restingmotion

Bookish Meanderings

October is almost over and I haven't even caught up with book posts from September.

 

Before assembling the above collage I would have said that I did not read much in September, but as I worked through the 15 books I realized that my sense of "not much" was related more deeply to the relatively light and transitive nature of my reading more than anything else.  Two books, by Elizabeth Peters and Debbie Macomber where picked up at McKays primarily as disposable airplane books, and I read both on my flight to Scotland.  Neither one came home with me, one abandoned in NY and the other passed on to a friend on the Scotland trip.  But truly, book posts are not about such mundane things as how much or how little I read, or how smart or how frivolous and silly my choices are.  Book posts are more for me to look back and reflect, and often what I find upon review is different than my first impressions, that value is a very subjective thing, and often surprisingly unrelated to my original ideas of importance or quality.  

I have to admit that of the Man Booker nominated books I read in September my favorite was Ali Smith's Autumn, which still occasionally haunts my thoughts.  I must also admit that I will not feel sad if I never read another book by Zadie Smith.  She can write well, but her characters and her stories confound me, and unlike some authors who can write about people and situations that are completely outside my own assumptions about life, and leave me bereft, unmoored, and often a better person, Zadie Smith's novels do not have that effect, at least not on this reader.

Actually my favorite books were not profound, although a couple of the non-fictions are still nibbling away at the fringes of my mind.  Hillbilly Elegy was reread for a class, and it paired nicely with The Sum of Small Things, both reminding me of other books I have read this year.  Both books may be slated for an eventual, focused, rereading, along with a couple of other titles, if only to help me clarify my own thoughts.  The books that I actually loved were the Louise Penny mysteries, especially Glass Houses, which I wrote about previously, and Still Life as Well.  Both novels were picked up at McKay's, our local second hand bookstore, and were fortunate finds.  Both novels also, despite being highly entertaining and easy to read, had their own mind bending qualities, sending their own sets of signals down my neural pathways, occasionally to resurface here and there, when least anticipated.

The other book that I enjoyed immensely and have picked up numerous times, not least because I have left it out in the sunroom where it is perfect placed for moments where a little light entertainment is needed, is Alyson Walsh's Know Your Style.  It is not so much a how-to manual, and I tend to think those are all far too prescriptive anyway.  If you haven't figured out that I both love rules and chafe at them by now, well, here it is.  But I find the book charming and inspiring, and just fun.  Admittedly I like the drawings as well as the individual views and voices.  I purchased the British edition, not being the most patient sort anyway, and I added it on to an order of a few books I wanted to read from the Man-Booker list which were not yet available in the United States.  Note that I have not yet read the literary fiction, only the frivolous style book, so it is possible I could have waited for the US publication dates.  But one can lost down dark alleys if one spends too much time spent wandering the pathways revealed by the retrospectoscope; glancing acknowledgement of past excesses and mistakes, and a brighter look toward the future seems more promising.

 

It is raining and growing colder by the hour.  This may be the perfect day for a pot of chili, a fire, and a good book, an escapist book.  I was just notified by the local library that my turn has finally rolled around for last year's Jack Reacher novel Night School, and I may just curl up and let my mind still for a bit.

 

 

Weekend Escape

I spent the weekend in Sewanee Tennessee at a women's retreat.  It was a wonderful weekend, filled with warmth and fun, and I hope it is something that we will do again.

 

The first night, however, I couldn't sleep, and arose in the wee hours to lie on the grass and watch meteors.  I did see some, and then I returned to my room just in time for the predawn light show:

 

There are no photos in this story of the women who attended, as I asked no one's permission, and although I did manage to take one good photo of a couple of friends, which I have shared,  I still tend to be better at taking photos of things.  I'm not about to suss that out:  I value people and time spent with people more, and I don't care about things all that much, but I take pictures of things and places rather than people.  People are always in my heart anyway and when I am with them, somehow, taking photos is the last thing on my mind.  Therefore I am grateful, eternally, for friends who remember to take photos.

