Thursday, December 20, 2012
For hands and feet
The weather has been rather mild after the snow and ice that covered this part of the world just a few days before I arrived. Impractical dresser that I am I brought elbow-length evening gloves and no other type, but, coupled with my moss-stitch wrist warmers (the length of the gloves scrunched up underneath), they suffice for now.
I am knitting socks with leftover yarn at record speed - usually it takes me weeks, as I pick up the needles now and again for a few minutes, but I knitted one sock in two days this time.
I am still reading and re-reading Marion Milner - I always have several books on the go, and this is one that is accompanied by plenty of note-taking (and I will share my thoughts soon), and The Lacuna tempted me not only because I was in need of books that make "everything else in life seem unimportant", but also because it takes in Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera and things I spent a large chunk of my university years on.
But right now I am reading my airplane book (the requirements for that are 'lightweight' and 'easy to read'; I usually fly in the early morning after getting up at midnight) - Nicci French's The Safe House. I read tons of psychological thrillers when I was a teenager, and somehow, being back in my childhood home, it seems appropriate. Not that it isn't appropriate at other times. I am intrigued by husband-wife writing duos, how they work, and particularly how both female and male sensibilities imbue the writing as a result. I am not saying that a male author is not able to convincingly get inside the head of a female character and vice versa, but there is a difference when the book is written by authors of both genders, even simply in the reader's knowledge of that fact.