Monday, June 10, 2013

ON AND ON, ENRAPTURED

In some way, this bulb is related to M's family. 
“She read on and on, enraptured. She could not understand half, but it excited her oddly, like words in a foreign language sung to a beautiful air. She followed the poem vaguely as she followed the Latin in her missal, guessing, inventing meanings for herself, intoxicated by the mere rush of words. And yet she felt she did understand, not with her eyes or her brain, but with some faculty she did not even know she possessed.” 
― Antonia WhiteFrost in May

Inventing meanings for herself. Yes, that was how I felt reading The Brothers Karamazov for awhile. But I have cranked up the audible.com recordings I bought a long time ago and that is actually helping my comprehension. I still have a lot to read and I have not even picked-up the novel, except to move it, since Thursday.

Meanwhile, the rain is just pouring down. I feel like Joan Crawford in Rain, just going crazy from its incessant drone, steady and unyielding for hours now. I realize we are lucky to have it as there is plenty of drought elsewhere, but it can (and will) get on your nerves. Which brings me to my one of my usual favorite quotes from Apocalypse Now, "Saigon. Shit. I'm still only in Saigon." Which is how this incessant rain can make you feel.

Later. Yeah. Still raining. 

Feeling very sleepy and thus am pyjammied and embedded in a fashion. Almost too tired to go to sleep, but we know that won't last very long. It's 61 degrees but it certainly feels cooler. I almost had to go looking for my down booties, but think I will just warm my feet under my down comforter, which I still have on the bed. I know it won't be long until I am complaining about the heat. But this summer, I will have a couch on a screened-in porch to try out for hot nights, too.

In other news, Emmylou came up to sit on my lap and get face pets several times today. And she is making an appearance on the bed every night, which pleases me.

Wild strawberry growing in the driveway gravel.






































Subway laps.

Der Tupester last week in Brooklyn.




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