Beyond Selidor

There's a blackbird that's taken to standing on the kitchen roof (just below our bedroom window), singing its heart out every morning around 6am to greet the dawn. It's like a natural alarm clock, and it's such a gentle introduction to each new day that I can hardly begrudge it.

I didn't know I needed a four-day weekend so badly until I had one, with four days stretching gloriously ahead of me, every hour my own to do with as I chose. It ended up being the perfect balance and mixture of activities, planned in such a way that everything worked out seamlessly, with even the weather cooperating. I'm good at this — organising holidays at home — but I so rarely have the opportunity.

I've described everything below in words, but have a representative photoset, as well.

This extended weekend's events can be grouped under a series of subheadings, as follows:

Movement
I swam 1km at the pool, three times: on Friday, Sunday, and today, gliding back and forth through the water, which was blissfully empty today and Friday, but too crowded for my liking on Sunday morning. On Saturday, I went to my classes at the gym, and then Matthias and I walked 4km out to Little Downham (about which more below), through fields lined with verdant green trees and flowering fruit orchards, watched by sleepy clusters of cows and horses, and then returned home the same 4km way. I did yoga every day, stretchy and flowing in the sunshine, listening to the birdsong in the garden. Yesterday, Matthias and I walked along the sparkling river, and then back up through the market, which was full of the usual Sunday afternoon of cheerful small children and excitable dogs.

Wanderings
As is the correct way of things on long weekends, we roamed around on the first two days, and stuck closer and closer to home as the days wore on. On Friday night, we travelled out into the nearby village of Whittlesford (via train and rail replacement bus), and on Saturday we did the walk to Little Downham, but beyond that I went no further than the river, the market, and the gym, and I was glad of it.

Food and cooking
The Whittlesford trip was to attend a six-course seafood tasting menu with wine pairings, which was delicate, exquisite, and a lovely way to kick off the weekend. In Little Downham, we ate Thai food for lunch at the pub, cooked fresh, redolent with chili, basil and garlic. I made an amazing oliahercules fish soup for dinner on Saturday, filled with garlic and lemon juice and briny olives and pickles. Last night I spent close to three hours cooking a feast of Indonesian food: lamb curry, mixed vegetable stir fry, slow-cooked coconut rice, and handmade peanut sauce, and it was well worth the effort. We'll be eating the leftovers for much of the rest of the week. We ate hot cross buns for breakfast and with afternoon cups of tea. We grazed on fresh sourdough bread, and cheese, and sundried tomatoes, and olives.

Growing things
On Sunday, we picked up some seedlings from the market: two types of tomato, cucumber, chives, and thyme, and I weeded the vegetable patches, and planted them. I was delighted to see that the sweetpea plant from last year has self-seeded, with seedlings springing up in four places. The mint and chives have returned, as have the various strawberry plants. Wood pigeons descend to strip the leaves from the upper branches of the cherry trees, and the apple blossom buzzes with bumblebees.

Media
The fact that we picked Conclave as our Saturday film this week, and then the Pope died today seems almost too on the nose (JD Vance seems to have been to the Pope as Liz Truss was to Queen Elizabeth II: moronic culture warring conservatives seem to be lethal to the ageing heads of powerful institutions), but I enjoyed it at the time. It reminded me a lot of Death of Stalin: papal politics written with the cynicism and wit of Armando Ianucci, and at the end everyone got what they deserved, and no one was happy.

In terms of books, it's been a period of contrasts: the horror and brutality of Octavia Butler's post-apocalyptic Xenogenesis trilogy, in which aliens descend to extractively rake over the remains of an Earth ruined by Cold War-era nuclear catastrophe, in an unbelievably blunt metaphor for both the colonisation of the continents of America, and the way human beings treat livestock in factory farming, and then my annual Easter weekend reread of Susan Cooper's Greenwitch, about the implacable, inhospitable power of the sea, cut through with selfless human compassion. Both were excellent: the former viscerally horrifying to read, with aliens that feel truly inhuman in terms of biology, social organisation, and the values that stem from these, and unflinching in the sheer extractive exploitation of what we witness unfold. It's very of its time (for something that's so interested in exploring non-cis, non-straight expressions of gender and sexuality, it ends up feeling somewhat normative), and while the ideas are interesting and well expressed, I found the writing itself somewhat pedestrian. It makes me wonder how books like this would be received if they were published for the first time right now. Greenwitch, as always, was a delight. Women/bodies of water is basically my OTP, and women and the ocean having emotions at each other — especially if this has portentous implications for the consequences of an epic, supernatural quest — is my recipe for the perfect story, so to me, this book is pretty close to perfect.

