Book Corner 2021.40

by Sylvia Townsend Warner

Honestly, this book literally put me to sleep more nights than not. It’s very hard to keep all the nuns straight and the story just meanders. A convent is founded in 1163. We begin following it in earnest in the 14th century, through a multitude of prioresses. A main character and constant throughout is Sir Ralph, a passing beggar who for reasons even he doesn’t understand passes himself off as a priest, and lives as the convent priest for the rest of his life. This at least provides a unifying thread through all the cast of nuns who die as frequently as they are introduced.

Couple of good sample quotes:

“To be traveling through this landscape so full of plenty and variety was like turning the pages of an illuminated psalter.”

“But no summer is so long, so wide, as the summer before it. Time, a river, hollows out its bed and every year the river flows in a narrower channel and flows faster.”

End of Day 4

How the day began; and how it ended:

And I slept last night, drug-free. I called bullshit on 3 nights of insomnia. I said, dammit, I know how to sleep. I’ve been doing it every night all my life. And I knew last night I was going to sleep. It was like when I finally passed my road test on the 4th or 5th or 6th try. I said, dammit, I know how to drive. And I just knew i was going to pass.

The rug is tough going. The wool is close-set (warp face) and sticky to begin with. I have to stand up on the pedals and yank on heddles to make a shed.

My Super Happy Place

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is where I want to spend as much of my retirement as possible.

Above, the view from my window as I measure out my rug warp. You can hear them mooing from time to time.

The spot has beautiful hilltop views all around. Kate’s house is an idyllic little farmhouse. Kate runs the weaving school. I envy her life.

Got My Mojo Working

Hogback Mountain Brewing

From the department of “Well I Should Hope So,” a perfect day drinking blood-orange gose with the cedar waxwings out back at Hogback Mountain Brewing, then biking the awe-inspiring Bristol-Monkton road, got my mojo working again. The Vermont biking just stones me to my soul. Stones me just like jelly roll.

Today I’m prepping for weaving school – trying to get a head start on what the warp will look like, even though I know they will spell it all out for me when I get there; and refreshing my memory on some of their tips and tricks. Glad I bought the handbook.

Look forward to some gorgeous weaving pix this week!

And the Rumour Spread That I Was Aging Fast

So X has been taking apart the Prius bit by bit, because there is a terrible mouse smell in it. We brought it to the mechanic to see if they could remove the dash and clean the vents, but they told us it wasn’t coming from the vents, so we don’t know what to do. Since in this state it is a total loss and probably a health hazard, I told X he could just rip it apart, take an axe to it if he’d like, and get his frustrations out and maybe solve the problem in the process if we’re lucky.

Today is a stunner of a day – dry, high sixties – and we are going bike&brewing. I’m in the middle of a 2 week vacation. Life’s perfect and yet I’ve had this low level depression. X has too, maybe more than usual. He suggested maybe we should get tested for covid. Then he nixed that idea when I started seriously considering it. I don’t know, the ennui of everything being perfect? The ennui of being 52 and having no more mysteries left to solve? Being old? X says there’s nothing more to look forward to. Just tiny joys. I know that when you get old you have to make sure that you still have goals and things to live for. But nothing you can come up with seems important anymore. Struggling to earn a livelihood and gain a footing in the world, that was important. The sheep & wool fair, I don’t know.

Couldn’t resist that.