Roses in the rain

Jun. 5th, 2025 02:17 pm
puddleshark: (Default)
[personal profile] puddleshark
Roses in the Rain, the Secret Garden 11

Celebrated the return of the British summer - grey sky, rain and gales, at last! - and the acquisition of a new macro lens, by visiting the Secret Garden at Carey. Strangely, I had the rose garden entirely to myself. Just me, with my umbrella occasionally blowing inside out, and the roses uncomplaining in the wind and rain.

Perhaps too many photographs of roses )

May reading

Jun. 5th, 2025 11:13 pm
littlerhymes: (Default)
[personal profile] littlerhymes
Is - Joan Aiken
Cold Shoulder Road - Joan Aiken
The Castle of Llyr - Lloyd Alexander
Taran Wanderer - Lloyd Alexander
The High King - Lloyd Alexander
Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup - John Carreyrou
Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You - Candice Chung
Heaven Official's Blessing 6, 7 and 8 - Mo Xiang Tong Xiu
Saga 12 - Fiona Staples and Brian K. Vaughan
Before the Coffee Gets Cold - Toshikazu Kawaguchi, transl. Geoffrey Trousselot
Warlight - Michael Ondaatje
Batman: Wayne Family Adventures 1 - CRC Payne, Starbite

books and comics )

Book Review: A Legacy of Spies

Jun. 5th, 2025 08:16 am
osprey_archer: (books)
[personal profile] osprey_archer
I went into John Le Carre’s A Legacy of Spies with a certain trepidation, as the book is a late-career novel that retreads the events of Le Carre’s first break-out hit, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Years after the events in the earlier book, Smiley’s right-hand man Peter Guillam finds himself the focus of a legal investigation into what exactly went down during that mission.

Frankly, the premise struck me as a tired rehash of an earlier success. But this is not a fair assessment of A Legacy of Spies, in which Le Carre cheerfully twists a few knives that he had hitherto left untwisted in the general Smiley saga. As such, this review will feature spoilers for all the Smiley books )

Despite my doubts, a perfect end to the series, really. Brings the story full circle, updates us on all the most interesting characters, continues the exploration of Le Carre’s favorite themes. Were we the bad guys? - by “we” meaning not England, or Europe, or the West, but the international brotherhood of spies.

Slow & Steady

Jun. 5th, 2025 07:20 am
mallorys_camera: (Default)
[personal profile] mallorys_camera
A breeze came up yesterday morning & the sky was blue again by noon. And I stopped feeling that air hunger thing—so it really was my lungs not anxiety.

Also, the moon is not full, so that blood-red orb I saw hovering in the West—a very strange position for the moon now that I think about it—was actually the sun setting.

I have a shitload of stuff to do and as per usual, very little interest in doing any of it.

But first I must scamper off to the New Paltz garden to put in a couple of hours of weeding before the temps rise to heat stroke levels.

Slow & steady. Slow & steady. Slow & steady.

famine after feast

Jun. 4th, 2025 11:47 pm
marycatelli: (Default)
[personal profile] marycatelli
The character had several things happening at once.

 So I juggled them all, and found that as soon as it got past that, I realized that dead time hit.  Some tedious stretches for her.

Interrupted, but first I have to establish them.  

Just Stab Me Now

Jun. 4th, 2025 11:32 pm
marycatelli: (Golden Hair)
[personal profile] marycatelli
Just Stab Me Now by Jill Bearup

A comic tale of a writer taking off into fantasy romance for a break. And to escape her frustrating job.

Her notion of a heroine hits the actual heroine, who is middle-aged, a widow, and the mother of two children trying desperately to protect them.

Read more... )

(no subject)

Jun. 4th, 2025 08:47 pm
skygiants: Jane Eyre from Paula Rego's illustrations, facing out into darkness (more than courage)
[personal profile] skygiants
Over Memorial Day weekend [personal profile] genarti and I were on a mini-vacation at her family's cabin in the Finger Lakes, which features a fantastic bookshelf of yellowing midcentury mysteries stocked by [personal profile] genarti's grandmother. Often when I'm there I just avail myself of the existing material, but this time -- in increasing awareness of the way our own books are threatening to spill over our shelves again -- I seized this as an opportunity to check my bookshelves for the books that looked most like they belonged in a cabin in the Finger Lakes to read while I was there and then leave among their brethren.