I've slowly been gathering links, but I think this post is long enough, so I'll leave them for another time. I hope the weekend has been treating you well.

It's the fourth day of the four-day weekend, and life is good. Four days travelling is great, but four days catching my breath at home is better, and, in this case, was exactly what I needed. I got so much done, but not in a way that made anything feel rushed and frenzied.

It feels easiest to break things down into subheadings.

Gardening

When I left you on Friday, I was crowd-sourcing advice on things to plant in our recently landscaped back garden. Taking all your suggestions on board, Matthias and went to the market and gardening shop on Saturday after lunch, and returned with a truly ludicrous number of seeds and seedlings (plus there was a woman selling indoor plants so I ended up with four more of those). We spent a hour or so on Saturday, and another hour this morning starting to sow seeds and transplant seedlings. So far we've planted beetroot and parsnips in one of the vegetable patches, a few rhubarb in 1/4 of another vegetable patch, and scattered a mixture of seedlings (mainly flowers, but also a fern, and two strawberry plants) and wildflower seed mix across the raised beds in the front and back garden. It's meant to rain this afternoon (and for much of the next week), so it was a good time to get all this done.

Movement

We've been on several little wanders around the cathedral and the river — nothing too lengthy, but enough to feel the fresh air and smell all the flowering plants. I've been to the gym for my usual two hours of classes, plus 1km swim per visit on three consecutive days. And then there's been yoga — slow, restorative, stretchy classes, with the bedroom window open and the warm breeze filling the room.

Food and cooking

I won't list everything eaten this weekend, but highlights include the lamb shoulder I made yesterday (marinated in a dry spice rub overnight, then slow roasted over a bed of fennel, onions, garlic and white wine, served with a roasted red capsicum salad; I made stock out of the lamb bones this morning), today's lunch (potato salad with asparagus, radishes and cucumber, dressed in a handmade lemon-garlic-mustard dressing — no gloopy mayonnaise for me — plus some cold seafood spontaneously bought at a little pop up stall near the river), multiple hot cross buns, toasted under the grill and served with melted salty butter (the last of which we will eat with our afternoon cup of smoky tea), and the first iced coffee of the season, picked up and drunk during this morning's wanderings.

Reading

I'm working my way through Kate Elliott's Furious Heaven, the second in her gender-flipped (and very, very queer) far future Alexander the Great space opera trilogy, and loving it a lot. Like all Kate Elliott books, it's a massive doorstopper, and it takes at least 100-200 pages to work itself up to the main plot, after which point things carry on forward at a page-turning clip for the remaining 500+ pages. The worldbuilding and secondary characters are excellent.

I was also reminded (via my Goodreads feed) that the Easter long weekend is the correct time of year for a Greenwitch (Susan Cooper) reread, since the book's action takes place over a week during the Easter holidays, in a fictional Cornish seaside town. It remains my favourite book in the Dark Is Rising sequence — melancholy and haunting, with the successful completion of its child characters' quest hingeing on people's (and in particular women and girls') symbiotic relationship with the sea. (In other words, is it any wonder that this one is my favourite?) I've got about forty pages to go, and I'll finish them during the aforementioned afternoon cup of tea.

Apart from all the other activities mentioned previously, Matthias and I spent a good bit of time sitting outside — at the riverside bar yesterday, and several visits to the courtyard garden of our favourite local cafe/bar. It really does lift the spirits to be able to eat and drink outdoors again, and it only remains for us to clean our garden furniture and deck — and then we can do so in our own garden, under the flowering (and later, fruiting) trees.

Idyllic really is the only word to describe how things have been these past four days.

