I am in an existentialist funk. I almost modified that to “a bit of an existentialist funk” but you’re either in an existentialist funk or you’re not. I am in one.
Part of this stems from an overarching, extremely icky feeling that more things are ending than beginning. In fact, that’s all of it, though that feeling has many, many subsets. One of those subsets concerns this very blog. I try not to get too meta here, and in general am a big believer that if you can’t say anything nice, keeping mum is best. But lately that’s meant that I’m always keeping mum so I’m going to write through my ennui if only as a (wan) way to wave hello. Perhaps as a plus I’ll iron something out. Continue Reading →
The weather has been cold, damp, interminably British. I inadvertently cut off most of my mermaid hair in what I’m calling the 
On the way home last night from a lovely evening of books and dinner and drinks with old friends, I felt happy enough about my blue and gold nest with soft sweet sheets and soft sweet permakitten and soft sweet quiet awaiting me. Then I remembered it was peony season and sighed just the tiniest bit. Once, just once, I thought, I’d like a suitor who was the type to buy me