As a result, I have now finally read the second-to-last of the stock of Weird Joan Aikens that [personal profile] coffeeandink gave me many years ago now, and boy was it extremely weird!

My favorite Aiken books are often the ones where I straight up can't tell if she's attempting to sincerely Write in the Genre or if she is writing full deadpan parody. I think The Embroidered Sunset is at least half parody, in a deadpan and melancholy way. I actually have a hypothesis that someone asked Joan Aiken to write a Gothic, meaning the sort of romantic suspense girl-flees-from-house form of the genre popular in the 1970s, and she was like "great! I love the Gothic tradition! I will give you a plucky 1970s career girl and a mystery and a complex family history and several big creepy houses! would you also like a haunted seaside landscape, the creeping inevitability of loss and death, some barely-dodged incest and a tragic ending?" and Gollancz, weary of Joan Aiken and her antics, was just like "sure, Joan. Fine. Do whatever."

Our heroine, Lucy, is a talented, sensible, cross and rather ugly girl with notably weird front teeth, is frequently jokingly referred to as Lucy Snowe by one of her love interests; the big creepy old age home in which much of the novel takes place is called Wildfell Hall; at one point Lucy knocks on the front door of Old Colonel Linton and he's like 'oh my god! you look just like my great-grandmother Cathy Linton, nee Earnshaw! it's the notably weird front teeth!" Joan Will Have Her Little Jokes.

The plot? The plot. Lucy, an orphan being raised in New England by her evil uncle and his hapless wife and mean daughter, wants to go study music in England with the brilliant-but-tragically-dying refugee pianist Max Benovek. Her uncle pays her fare across the Atlantic, on the condition that she go and investigate a great-aunt who has been pulling a pension out of the family coffers for many years; the great-aunt was Living Long Term with Another Old Lady (the L word is not said but it is really felt) and one of them has now died, but no one is really clear which.

The evil uncle suspects that the surviving old lady may not be the great-aunt and may instead be Doing Fraud, so Lucy's main task is to locate the old lady and determine whether or not she is in fact her great-aunt. Additionally, the great aunt was a brilliant folk artist unrecognized in her own time and so the evil uncle has assigned Lucy a side quest of finding as many of her paintings as possible and bringing them back to be sold for many dollars.

However, before setting out on any of these quests, Lucy stops in on the dying refugee pianist to see if he will agree to teach her. They have an immediate meeting of the minds and souls! Not only does Max agree to take her on as His Last Pupil, he also immediately furnishes her with cash and a car, because her plan of hitchhiking down to Aunt Fennel's part of the UK could endanger her beautiful pianist's hands!! Now Lucy has a brilliant future ahead of her with someone who really cares about her, but also a ticking clock: she has to sort out this whole great-aunt business before Max progresses from 'tragically dying' to 'tragically dead.'

The rest of the book follows several threads:
- Lucy bopping around the World's Most Depressing Seaside Towns, which, it is ominously and repeatedly hinted, could flood catastraphically at any moment, grimly attempting to convince a series of incredibly weird and variably depressed locals to give her any information or paintings, which they are deeply disinclined to do
- Max, in his sickroom, reading Lucy's letters and going 'gosh I hope I get to teach that girl ... it would be my last and most important life's work .... BEFORE I DIE'
- Sinister Goings On At The Old Age Home! Escaped Convicts!! Secret Identities!!! What Could This All Have To Do With Lucy's Evil Uncle? Who Could Say! Is Their Doctor Faking Being Turkish? Who Could Say!! Why Does That One Old Woman Keep Holding Up An Electric Mixer And Remarking How Easy It Would Be To Murder Someone With It? Who Could Say That Either!!!
- an elderly woman who may or may not be Aunt Fennel, in terrible fear of Something, stacked into dingy and constrained settings packed with other old and fading strangers, trying not to think too hard about her dead partner and their beloved cat and the life that she used to have in her own home where she was happy and loved .... all of these sections genuinely gave me big emotions :(((

Eventually all these plotlines converge with increasingly chaotic drama! Lucy and the old lady meet and have a really interesting, affectionate but complicated relationship colored by deep loneliness and suspicion on both sides; again, I really genuinely cared about this! Lucy, who sometimes exhibits random psychic tendencies, visits the lesbian cottage and finds it is so powerfully and miserably haunted by the happiness that it once held and doesn't anymore that she nearly passes out about it! Then whole thing culminates in huge spoilers )

Anyway. A wild time. Some parts I liked very much! I hit the end and shrieked and then forced Beth to read it immediately because I needed to scream about it, and now it lives among its other yellowing paperback friends on the Midcentury Mysteries shelf for some other unsuspecting person to find and scream about.