I watched the recording of a Zoom conversation with Samantha Shannon, hosted by a Canadian independent bookshop. In it, she covers her two current series of books, but far more interesting to me is the discussion of the work involved in reissuing The Bone Season, ten years after it was first published, with heavy edits of the structure and content. This book — Shannon's debut — was written when she was 19 and published when she was 21, and she has apparently long been dissatisfied with it. She was given an opportunity that few authors are — to republish an 'anniversary edition' with the significant editorial changes that I mentioned. This has then necessitated lighter editing and subsequent reissuing of later books in the series (all of which will come out in May next year), meaning there are going to be two different versions of the first few books in the series existing simultaneously (and apparently confusing to read if you swap between the versions). I find the whole thing fascinating.



The next literary livestream I'll mention is happening later this week — 7pm British summer time on Friday — and is a British Library-hosted conversation between Natalie Haynes and Susan Cooper (later to be joined by Simon McBurney and Robert MacFarlane, who adapted The Dark Is Rising as a radio play last year). You can book tickets to view the Zoom conversation on the British Library website.

Finally, snickfic is hosting a no-frills friending meme — follow the link to participate.

It's my birthday today, and I feel I've had a day that was a mixture of restful, and getting stuff done. This was exactly how I wanted to spend it, so things worked out fine.

I feel less and less enthused about making a big deal of birthdays, the more I have them, and it's been years since I've done anything celebratory that involved people other than Matthias or my immediate family. So I started the day with my usual swim, and then came home for breakfast, and yoga, and a delayed call with my dad, who had managed, as always, to phone when I was in the middle of doing something else (in this case, when I was submerged underwater at the pool). Later, there were video calls with my sister-in-law, nephews and niece, and with my mum and sister, like various hands reaching out from across the world.

I always try to reread The Dark Is Rising around this time of year, and it was its usual delightful blend of the cozy and the supernatural, with all that dark and danger pressing in from outside against the light and warmth of home. I've loaded up my ereader with various other cozy books for the next week or so, the string lights are on, the candles are lit, and in general everything is calm and illuminated.

I like this time of year, but it makes me contemplative and introspective.

It's been a gloomy, rainy weekend — the kind of weather that makes you want to close the doors and windows, and snuggle up at home. Thankfully, I basically had no commitments, and could spend the weekend doing exactly that. In bullet points, I have:

I cooked:

Stewed apples with cinnamon, and stewed plums, for our breakfasts for the next week.

Pasta with walnuts, capsicum, rocket and bacon, for Saturday dinner

Crepes, for Sunday breakfast

Herring salad, for Matthias's sandwiches next week

Cod with fennel, lemon, dill and potatoes for tonight's dinner (or at least I will do so in a couple of hours' time)

I exercised:

1km swimming this morning

Yoga focusing on the upper body yesterday

Anti-anxiety yoga today

I wrote:

Lots and lots of replies to comments on my Friday open thread (you all have opinions about online platforms!

After some canon review, I made a start on my Yuletide assignment. I now know the general shape of the story, and, most importantly, have got some words written. I'd say I've written about a quarter of it so far.

A plan for a couple of Yuletide treats

This post

I watched:

Lots of TV, of which more in my monthly TV post tomorrow

Don't Worry Darling, a film that started out strong (with a real classic sci-fi vibe) but had an unimaginative twist.

I read:

Vespertine (Margaret Rogerson), a book about a girl who makes an alliance with the demon which is attempting to possess her. This novel was great fun, and is one of many I've encountered in recent years which is clearly written by someone of my generation who was very, very influenced by Garth Nix's Old Kingdom series.

The Grey King (Susan Cooper), my annual Halloween reread of the fourth Dark Is Rising book. The action of this melancholy book takes place over the days around Halloween, and it's very much about haunting. Characters are haunted by their memories of the dead, but even more so by their own feelings of guilt, regret, and grief. As always with Cooper, there's a great sense of place and some amazing imagery — fire roaring down the slate-grey Welsh mountains, hawthorn hedges bisecting sheep farms, our heroes answering riddles from deep within a cave, and the golden harp which wakes the dead when played. I love it!

