News Of the Week In Review

Kid claims I poisoned him. I claim it was merely coincidence that we both started throwing up almost immediately after eating a vile rigatoni and tomato sauce dish I served Sunday night. Whichever the case, we’ve both been sick as dogs for the past couple of days, nausea, intense stomach cramps and all those other delightful symptoms that go under the heading of Too Much Information To Read About Someone Who Lives In Your Computer.

Tornado watch last night. And a magnificent electrical storm. But sunny and warm two days in a row.

When it’s sunny I get to dress like Katharine Mansfield, the now-obscure 1920s short story writer who had rather a penchant for mixing earth-tone frocks with outré hosiery and a stylish bob. Mansfield lives on mostly through the character of Gudrun in D. H. Lawrence’s Women In Love. Lawrence was one of my favorite authors, well into my 20s, but when I tried to reread Sons and Lovers a few months ago, I found it impossible slogging, just very slow and uninteresting. Mansfield was a particular heroine of mine because one day while she was sitting in a café, she happened to overhear two enemies of Lawrence’s poking fun of him by reading one of his letters aloud.

“Excuse me,” she said, marching up to their table. And plucked the letter from one of the men’s hands. And shredded it as they watched.

For years and years and years, I thought her act was quite the truest testimony to friendship I’d ever read about.

Now, of course, I just think it’s stupid. Enemies lists, messianic complexes. The letter was rather ridiculously pompous and overwrought.

I continue to like some of Lawrence’s short stories and poetry.

Else?

The green things are rioting. I had no idea that trees had flowers before their foliage comes in.

I’m trying to decide whether Terroir and Jayne LeGro is good enough to submit to Tin House. Or Tennyson Woo Explains It All To You. Or Projections and Ernie McGrew.

The NPR science reporter has taken to emailing two or three times a day and calling every other day – which is too much given the fact that we live 800 miles away from one another which makes a casual meeting, sans expectations, highly unlikely. I do like the gentleman – but when I saw he was calling yesterday, I didn’t pick up the phone and I still haven’t listed to his voicemail. I’m feeling pressured, I suppose.