NB: in addition to everything else a cat dies in this book .... Joan Aiken hates this cat in particular and I do not know why. She likes all the other cats! But for some reason she really wants us to understand that this cat has bad vibes and we should not be sad when it gets got. But me, I was sad.

wednesday

Jun. 4th, 2025 09:28 pm
summersgate: (Default)
[personal profile] summersgate
Volunteered at the hospital today. After I got done laminating some photos in the office I was involved in activity hour. We went outside and blew bubbles in the enclosed courtyard. It's been a while since I blew bubbles - probably since the grandkids were little. Played with a couple basketballs and some things called boomwhackers. The activity director put a summertime playlist on the speaker. It was hot. Not as pleasant as sitting outdoors could have been if we had been sitting under a tree in the shade instead. After I was done there I used the cafeteria coupon they gave me ($8) and had lunch. I sat with an older lady visitor who was sitting alone. I asked who she was visiting. He husband needs dialysis but he has dementia and is fighting it. He doesn't know her most of the time. It's hard.  She doesn't know if he'll make it. I'm not usually a person who would invite myself to sit with someone I don't know but I'm glad I did. I feel like I did more good today as a volunteer in having lunch with her than I did in 3 hours on the behavioral health ward.

IMG_20250604_173154164[1].jpg
Got home took a little nap and then took my art bag down to the creek to sit in the shade and paint. Now that is relaxing and nice. I wish I could share that kind of experience with the psych patients. Though the gnats are out now. I don't like gnats in my face but I can live with it, especially since they don't bite - they just bother.

IMG_20250604_180153786_HDR[1].jpg
My view.

DSC_0161.jpg
Art-a day Bubbles.

DSC_0160.jpg
sovay: (Silver: against blue)
[personal profile] sovay
Thanks to the Canadian wildfires, our sunset light is Pompeiian red, by which I mean mostly the cinnabar and heat-treated smolder of the pigment, but also the implication of volcano.

Because my day was scrambled by a canceled appointment, after I had made a lot of phone calls [personal profile] spatch took me for soft-serve ice cream in the late afternoon, and once home I walked out to photograph some poppies I had seen from the car.

Did you love mimesis? )

I can't help feeling that last night's primary dream emerged from a fender-bender in the art-horror 1970's because once the photographer who had done his aggressive and insistently off-base best to involve me in a blackmail scandal had killed himself, all of a sudden the hotel where I had been attending a convention with my husbands had a supernatural problem. Waking in the twenty-first century, I appreciate it could be solved eventually with post-mortem mediation rather than exorcistic violence, but it feels like yet another subgenre intruding that the psychopomp for the job was a WWI German POW.
rebeccmeister: (Default)
[personal profile] rebeccmeister
Sometimes it's hard to come back from a vacation high. It has been good to snuggle the cats, sleep in a soft bed, take a shower, and be reunited with my remaining pairs of bike shorts.

But boy, this one twee houseboat just speaks of a very different sort of life:

Day 5: Weedsport to Green Lakes State Park

Day 5: Weedsport to Green Lakes State Park

Day 5: Weedsport to Green Lakes State Park

It was definitely a relief to have a break from the news. A good reminder that there are drawbacks to being glued to it all.

On the other hand, the horseshoe crab's tank needed attention, the clownfish were hungry, the ants needed watering and a temperature boost (I'd turned the heater down while away), and the windowsill plants were all thirsty.

And there's a lot of boathouse and rowing stuff on the horizon.

I am so much more motivated now to make sure we get out on some silly Petrichor adventures, and sooner rather than later!

I have to wonder whether there's a way to set up Petrichor with a boat tent. And a proper galley box. Hmmm....

I should probably finish varnishing first.
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
Isn't the moon dark too,
most of the time?

And doesn't the white page
seem unfinished

without the dark stain
of alphabets?

When God demanded light,
he didn't banish darkness.

Instead he invented
ebony and crows

and that small mole
on your left cheekbone.

Or did you mean to ask
"Why are you sad so often?"

Ask the moon.
Ask what it has witnessed.