And that's about the sum of my weekend.

And that's how it's done.

You can always rely on Lib Dems to do the most awkward-looking, dorky, heavy-handed stunts. [WINNING HERE.]

For context, I'm no Lib Dem voter, but I'm an anything-but-the-Tories voter who will vote tactically when required and yearns for electoral reform. (First past the post is the antithesis of democracy, and tactical voting and anti-Tory alliances are the only tools at our disposal to fight it.) At present I have no time for liberals fearmongering about the 'far left,' purity posturing from disgruntled Corbyn cultists, or anyone accusing people slightly to the right of them of being 'Blairites': there are fascists at the gates, and all of these ideological differences pale in comparison.

*

Meanwhile, Ely has big The Dark Is Rising energy today.

I've finished work for the week, the month, and the year, and I am determined to be happy.

I'm feeling extremely run down and tired today, so I'll keep this post short and sweet — rather like the book in question:

22. A warm blanket of a book

( My answer )



( The other days )

I have a friend who rereads Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising every winter, aiming to match her reading to the days and nights in the leadup to Christmas, and days between Christmas and New Year's Eve, in which the events of the book take place. (I'm considering doing a similar thing this year, except I want to read the entire Dark Is Rising sequence. The problem with this approach is that Over Sea, Under Stone is so clearly set in the northern summer, and The Grey King feels really autumnal to me, so those books don't match with the current season at all.)

I've been meaning to reread Katherine Arden's Winternight trilogy for ages, but kept putting it off until the season was suitably wintry and icy to suit the books.

Do any of you have similar seasonal rereads — stories to which you return repeatedly, but only at the appropriate moment of the year? (Seasonal rewatches also fit here.) I'm really interested to find out if this is a widespread thing among people I know.

When I was a child and teenager, I consumed stories with an urgent, hungry intensity. I reread favourite books again and again until I could quote them verbatim,* I wandered around the garden pretending to be Snow White or Ariel from The Little Mermaid or Jessica Rabbit.** I had a pretty constant narrative running through my head the whole time I was awake, for the most part consisting of me being the character of a favourite story doing whatever activity I, Ronni, happened to be doing at the time. (No wonder I was a such a vague child: every activity required an extra layer of concentration in order for me to figure out why, say, the dinosaurs from The Land Before Time would be learning multiplication at a Canberra primary school.) The more I learnt about literary scholarship, the more insufferable I became, because I would talk at people about how 'URSULA LE GUIN WROTE A STORY WHERE EVERYTHING HAS A TRUE, SECRET NAME AND THEN ANOTHER USE-NAME AND ISN'T THAT AMAZING IN WHAT IT SAYS ABOUT IDENTITY?!?!' For the most part, I don't inhabit stories to the same extent, and they don't inhabit me to the same degree, although there are rare exceptions to this.

The rare exceptions tend to be things that sort of satisfy my soul in some deep and slightly subconscious way.*** And the funny thing is that although I can write lengthy essays explaining why something both appeals to me on this hungry, emotional level and is a good work of literature (indeed, I have been known to dedicate a whole blog to this), I can also remember a specific moment when reading/watching these texts and they suddenly became THE BEST THING EVER. I can remember exactly what it was for all of them.

The following is somewhat spoilerish for Romanitas, Sunshine by Robin McKinley, Galax-Arena by Gillian Rubinstein, The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper, The Demon's Lexicon, The King's Peace by Jo Walton, Parkland by Victor Kelleher, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Robin Hood: Men in Tights,
Ten Things I Hate About You, Cirque du Soleil, Pagan's Crusade by Catherine Jinks and His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman.


( Probably a closer look at my subconscious than is comfortable )

Do you have moments like that?
____________
*Which led to a very awkward moment in Year 5 when our teacher was reading Hating Alison Ashley out loud to the class, but would skip bits from time to time - whereupon I would correct her.
**(whose appeal was less that she wasn't 'bad, just drawn that way' and more due to the fact that she wore an awesome dress)
***I've seen people describe fanfic like this as 'idfic', but for me this tends to be a phenomenon of professionally published fiction.