mirrors, grand balustrades, giant slabs of chalkboard slate, glorious jumbles of tin ceiling panels, thickets of disassembled chair legs just waiting to be turned into hat stands, and dozens of what my pal Kris is calling "Thomas Kinkadean pastel toilets." Which is a descriptor that is really hard to argue with. I didn't even know that bathroom porcelain came
in shades of lilac.
Tomorrow: more with the doing of things! Less with the toilets!This entry was originally posted at http://chronographia.dreamwidth.org/89596.html and has comments. Please comment there using OpenID.