Book Discoveries

Yay! Just when I think to myself that there can't possibly be another good author out there, I discover that there is. Here are three series I am currently enjoying:

• The Brother Cadfael mysteries by Ellis Peters
• Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles: Yes, I have a bloodthirsty side. Okay, maybe not. But I do love Rice's sensual prose and completely unpredictable plots. These stories are truly grandiose.
• The Horatio Hornblower series by C.S. Forester: My brother introduced me to these. Splendid writing full of nautical terminology that is so artfully used I can pretend I understand it. Humorous and harrowing adventures. A unique characteristic of Forester's storytelling is his pacing - sometimes crawling along through the moments, other times skipping blithely over whole days or even years. If I could start my life over, I think I'd give more careful consideration to becoming a sailor.

Brain Fog

"You seem more alert," said a friend the other day. We hadn't seen each other in over six months. It was the first comment someone had made about my Lyme treatment that actually made sense. People keep telling me how healthy I look, and it's a wonderful compliment, really, but healthy is not how I feel. I've been taking the antibiotics for about a month now and I've been nothing but tired. (Although the predictably low energy is an improvement over the wildly unpredictable crashes I was experiencing more frequently over the last nine months or so.)

Despite the low energy, I've found myself waking up earlier than usual in the mornings, and very motivated to work. It's been puzzling. Previously I could lay in bed for days (or so it felt) and not really care that I wasn't doing anything interesting. Now I try to stay busy, because otherwise I feel bored. Now where did that idea come from? I guess my brain isn't tired anymore. All along I thought it was physical fatigue and pain alone that were sapping my productivity, but now I'm thinking that brain fog was a major culprit.

Brain fog is a symptom of Lyme disease. Up to a few weeks ago, I knew I suffered from it, but didn't think it was severe. Only now that it's lifting do I realize the extent of it. It must have crept in on little cat feet over the years, and I gradually adapted to it. Maybe back when I was a college student, humiliated because I couldn't succeed on tests - maybe that was Lyme disease. Or maybe it didn't start until more recently. At any rate, somewhere along the line thinking started to get more difficult, and I just assumed it was my fault or my problem.

The last few days, I've been getting the same headaches I used to get as a college freshman. It extends from between my shoulder blades, up the back of my neck, and around to my temples. This is nowhere near as severe as a migraine; I'm not complaining about that. It just makes me sad because back then I assumed it was because of studying and not sleeping and stress, and I blamed myself. And maybe it wasn't my fault at all.

Companiable Silence

A friend visited me today, and after we had talked and eaten, she worked on the computer while I did ribbon embroidery, then she took a nap while I read, and then she read while I did dishes. It made me think of the time another friend and I ate almost an entire meal together without speaking (we were each reading something, I admit), and at one point she said, "We would make good hermits."

I think a good friend is someone you can be quiet with.

Large-Family Math

There are ten people living in my house with four cars among us, two of which are disabled in the driveway (including the twelve-seater); a third has been stalling randomly. My brother just arrived home for the weekend with his pickup (seats three). Tomorrow morning we must all arrive at church at two different times, along with the two fellow churchmembers who ride with us. After the service we must arrive home in time for four of us to depart for various activities including a work shift. If you do the math, you'll find it adds up to an irrational number.

Angel Street

Here is a review of my sister's latest play.

"Behind November came deep winter . . .

A calm day had settled into a crystalline evening; the world wore a North Pole coloring: all its lights and tints looked like the 'reflets' of white, or violet, or pale green gems. The hills were a lilac-blue; the setting sun had purple in its red; the sky was ice, all silvered azure; when the stars rose, they were of white crystal - not gold; gray, or cerulean, or faint emerald hues - cool, pure, and transparent - tinged the mass of the landscape.

"What is this by itself in a wood no longer green, no longer even russet; a wood, neutral tint - this dark blue moving object? Why, it is a schoolboy . . . who has left his companions, now trudging home by the high road, and is seeking a certain tree, with a certain mossy mound at its root - convenient as a seat. Why is he lingering here? - the air is cold, and the time wears late . . . Does he feel the chaste charm nature wears tonight? A pearl-white moon smiles through the gray trees . . ."

~ Charlotte Bronte, Shirley, ch. 9

Don't Forget to Dream

Today, my good friend said that my next step in life should be to plant a garden. "And you could have a chicken," she added. "In fact, you could have a farm."

And a longstanding dream came flooding back over me: the small house with the big garden and the goat or the cow and the donkey and the farm dog and the barn cats and the berry patch and the pond with weeping willows around it and the Easter lily bank and Christmas tree grove. As we talked I added a lighthouse or silo which would be my office where I would write. "And you need an apple tree or apricot tree," said my friend.

It's been a while since I've let myself really dream. I miss it.