Hoodie. Appeals to my I’m-not-really-50 side.
The Burlington/Colchester bike path bridge over the Winooski River; Colchester shown (for its representation in my VT251 album).
Basically the two strongest pillars of my philosophy towards life.
I couldn’t get past the dense, distant writing style. Esther Woolfson begins her “Life with Birds” when she comes by some doves… I think they came with the property when she moved in. From there, she gains a parrot or two, then begins collecting a stray, abandoned baby bird here and there, until ultimately she earns some recognition as a kind of Bird Lady who will take in any distressed baby bird in need of a home.
The book discusses the rats, doves, and parrots who pass through her life, but ultimately spends the most time on the corvids – particularly a rook, whom she calls “Chicken”, who lived closely with her for many years; and a magpie christened “Spike.”
Somehow, despite her voluminously worded attempts, she just never managed to explain to me the appeal of these pets. I get that she sensed an intelligence on a level comparable if not exactly equal to her own when she looked into those corvid eyes. I get the interest. I just never feel the attachment. I think that sums it up best.
And frankly, her many, many off-the-cuff “oh just Chicken being Chicken” descriptions of the corvid habit of “cacheing” – i.e. hiding things – including such delectable things as bits of ground meat, pieces of seafood – and her finding these lovely gifts in the fold of her pants leg or under the rug untold amounts of time later – yeah, that didn’t really hit home the appeal of birds to me, either.
The only aspect of the book that really kept me reading was totally unrelated to anything avian – Woolfson dwells in Aberdeen, Scotland, and her descriptions of place were very enjoyable to me.
Some fresh snapdragons from farmer’s market, some Sudoku, a little Sauvignon Blanc… dinner on the way. Not much to say about life lately except that it’s EFFING PERFECT…
Still Life by Louise Penny
(Book Club selection)
Like science fiction, murder mysteries are a genre I rarely if ever read; so when I do, the novelty is very pleasant and I find myself thinking, “Why, this is so clever!” But the important thing for me is that the “genre-ness” not interfere with it being a well-written story. STILL LIFE is only occasionally cheesy; the gay characters were a little over-exaggerated, for example. I really wanted to get back to it every night, though; and no, I never did guess “whodunit.”