*****


Link

Northwards

Jun. 4th, 2025 01:02 pm
sartorias: (Default)
[personal profile] sartorias
I was taking to a felow customer when I stopped for sandwiches while strolling around downtown Albany last night, and when I commented on the deepeness of the verdure around me--I can't get enough of it--he said that it's been a very wet season here.

I took a walk along the Hudson, stopping at a little side canal, or whatever they are called, when I saw a bridge and inviting shadows (the sun was overly warm and the hair humid and kind of dirty). I snapped this shot:



If it works right, and you embiggen, look just above the top branch of the fallen tree. I'd spotted a pair of geeze swimming toward it, and thought they'd make a splendid shot framed by the two branches. But they never emerged from behind the top one, some twenty feet below me and upstream. I could see the ripples from them paddling, but no sign of the geese.

When I looked closer, I just spotted a black and white goose head peeking at me from beyond that branch. They were clearly waiting for the monster to lurk somewhere else.

And now I'm on my way northwards toward Montreal, which I should reach this evening.

The Random Factor

Jun. 4th, 2025 12:20 pm
mallorys_camera: (Default)
[personal profile] mallorys_camera


The smoke from the fires in Saskatchewan, Manitoba, and northwestern Ontario has hit upstate New York.

The rising full moon last night was blood red.

And the sky this morning looks like a diffractionless opal, a whitish translucent wash with the barest undercoat of blue through which the sun just glowers. I'd planned on taking it easy today anyway, because I kinda knocked myself out weeding the New Paltz plot yesterday.

Before:



After:



Doesn't look like I did a lot, does it? But it was four full wheelbarrows of brambles and other assorted weeds.

Harder work than I thought it would be, & I was kinda achey from all that squatting & pulling. So I figured I'd go easy on myself today. Resume weeding tomorrow, but get there while it's still cool out.

And that turns out to be a good decision because today I'm feeling a kind of generalized air hunger, some shortness of breath with exertion. Though whether that's from the smoky air or generalized anxiety I can't quite tell.

###

Said anxiety is due to Icky being even more of a dick than usual.

Last fall, after I closed down my garden in Hyde Park, I brought all my gardening stuff back here & stashed it in the shed because I thought I'd be gardening here this summer.

Then, six weeks or so ago, Icky announced that he didn't want to garden with me. Was it my breath? My ineffective underarm deodorant? My generally displeasing personality? No! It was that Icky does not like to work or play with others.

Fortunately, the good folk at the Hyde Park garden had just written me a love note: We miss you!

So, I decided to go back & garden there again. (And, of course, the New Paltz Community Garden just found some open spots, so now I'm juggling two gardens!) And I transported all my gardening stuff back to Hyde Park.

###

Then yesterday, Icky went on a tear because he decided all the gardening stuff in the shed belonged to him.

All day long, he fusillaged me with text: Those tomato cages are mine. I’ve had them since before I moved here. I put them all back there after the season

I texted back, As I said, I brought the 10 cages I used in my garden last year to your shed in October last year because I thought I was going to be gardening here this year. After you told me you’d prefer to garden alone, I took those same 10 cages—they were stacked on the left side of the shed—back to Hyde Park. That’s all I know, Iggy.

He texted: Where are my cages then? I put all the cages I used all of last summer in that shed. There are no cages now. I never saw yours in there.

###

This is the kind of petty hammering he does relentlessly & he is so fucking relentless that he usually gets his own way—because who in their right mind wants to spend hours texting about fucking tomato cages?

Finally, he called.

"Look," I said. "We're at an impasse. And I'm at a disadvantage in all my transactions with you since you own the house, so you have the power. Are you interested in some kind of compromise or should we just keep up the text chain till I move out?"

This was said with more bravado than I actually have, of course.

Moving out would be difficult at this point.

I'm an elderly cat lady and the rental situation hereabouts is not exactly clamoring for elderly cat ladies.

On the other hand, I'm an excellent tenant, and Icky doesn't want the house sitting empty for the 20 days of each month he's not on the premises.

And I suppose it's possible that I did grab some of Icky's tomato cages without thinking about it—though I'm certainly not going to admit that to him.

The compromise?

I'll bring back any extra tomato cages and check the slag heap at the Hyde Park garden where old tomato cages go to die. Bring him those.

###

The situation is highly anxiety-provoking because it reminds me how little control I have over my life.

