
I’m weaving in the ends by hand. I know the edge looks like crap but it’s not going to be visible.

I’m weaving in the ends by hand. I know the edge looks like crap but it’s not going to be visible.
1962, two virgins on their wedding night in a hotel on the coast of England. Flashes back and forth between their disastrous first night, and their respective childhoods and history together. Be prepared for a depressing ending. Compelling; I, er, finished quickly.
by Maggie O’Farrell
I hated this book. Such one-dimensional characters (and way too many characters, too). Shakespeare’s abusive father John is all bad. Agnes’ stepmother Joan is all bad; no drop of affection whatsoever for two children she raised from babies. Shakespeare’s mother Mary is a dolt; I never thought less of the two main characters, with whom we’re supposed to feel sympathy, than when they literally laughed at Mary behind her back for being upset that her son was moving to London.
A couple of the characters see Agnes not as a mysterious woodsprite but as an imbecile. I thought it was an interesting perspective and chose to see her this way through the remainder of the book, which helped me get through it.
And hate it I did! I wanted them all to get the plague.

Another useless piece of material woven by yours truly!

I just like walking by looking at it.

Did I mention I had an incredibly good time Saturday night?
As a brewfest it was actually pretty subpar. There were national concerns like Lagunitas and even Anheuser-Busch taking up space. Speaking of taking up space, there was also an awful lot of ciders, hard seltzers, canned cocktails, and other things that WERE NOT BEER.
But it was unlimited tasting, and there was a live band, and the BAND, OMG.
Look, I certainly know dinosaur rock is old. I have also been perfectly aware for some time that the 80s music that was contemporary with my youth is old. But alternative from the 90s and 00s… I mean, that CAN’T BE OLD. That couldn’t be an old gray-haired band playing Green Day, STP, Killers, Blink 182, etc. and that couldn’t be a floor full of severely middle-aged people rocking out? That music was EDGY! It was what YOUNG people listened to!
It’s gonna take me at least a decade to get used to this.
1-2 winter squash
3 slices bacon
1 large onion
1/8 t salt
1/4 t chipotle
1 T chicken Better than Bullion
1 T brown sugar
a) Early in the afternoon wash the exterior of the squash, place on foil-lined pan in oven, cook at 400 degrees about an hour. When it gives when you squeeze it, it’s done. Take it out & let it cool the rest of the afternoon
b) Dinnertime! Chop bacon, cook till it’s done, remove with slotted spoon to paper towels, but keep that bacon fat goodness in the pot!
c) Slice onion – no need to chop, this is all going to get pureed. Cook in the bacon fat till fairly limp. Add salt & chipotle.
d) Slice squash lengthwise and scoop out seeds. Remove peel – it will usually peel right off, mostly, or spoon it out. This part can get a little messy. Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty.
e) Add squash to pot and slice/chop/mush it up into pieces; stir to coat with the bacony oniony chipotle goodness.
f) Cover with water, about 2 cups, I like it thick. Add your bullion, stir well, let it simmer while you make yourself a nice green salad.
g) Add brown sugar, get out your immersion blender, and turn it into soup. Stir the bacon back in. Eat it with crackers. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
by Thomas Hardy
He should have remained obscure. No, seriously, as a story, it was pretty horrid. a young man’s hopes and dreams are stymied one by one. As a statement on matrimony and contemporary mores, I get it.
“And so… the two swore that at every other time of their lives till death took them, they would assuredly believe, feel, and desire precisely as they had believed, felt, and desired during the preceding few weeks. What was remarkable as the undertaking itself was the fact that nobody seemed at all surprised at what they swore.”
In various ways, the story aimed to show the ludicrousness of this entire situation.

My latest while-away-the-winter-blahs. You have to understand these intricate weaves I manage to do with the toy rigid heddle loom are like the complicated pieces Schroeder can play on his toy piano where the black keys are just painted on.
God, I am so depressed.
by Cass R. Sunstein
Not what I thought it would be…. It seemed mostly about nudges. He’s covered nudges elsewhere.