Summer Reading....

Today I decided to ride my bike to the Eastham Library to augment my vacation reading list. I happened to be wearing a skirt at the time of this decision (surprise, surprise) and decided not to bother changing. I've riden in a skirt before, last time when our car broke down on Saturday (see Aaron's or Cara's post), so I figured I'd be fine. Wrong...this skirt got stuck in my chain three plus times, finally jamming it somehow when I was about halfway there. This obviously wasn't working, so I turned around and started walking the bike back, calling my dad on a handy dandy cell phone and feeling stupid. Daddy rode out to save me, but by the time he got there I was all unjammed. All the same, I rode home with him and changed before setting off again. I think I want to get one of those old fashioned bikes with wheel covers to prevent such misfortunes.

My perseverance in getting to the library paid off. I got a bunch of good books that the Bedford Library lacks to add to my queue. So, these are on my list right now:

84, Charing Cross Road. Thanks, Lindsay, for letting me borrow it again. I will buy it someday. :-) To everyone who hasn't read this, that is your pleasant assignment for the summer.

A knitting handbook with a stupid name but the best instructions and ideas ever. Unfortunately, I didn't realize how inspired I'd be while on vacation and only have some stupid pink acrylic yarn and size ten needles.

A Man of Property from the Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy. Sort of a nineteenth century soap opera, rather depressing.

Various Brother Cadfaels.

A P.G.Wodehouse.

The New Joy of Photography. I'm trying to learn how to use my dad's camera.

The Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge. Hoping I'll like it as well as some of her others.

and so forth.. The list keeps growing, so we'll see how far I get. The weeks before vacation were so busy that I was starved for nonschool reading. I'm indeed enjoying the time now.

WHO ARE YOU TO HAVE AN OPINION?!?!? :-p

Ahem. I WILL HAVE WHATEVER PROFILE PICTURE I LIKE, NO MATTER HOW UGLY YOU THINK IT IS. I DO NOT ESPECIALLY CARE WHAT YOU THINK, JUST FOR THE RECORD, SO YOU MAY CONTINUE TO SAY WHATEVER YOU FEEL LIKE. JUST DON'T EXPECT ME TO CHANGE SOMETHING BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU SAY, AND DON'T FLATTER YOURSELF THAT I DID IT TO PLEASE YOU IF I HAPPEN TO CHANGE SOMETHING THAT YOU DON'T LIKE. IS THAT CLEAR? end rant. and thank you for your interest. :-)

Elementary, My Dear Watson

The saddest thing in the world is a book jacket that gives away the entire plot of a book. The Brother Cadfael mystery I just read had just such a ridiculous dust jacket. After reading it, I correctly put my finger on the gist of the whole mystery. I don't think I would have guessed if I hadn't read the little blurb on it. It put two ideas in close juxtaposition, thus enabling my brain trained by no others than Sherlock Holmes/Father Brown/Poirot/Lord Peter Wimsey/Nancy Drew to make a correct deduction. The book was interesting even without the who-dunnit factor, BUT STILL!!!

Conspiracy Theory du Jour

I'm a big fan of conspiracy theories. (Some conspiracy theories anyway.) I don't really believe any, but there's a gullible part of me that can only be satisfied by believing in something that's probably fictional....but just might might be true. (I believed that "Out of the Silent Planet" was a true story.) Maybe all my willful credulity is due to the fact that I never believed in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy or fairies at all for that matter....Anyway...most conspiracy theories just make me laugh and thereby provide me with enjoyment.

This theory,however, I've always wanted to believe.

Does this work?

Aaron informed me that I can email posts to my blog...testing to see if this works.

Viola Jokes

A good repertoire of viola jokes is nearly as important to a violinist as a good repertoire of music. My teacher makes sure he tells me a new one every now and then just to keep me sharp. He tells me that it isn't really fair for me to tell them because I don't play the viola, but they are good to know anyway. :) (For those of you who don't know, drummers, violists, and sopranos are at the receiving end of orchestra jokes. The viola is very difficult to play in tune, and for some reason, the viola sections of orchestras are often very small and weak, thereby lending themselves to ridicule.)

What's the difference between an onion and a viola?
A. When you chop a viola no one cries.

What do you do with a violist after he dies?
A. Move him back a stand.

Why does the violist put his instrument on the dashboard of his car when he parks?
A. So he can park in a handicapped spot.

How are a thunderstorm and a viola similar?
A. Neither lightning nor a violist's fingers hit the same spot twice.

:)

Now that I've had my fun, in order to be fair, I'm off to go listen to the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh. The violists on my recording aren't so bad...

"When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall..."

The other day, I started thinking about some children's stories and songs that actually are quite disturbing. Now, I'm not one who says children should only be spoonfed sweetness and light and joy and cheer. Where would we be without Huck Finn and Treasure Island and Hansel and Gretel and Captain Hook? (Understand that I'm speaking from the point of view of a kid who used to be terrified of Snow White's witch and the villains in Nancy Drew. I'm not saying kids shouldn't be kept from frightening things until they can handle them.) Outright danger and adventure are great. What weirds me out is thinking of how some things that aren't considered scary are actually not as sweet as they sound:

~Never-Never-Land. I loved the story when I was little, but now the idea of the place creeps me out. Sounds ominous.

~Do you know the line from Les Mis's "Castle on a Cloud"?
"...Nobody shouts or talks to loud....Crying at all is not allowed...Not in my castle on a cloud."
What kind of place is that for children? Children are supposed to shout. I guess they might not want to cry, but to me now, a place where crying was not allowed would not be nice. (I suppose that since every tear will be wiped from our eyes in Heaven that in a sense crying will not be a part of Heaven, yet I don't remember readint the Scripture as a mandate against crying.) A good cry can fix a lot, as I'm sure many of my public can attest. :-)

Hmm..so much for my piles of examples. I seem to have run out quite suddenly. I guess that's all that are on my mind for the moment. Apologize for the incoherentness. :-)

Speaking of Ditzes....

I can read and write, tie my shoes, remember to breathe in and out, tell right from left, and have even taken a course in logic. On the basis of these accomplishments, I have always considered myself slightly superior to other blondes. Unfortunately, this illusion was shattered today. I can no longer escape the curses of my hair color. I am a Class-A dumb blonde.

On my way to a violin lesson today, I went through the drivethrough window at the bank. Having noticed a sign requesting that customers turn of their engines to prevent fumes entering the building, I obligingly did so and absentmindedly removed the keys from the ignition.

Once my transaction was completed, I reached for the ignition and was startled to remember that I had moved the keys and could not remember where I had put them. I glanced guiltily up at the girl inside the bank who was watching me with a puzzled look.

"I can't...umm...find my...umm..keys. They're around here somewhere.."

They weren't in the cupholder.

They weren't on the floor.

They weren't in my purse.

They weren't on the ground.

People were waiting behind me.

My future life flashed before my eyes. I would have to call home on my cell phone for someone to bring a spare key. Someone would have to explain to the cars behind me that the girl in the green van had been stupid enough to lose her keys. I'd have to sit there and wait under the amused/annoyed glances of the tellers. My family would never let me live it down. Maybe the bank would even suspect me of some deep dyed plot to cause trouble.

I opened the door to stand up and really search. And there they were, just hiding on the seat under a fold of my skirt.

"Found 'em," I informed the teller, who was watching with raised eyebrows. "I'm such a ditz today," I added sheepishly, and got out of that place as fast as I could.

A mile down the road, I realized I had stolen the bank's pen.

After my lesson I returned it at another branch, to the amusement of the tellers there.

It's been quite a day.