Black-Eyed Suzie

Dolls. Words.

Books

Jane Eyre

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Life is very busy these days, as Mr. L and I have both started school again (our translation degrees).  I'm only taking one class, but must squeeze all the reading and writing into baby M's naps or after he's asleep for the night, and by that time, my brain is basically mush.  I have started my next batch of dolls, but they are moving slowly...will post some WIP photos as soon as I have something worth documenting. 

  Jane eyre movie
We did make time to watch a movie this past weekend: Cary Joji Fukunaga's adaptation of Jane Eyre, which I thoroughly enjoyed.  I've professed my love for for Gothic literature on this blog before, and Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights is one of my favourites, but somehow I've made this far without ever having read Charlotte's Jane Eyre. Anyway, now I feel I must because I loved the movie.  It had all the delicious elements of the Gothic I love - desolate English landscape, dark castle, brooding man, struggling-to-be-free woman - but without descending into caricature or ridiculing the genre, which is easy to do.  It's actually quite understated and beautiful and Micheal Fassbender (who plays Rochester) is a serious honey.  

Jane eyre book
 I even enjoyed Mia Wasikowska; she put me off in Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland (so disappointing!) and I didn't really get the big fuss about The Kids are Alright, but I thought she was very well-cast here.  So, another addition to my ever-lengthening list  of books I don't have time to read.  Oh, how it mocks me.  If you have such a list, you might consider this in the meantime...

Poltroons, Beware!

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Where has February gone?  These days I'm functioning on about half my pre-baby brain power, such as it was, and I have almost no concept of time.  I was shocked to see that it's been over three weeks since I last posted.  M. had a few fussy weeks when even his once-loved sling couldn't console him, which made me so sad, and every spare I had was consumed by the more mundane aspects of life like laundry and dishes.  But it seems to have passed and he's now settled into a sleep routine, which makes for a much happier baby.  He even goes to bed at a regular hour, which I never expected to happen so early, so last night I started a few new dolls and it felt great to get back to it.

In the heart of the sea

Back when baby M was just a brand-new little squishy and slept all the time, I read a great, non-fiction book called In the Heart of the Sea.  It's about a 19th century whaleship, the Essex, that was rammed by a sperm whale and later inspired Herman Mellville to write the most excellent Moby Dick. After the ship sank, some of  the crew survived over three onths at sea in the smaller whaling boats, but many perished from very unpleasant things such as starvation and cannibalism. I have a bit of thing for hight seas adventure tales.  They strike me  as very romanitc and exciting (well, not the gruesome, eating-your-shipmates parts). But I know they were most likely quite miserable most of the time and you couldn't pay me to go to sea.  Like most 'exciting' things, I'd much prefer to read about it than do it because I'm essentially a pretty dull, cowardly hermit at heart.

Moby dick cover

So if you're in the mood for a good read, I heartily recommend both these books, and even The Perfect Storm - which was a very bad movie - is an interesting read. Not the most inspired writing, very some very interesting accounts of fishing and weather and life in New England fishing communities.  We're still in the clutches of deep winter here, so a little escapism is very useful...

The perfect storm

A Little Fireside Reading

Beloved People of Mine, BooksYour Name12 Comments

I often dream of someday having a real fireside to curl up by, of course while sipping brandy and reading some good books.  But for now I usually read huddled under some absurd configuration of scarves, ponchos and wool blankets, as close as I can get to my baseboard heaters without actually lying on the floor -  whatever it takes to stay warm in these cruel winter months.  I've been reading both some pretty silly and not-so-silly stuff lately, but I'll share the stuff that has the best covers and would be most delicious by my imaginary fire.

Wimsey 1

To read Dorothy L. Sayers and is to release your inner gentleman detective. Lord Peter Wimsey is an aristocrat and a PI; he is a dilettante in the sense that he doesn't work for money, but no scoundrel ever  eludes him!  There are sentences in Sayers' books that make me laugh out loud.  To wit: "'The unidentified body in the bathtub wore only a pince-nez and was unabashedly dead." Most of the Wimsey books are novel-length, but some are collections of stories and the titles of these are also hilarious:  'The Abominable History of the Man with the Copper Fingers'; 'The Vindictive Story of the Footsteps that Ran', etc. Fire or not, these are good fun.

Wimsey group

And I'm almost finished a creepy and gripping little book by Shirley Jackson, who wrote the oft-anthologized short story, 'The Lottery'.  We Have Always Lived in the Castle was sent to me by my friend Tommy, along with many other wonderful, wee things that really deserve their own post; they are doll-sized and have their own story.  Tommy said that my dolls remind him of the sisters in the book, Constance and Merricat, so of course I devoured it and he knows me and my dollies so well;  while I was reading, I kept imagining how what the doll versions of these characters might look like.

Castle

I have a few Alices that are nearly done, so I'll be back in a few days with some photos, but I hope you'll all stay warmed by fireplaces - real or imaginary - until then. (Unless you're somewhere very hot - then I send you breezes and drinks full of fruit and crushed ice!)

Hey February, You're Okay

Beloved People of Mine, Books, Things I did Today (or Yesterday)Your Name12 Comments

I have somewhat ambivalent feelings about February.  Why I hate it: it's cold.  By the time February rolls around, it's been winter for a while and it's still going to continue to be winter for another long  while, at least up here in the tundra Montréalaise.  Why it's better than it might be otherwise: it's short.  Why I love it: my birthday!  So, this past weekend, I turned 35.  For some reason, it felt significant.  I am firmly entrenched in my thirties  - not just dabbling.  I'm an adult.  Yes, technically I've been an adult for 17 years, but I still don't really feel like one, so the whole aging thing still seems a bit absurd to me.  How can I be 35?  Only grown-ups turn 35...  I remember when my mom turned 36 and I felt so sorry for her.  I was 10 at the time and figured her life was pretty much over as far as any kind of fun and excitement were concerned - what more could she possibly have to look forward to?   Well, of course now I know that that's not so very old at all, and I still look forward to so many things, and I still love getting spoiled on my birthday, so thankfully Mr. L doesn't listen to me when I tell him not to...

Picture 1
This year I got a beautiful snowskirt, made by our lovely friend Lienne and her team of Fantasy World Heroes.  These skirts are the perfect thing to wear over your clothes in winter to keep your thighs warms and so much more stylish than the ratty wool blanket I've been known tie around my waist while shuffling about the apartment, bemoaning the cold.  I think the snowskirt was as much a gift for L. as for me - at least he won't have to endure that disturbing sight any longer.  They're on sale at the moment, so now is the perfect time to fancy-up those cold legs...

Picture 3

(photo credit: Fantasy World Heroes)

I also got a very fancy camera bag and some beautiful books from both Mr. L and my dear friend Rebecca.

  Book
Mr. L gave me this one by Donald Barthelme for my children's book collection, and Rebecca gave me these sweet, illustrated mini-books put out by McSweeney's.

Books
There's something about tiny books that just kills me, and the backs of these make up an illustration, almost like a puzzle:

Books back
In addition to all this spoiling-with-gifts, Mr. L took me out for a great meal at an Italian restaurant on Saturday and I further spoiled myself by ordering a glass of 20-year-old port after dinner.  Twenty years does indeed make a difference - it was liquid love.  Finally, just to prove that 20 years might make a difference when it comes to the of maturing port, but not much of one when it comes to maturing me, on Sunday, Mr. L and Rebecca and I watched one of my favourite movies from those awkward tweener years, the unapologetically silly Weird Science. Apparently, my sense of humour has refined very little since 1985 because I still laughed the whole way through.