A Fresh Start

Today is CRAZY weather-wise. It's been raining like the flood is coming off and on all day. Then it'll heat up and be warm for 20 minutes. Then cold. Now, it's back to lashing rains - with thunder and flash lightning! Woo-hoo!

In the last 24 hours I have written just over 2000 words (actually took me 2 hours, plus an hour of revision) and mailed it off to my advisor. Neat. The essay is on Margaret Barker's ideas, which, if true in any way would totally throw conventional Christianity for a loop. Maybe I'll post my essay under a filter.

I also read, in the last 24 hours, a book about Taoist sexual practices that I found used. While I do not doubt there can be spiritual and physical benefits from various forms of Eastern sexual practices, a dude wrote the book and his tone plus the content (heavily centered on how fellatio has physically restorative and spiritual benefits) makes me think: yer a douchebag.

Adam leaves for the US tomorrow. He does the dishes. It dawned on me today that I now have to do the dishes too while he's gone. Ack! Come mid to late afternoons I am *wiped out* and just want to watch tv. I feel like the worst parent ever because I know B and I are going to watch copious amounts of cartoons, movies and whatnot. Ah well. I'm pregnant. So there.

In more 'awesome parenting and domesticity' we are having left over tuna casserole. Don't all rush over for dinner, now.

Today Prince Charles and Camilla open the Welsh Quilt Centre here in Lampeter. Ten past one, to be exact. If you're interested. There are barricades and bobbies and many older couples that I am convinced are in town only for the Prince. I am already developing a sense for who lives here and who doesn't. I may be the youngest person who is obviously hanging around for a glimpse. My friend's mum owns the quilt centre and afterward Camilla is going to mum's house for a private shop of extra-special Welsh quilts. Amusing.

Also, for those of you new-ish to my LJ, I thought I'd post links to my rants on the whole Twilight thing from a couple of years ago: My first write up of the first film, More thoughts on why I feel so strongly, and after I'd read the book. The discussion in the comments ended up being great. But do enter at your own caution.

What else? It's delightfully grey here today. The Fourth of July is this weekend, so the annual homecoming to Juneau is beginning. I feel the usual homesickness and sadness that is typical of this time of year for me. I am beginning to miss a bit more excitement in my life. I think this indicates that I'm settled in, but also might be indicative of summer and a need for more energy, outings and excitement in general. I also wonder if I might have missed my calling and I'm in the wrong phd program. Maybe feminist media studies would have been better? Dunno.

Watching Australia v Germany. The Aussies are outmatched. Sigh.

It's been a rough day. B is feverish and miserable. Hardly ate. Napped twice. Passed out at 6.45pm. He crawled into 'Bennett cama' (Bennett's bed) of his own choosing at noon and asked to watch cartoons there, so that's what we did. It was sweet. All the business items I'd planned to do will have to wait until after football. I can probably quote Kung Fu Panda line for line.

Poor little guy.

I started reading Barbara Kingsolver's 'Animal, Vegetable, Miracle' but I'm not feeling it. I think I've just read too much food writing: I'm the choir to her preaching, and I don't garden.

Leffe brown Belgian beer is really good. As are my mashed potatoes. I discovered the secret: butter FIRST, then milk.

A fictional book: Fingersmith, by Sarah Waters. Here's the Amazon review:
Fingersmith is the third slice of engrossing lesbian Victoriana from Sarah Waters. Although lighter and more melodramatic in tone than its predecessor, Affinity, this hypnotic suspense novel is awash with all manner of gloomy Dickensian leitmotifs: pickpockets, orphans, grim prisons, lunatic asylums, "laughing villains," and, of course, "stolen fortunes and girls made out to be mad." Divided into three parts, the tale is narrated by two orphaned girls whose lives are inextricably linked. Waters's penchant for byzantine plotting can get a bit exhausting, but even at its densest moments--and remember, this is smoggy London circa 1862--it remains mesmerizing. A damning critique of Victorian moral and sexual hypocrisy, a gripping melodrama, and a love story to boot, this book ingeniously reworks some truly classic themes.

I loved it and could not put it down. It is my favorite of Sarah Waters books. Her first three (Affinity and Tipping the Velvet) are far superior to her more recent two, although she is such a good writer and really captures the quintessential English-ness of English literature.

A non-fiction book. I read FAR more non-fiction than fiction these days. Right now I'm reading Georg Feuerstein's Yoga: Technology of Ecstasy, as one of my home books. It is easily one of the best books about yoga I've ever read. It's not a how-to manual at all. From the Amazon blurb:

"The impulse toward transcendence is intrinsic to human life. Nowhere has this drive found a more consistent and versatile expression than in India. The civilization of India has spawned an overwhelming variety of spiritual beliefs, practices, and approaches. The goal of Yoga, the most famous and globally widespread of India's spiritual traditions, is to take us beyond ourselves to the Absolute Reality, to the utterly blissful union of the individual self with the transcendental Divine... This book features a lucid explanation of Yoga's roots in Indian culture, outlines its relationship to other important Indian traditions, and discusses the diverse forms it has taken in Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism."

A fanfic: N/A

My favorite book.

This favorites thing is a challenge. I love many things, but favorites? The book I've read the most (not counting parts of the Bible) is Orwell's 1984. For many many years CS Lewis's novel Til We Have Faces was it, but I haven't read it in years. I was blown away by MZ Bradley's Mists of Avalon, especially the first 2/3. But I adored Stoker's Dracula and Tolstoy's Anna Karenina are also way up high on the list. Both of those books I read and wondered why it had taken me so long to get around to reading them.

I adore books and reading. These days I read LOADS of non-fiction, for fun and for profit.

I'm barely cognizant of what is going on in British politics. What I do know is thanks to Facebook updates. How sad is that?