Of course, because of the way I was brought up, it never occurred to me that one could control one's life simply by making wise choices. I was a waif bufffeted about by forces I couldn't control! And then as an adult, I kind of mythologized that choicelessness! Turned it into a philosophy. Became fatalistic.

I don't know what the answer is.

I do know many people who have organized their lives around making wise choices, and for many of those people life has worked out well, but for just as many, life hasn't.

The random factor is very, very powerful.

Robert Macfarlane may have a point

Jun. 4th, 2025 05:01 pm
shewhomust: (Default)
[personal profile] shewhomust
One of the pleasures of quizzing is reaching into the bran tub of your memory and coming out with something that might be a piece of random word-association, but turns out to be the right answer. But sometimes you get spectacular results from something that takes no effort at all. This doesn't seem fair, but that's how it goes.

Last week at the pub quiz, the beer round -

- the beer round is a free-standing round: the marks don't contribute to your overall total, but there is a prize of drinks tokens, provided by the management. Its five questions are given at one time, which gives the Quizmaster a chace to breathe, count the takings, whatever. The questions can be verbal, but are more often pictures, and occasionally music. Scores are often very low, and there is usually a tie-breaker -

- and last week the challenge was to identify five flowers from Cicely Mary Barker's Flower Fairies of the Summer. I went straight through it, writing in the names: honeysuckle, poppy, foxglove, harebell, pimpernel. And I thought the Quizmaster had miscalculated here, and there would be a massive tie-breaker for all the teams scoring five out of five. Admittedly, of all the Flower Fairies books, summer is the one I had as a child, but these surely aren't difficult flowers to identify. The scarlet pimpernel might cause some problems, but ...

Which just shows how much I know. There were three teams (out of 20 - it was a busy week) who scored four, but we were alone is scoring full marks. Which was gratifying, if unexpected. What's more, talking to the Quizmaster afterwards I learned that we were the only team who had identified the harebell: he wasn't sure himself how it differed from the bluebell. It's blue, it's bell-shaped... I didn't tell him that it's also called the Scots bluebell, just that it's a completely different flower: bluebell; harebell. You're welcome.

Recommend me something to read

Jun. 5th, 2025 10:45 am
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
Ideally something I can get through the NYPL or the Queens Public Library (I haven't yet re-upped my Brooklyn Public Library card. I ought to go do that this weekend or the week after.)

I suppose I should set a good example and rec something to all of you first. Lemme see....

I did recently enjoy both Long Live Evil and How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying!

******************************************


Read more... )

(no subject)

Jun. 4th, 2025 05:15 pm

Wednesday Reading Meme

Jun. 4th, 2025 10:52 am
osprey_archer: (books)
[personal profile] osprey_archer
What I’ve Just Finished Reading

I feel that I ought to have something intelligent to say about Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, but honestly I don’t have a lot to say intelligent or otherwise. Woolf is one of those writers where I respect her skill as a prose stylist, but almost never connect with her work outside of A Room of One’s Own. I thought it might be a fiction/nonfiction thing, where I didn’t vibe with her fiction but liked her nonfiction. But then I read a book of her essays and also wasn’t feeling it, so maybe A Room of One’s Own was just a one-hit wonder for me.

I also finished Alice Alison Lide and Margaret Alison’s Johansen’s Ood-le-Uk the Wanderer, a 1931 Newbery Honor winner written by two sisters. (The Alison sisters are one of three sibling pairs to win Newbery recognition, the others being brother-sister pair Dillwyn and Anne Parrish and brothers James and Christopher Collier.)

Ood-le-Uk is a fifteen-year-old Inuit boy who is swept out to sea on an ice flow, eventually landing in Siberia where he is taken in by the Chukchi and nearly human-sacrificed by the shaman, only to be saved at the last minute by the talisman he wears: a cross in a little wooden box that washed across the sea to his home in Alaska. Does he later meet a Russian Orthodox priest who changes his life by telling him about Christianity? One hundred percent.

What I’m Reading Now

I’ve just started an Alice in Wonderland reread, in the copy given to me by my friend Micky, with a note in the front that assures me that the book is just as “chaotic and confusing” as the story my friend Emma and I wrote in sixth grade. It occurs to me that this may not have been a compliment to our magnum opus.

What I Plan to Read Next

I’m going in with Fanny Burney’s Evelina.

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