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mallorys_cameraNot a whole lot going on. My mental dialogues with the Small Still Voice mostly take the form of, “Hmmm… I wonder if that Chewy delivery is gonna come today,” and “Pretty Litter doesn’t really work the way the advertisements say it’s gonna work, does it?”
Weeded for three hours in the spiraling heat yesterday, which was a big mistake because I could barely think when I got back to the casa. And there was Remuneration to do!
Stalked a butterfly:
Yesterday’s garden haul:
Garden has not been as productive this year as it has been in previous years, which is a bit mystifying since I actually did more soil prep this year.
The basil bolted early. Ditto (of all weird things) the lettuce. And though I stayed on top of lopping off the flowers, the basil leaves are now all yellowing (which means no pesto) and the lettuce is bitter.
It’s late in the season for replanting, but I’m gonna try and replant the basil anyway.
Because pesto.
###
Gave up on Expiration Date, and started rereading Sometimes a Great Notion.
After I watched the Newman/Woodward documentary, I tracked down the film version of Sometimes a Great Notion, which Newman both starred in and directed (long story.). Despite being widely dismissed as a mediocre movie, it’s not actually a mediocre movie. Paul Newman is just about perfect as Hank Stamper and it’s impossible not to sob uncontrollably when Joe-Ben drowns.
So, I figured, Wot the hell. Give the book a whirl.
It’s true I’ve always hated Ken Kesey. I hated Ken Kesey back when it was fashionable to ❤️LUV❤️ Ken Kesey. I hate Jack Kerouac, too (though I’ve read practically every Jack Kerouac bio ever written.). And Allen Ginsberg.
But I’m all about the desolate canons that litter the long deserted highway of Great American Literature.
I will say Sometimes a Great Notion has a very strong sense of place.
What I like to call terroir.
I mean, terroir is such a great concept! Why limit it to wines?
Look up from practically any paragraph in Sometimes a Great Notion, close your eyes, and on the insides of your eyelids, you can almost see one of those forlorn little Oregon or Washington or northern California lumber towns floating in the hypnogogic darkness.
All truly great literature has a sense of place.
###
I feel this great sense of disconnect in me. Like I’m floating away from the continental land mass. Depression? The ever-narrowing gap between me and death? The beginning of dementia?
I don’t have a clue.
It’s not a particularly unpleasant feeling, though I suppose if I were feeling more connected, I might worry about it.
Weeded for three hours in the spiraling heat yesterday, which was a big mistake because I could barely think when I got back to the casa. And there was Remuneration to do!
Stalked a butterfly:
Yesterday’s garden haul:
Garden has not been as productive this year as it has been in previous years, which is a bit mystifying since I actually did more soil prep this year.
The basil bolted early. Ditto (of all weird things) the lettuce. And though I stayed on top of lopping off the flowers, the basil leaves are now all yellowing (which means no pesto) and the lettuce is bitter.
It’s late in the season for replanting, but I’m gonna try and replant the basil anyway.
Because pesto.
###
Gave up on Expiration Date, and started rereading Sometimes a Great Notion.
After I watched the Newman/Woodward documentary, I tracked down the film version of Sometimes a Great Notion, which Newman both starred in and directed (long story.). Despite being widely dismissed as a mediocre movie, it’s not actually a mediocre movie. Paul Newman is just about perfect as Hank Stamper and it’s impossible not to sob uncontrollably when Joe-Ben drowns.
So, I figured, Wot the hell. Give the book a whirl.
It’s true I’ve always hated Ken Kesey. I hated Ken Kesey back when it was fashionable to ❤️LUV❤️ Ken Kesey. I hate Jack Kerouac, too (though I’ve read practically every Jack Kerouac bio ever written.). And Allen Ginsberg.
But I’m all about the desolate canons that litter the long deserted highway of Great American Literature.
I will say Sometimes a Great Notion has a very strong sense of place.
What I like to call terroir.
I mean, terroir is such a great concept! Why limit it to wines?
Look up from practically any paragraph in Sometimes a Great Notion, close your eyes, and on the insides of your eyelids, you can almost see one of those forlorn little Oregon or Washington or northern California lumber towns floating in the hypnogogic darkness.
All truly great literature has a sense of place.
###
I feel this great sense of disconnect in me. Like I’m floating away from the continental land mass. Depression? The ever-narrowing gap between me and death? The beginning of dementia?
I don’t have a clue.
It’s not a particularly unpleasant feeling, though I suppose if I were feeling more connected, I might worry about it.