Come 5.30pm I am downright knackered. I've got a brief second wind, but I suspect I've got only 20 minutes left.

Bennett is growing so fast. New words every few hours. And the hitting. Oh my lord, the hitting. It's mostly just me. I'll take it. At least he's not hitting other kids.

B loves to tells stories. He loves to tell the one about when he and I were at our favorite cafe and the owner's baby A--- knocked over a glass of water. It goes like this: 'A---. Knock. Aga.' (That's how he says agua, water in Spanish) Points to the floor. He also tells me the story of how one day he and Adam and I were in the cemetery. I left and he cried and was sad and ran around with Adam. Every single time we go through the cemetery he tells it (which is at least once every day). That story looks like this: I'm pushing him down the hill in the pushchair. At the same place every time, he waves good bye in front of him. 'Mama'. He looks at me. He makes his sad sound and sign and points to the field on our right. 'Papa.' If it weren't so cute and such a fascinating developmental leap, I'd be driven mad by the repetition.

I keep forgetting to make vegetables for dinner. It's been very meat and carb heavy around here.

I'm reading way too many things at once. Mentally I feel like I have too many loose ends. They're all non-fiction items. I'm super close to finishing one book. When I do, I'm starting a novel.

Ok. I'm fading. I give myself 10 more minutes before I turn into mush.

I created a wish list on the UK Amazon.

My birthday is coming up. In 5 weeks I'll be 35. Dood. For some reason this birthday makes me feel old. Maybe it's just motherhood that has aged me.

Bennett is 4 weeks + shy of his 2nd birthday and he is 36 inches tall. He still only has 9 (of 12) teeth. Perhaps his body could put some of that growth into more teeth, eh?

Last night's chowder was delish and so easy. I will make a recipe post later today, because wow, I've gotten some good stuff! Tonight I'm making amitriciana (or something like that). Basically, it's like puttanseca with more pancetta and no anchovies, olives or capers. But I might add anchovies anyway. MMMMmmmmm.

I am reading The Spell of the Sensuous. It's beautiful. The first chapter helps put into words some of what felt so suffocating in the Bay Area, what I miss about Alaska, and what I love about living here. I'm certain this book will provoke a longer post in the future.

I think living in Wales is killing my LJ habit. There's just not much to write about. Life is peaceful, delicious, green, and utterly magical in its sheer ordinariness. The days blur: reading, laughing, eating, walking, playing outside. Bennett thrives. He is night weaned and is sleeping through the night. His language skills leap every day. In fact, for some words and concepts he seems to be functioning only in Spanish. Crazy. He knows colors in Spanish, English and Welsh. And he's nearing two. When he's tired - hoo boy: tears and gnashing of teeth, I tell you.

Over the weekend I read Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers. It's an easy, quick read and pretty enjoyable. What makes him enjoyable is also what makes him downright annoying to me. Just stick with a damn story and I don't need three examples of cultural miscommunication to get your point, thank you. However, I greatly appreciate his dismantling of the American success myths: being self-made, talent and genius being innate, etc. I've never bought into the first. I've long understood how one's context, environment, access to opportunity, etc can help or hinder a person's chances of success. Gladwell talks a lot about class being a factor in educational success but I think it's more of one's cultural class than just monetary class. He has several examples that point to this, without being explicit about it. This idea led to some personal reflection.

My family definitely had upper middle class values but was very, very working class (until I was in solidly in my teens). My father hasn't moved much out of the working class mind set - call him retired and he bristles (he's busy growing his own food and building the houses he lives in), call him wealthy and well.... I wouldn't say that to his face, even though he and my mother split their time between two continents. I see how my parents' value on education helped me pursue my academic desires. They may not understand the content of my studies, but they very much respect that I am pursuing these degrees. Fitting with the more working class idea of kids doing their own things, I was left to cultivate myself. I'm grateful for this because I think kids need to ample time to play and do nothing and learn about being bored. But this is easy to say because I have always been self-directed and one to take the initiative in my interests, which my parents would then try to facilitate. But we never went to the theatre or to hear live music, or all those other 'townie' things that I wished I could have done. It's amazing that I started singing at all.

Which leads me to another reflection: I completely bought into the 'genius is innate' idea. I started singing thinking I had some natural ability, which I do, but I think I've always thought that if I was really talented it wouldn't be so hard and so fraught with angst. But that's not true. The people who get to be great singers and performers are people who didn't let the angst and hard work stop them, people who had opportunities, who loved the process and worked hard, all the time. I can't say that I did those things, or at least, not very consistently. This 'talent is innate, so if it doesn't come easily then what's the use' idea is sadly ingrained in me. I see it crop up in many other areas of my life. I think it was easy to believe because some things have come absurdly easy to me: reading and most school. I didn't have to work hard to get a respectable B+. A smidge of effort and I'd get an A. (Except math, but that's another story for another day.) Reading and words are like breathing to me, so I think I just assumed that's how everything was. But what I didn't take into consideration is that my mother read to me from an early age (I don't remember this at all), that the house was filled with books, that I saw my parents read all the time, that I was allowed to spend entire days engrossed in a book. Malcolm Gladwell says that it takes about 10,000 hours to become a master at something. I'm pretty sure I've more than logged my 10,000 hours reading.

Interesting stuff.

*Keypikian? Keypikite? Keypiker? I think I like the first choice.

Weather: It's wet and grey here. But the birds are chirping happily. It's neither cold nor warm.

Dinner tonight: roast chicken, carrots, and potatoes with garlicky salad

Currently reading: a collection of essays called Archaeologies of Consciousness: Essays in Experimental Prehistory by a guy known only as Gyrus. It's neat stuff.

It's a full moon tonight. I don't think we'll be able to see it.