In keeping with this winter’s orderly scheduling of storms on weekends only, it is indeed crudding prodigiously out there. It’s been freezing rain for hours now and is supposed to continue throughout the day and into tomorrow morning so you know what that means. The power outage map shows outages creeping our way so it’s time to heat some lunch while I still can.
I’m not the only one anticipating an afternoon off:
Like a lot of people, I am fascinated by the doomed Franklin Expedition. Everything about it is horrifyingly captivating: the questionable abilities of Franklin, the dodgy food, the cryptic notes left behind, the overconfidence of the British Admiralty, the determination of Lady Franklin to find her missing husband, and, most of all, what it was like for all those men trapped by ice, knowing there was no way out.
Because of this fascination, I’ve consumed a lot of Franklin Expedition books, articles and documentaries. (I even watched a TV show called The Terror, in which the crew was menaced by a magical polar bear. The cast did their best, but…well, it wasn’t my kind of thing. Let’s leave it at that.)
But somehow I missed On the Proper Use of Stars by Dominique Fortier, which was shortlisted for the Governor General’s Award for French Fiction in 2009 (as Du bon usage des étoiles) and then shortlisted again in 2010 for the French to English Translation by Sheila Fischman. I loved it. The poetic language, the flashes of humour, the shifting perspectives, the subtly mounting feelings of dread and hopelessness and helplessness – it’s perfect. Five stars.
Late morning and we’re well into another big snowstorm today – our third in four weeks. The forecast for this weekend is a foot or two of snow followed by ten hours of freezing rain, then a whole pile of rain, then a hard freeze, all accompanied by 110 km/h winds. The thought of our inevitable power outage doesn’t bother me much since all my favourite activities – reading, knitting, rug hooking, snacking, sleeping – don’t require power anyway. I’m definitely in the minority, but I’ll take this over a heat wave any day.
Because she knows I’m always seeking to improve my art history education, Anna borrowed this for me from the Halifax library and it is a winner. Featuring the work of hundreds of women from all over the world during the last five centuries or so, it was a great introduction to so many fabulous artists I’d never heard of before. I was a teensy bit disappointed by the relatively low proportion of Canadians, but I’ll call it Highly Recommended nonetheless.
Shortly after the Second World War, Helene Hanff, a young writer in New York City, sent a request to a used book shop in London and thus began a two decade friendship in letters with an employee of the store, Frank, as well as Frank’s wife, daughter, co-workers and even a neighbour.
I loved the wit and charm of the letters, the take on then-current events, the personal updates, and, of course, all the book talk.
A short volume, but a really lovely read for those days when you have lost all faith in humanity.
“…it was a cruel shame a girl couldn’t ‘ave a bit of fun without a nasty corpse comin’ in through the window to get ‘er into difficulties.”
-from Whose Body by Dorothy L Sayers
I made a pair of these cabled mitts for each of the girls, although one pair escaped the house before I could get a photo.
My own design in MacAusland’s wool.
It’s a rarity for the child of a knitter to request even more knitwear, so when Charlotte mentioned before Christmas that she could use a new pair of mitts, I was all over it.
Hat, cowl and mittens of my own design (only using 2 x 2 rib so not as impressive as it sounds) in a long-stashed blend called Glen by Debbie Bliss. I think they’re okay.