One afternoon we walked around the campus of the University of the South.

We visited the chapel, and walked to a smaller chapel, at the school of Theology, but I didn't manage to take any photos there, just photos along the walk.  

Oops.  I did take a photo while I was in the chapel at the school of theology, but it was not of the chapel.  I was looking through the window at a house seen through the trees.  The chapel was lovely, but the view of the house, right next door and yet both visible and hidden, intrigued me.  I am continually drawn to those, framed and isolated images of life through windows, as if I am looking at reality while at the same time one step removed. The effect is somehow simultaneously magical and mundane, reminding me of the fragile balance of our lives, and the treasure of it as well.

 

That magical view of the house through the trees somehow primed me for a magical evening as well.  We attended a wonderful and peaceful sung evening prayer service at the small convent of St. Mary's and were offered a tour as well.  Both the larger area where we stayed as a group, and the convent itself were beautifully calm and peaceful, and I can see myself returning to the convent for a private retreat, enjoying the peaceful setting and the stunning views.  The evening ended later, with our own prayerful ritual of lights in the darkness.

I'm still thinking about those weekend conversations, the women with whom I had an opportunity to share moments of grace and build friendship, even more that sense that we could all join arm in arm and heal the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sleep Deprived First Impressions of Edinburgh

I've been distracted of late, and my words have been lost in the fog of my thoughts. 

While waiting to be able to check into our hotel, that first day in Scotland, we went up to Edinburgh Castle.  Apparently, I was more entranced by the views from the castle than the castle itself, except perhaps for a few bits here and there. 

 

Regardless, following are my first impressions of Edinburgh.

 

I am away at a retreat.  Hopefully my words, and more pictures, will follow shortly.  Have a glorious weekend.

 

 

 

 

Eating, Drinking, and (Some) Sleeping in Scotland

First meal at home after traveling: local lamb chops and sugar snap peas  (not local).

I went to Scotland as part of a group organized by Nancy Erickson. I had been on Nancy's first Italy tour, 20 years ago, and now on her first(?) Scotland Tour. The focus was a mix of fashion and history, with tours of historic sites, knitting and weaving mills, and outlets.  Nancy is a warm and wonderful guide, my friend Liana is warm and funny and a great roommate, and I had a good time.  It was my first trip to Scotland, my first trip out of the country since George died, and my first trip out of the country since I learning of my own dietary restrictions.  

Perhaps it is because I am thinking about food, being home and once again engaged in shopping and cooking and all that, perhaps it is just because food was a minor concern, but it seems like a good enough place to start.  Above, Liana and I are sharing complimentary gin and tonics in the lobby of the G&V Royal Mile Hotel our first afternoon in Edinburgh.

 

First, the Hotels:  

We stayed at the G&V Royal Mile in Edinburgh.  The location was convenient, both to the Royal mile, but it was also a short walk from Grassmarket, an area with many small shops and nice options for dining on those evenings we were on our own.  The hotel is fairly contemporary.  I liked our room and although the bed was a little hard for me, the pillows were divinely soft and fluffy.  Espresso, tea, water and milk were provided at no charge in the room, and were generously replaced daily, and on request.  Our first room was large and roomy with space to sit and chat, and the second (after going up to Inverness and returning) was smaller but still charming.  In our first room the A/C worked beautifully and we could adjust the temperature to suit us.  In the second room, it was always hot.  Once, in the middle of the night, Liana turned the temperature down to 16°C and a cool breeze briefly circulated, only for the room to quickly return to stifling heat.  The next night, the room was in the upper 70s (F) but the thermostat was still set to 16 and I turned it lower, to no avail.  But this was a small problem and I otherwise loved the hotel, which had a lovely hot and cold breakfast options and always made me smile with its charming, Timorous Beasties, décor in the restaurant.

 

 

In Inverness we stayed at the Best Western Inverness Palace, which was a charming old hotel and conveniently located, within walking distance of restaurants and shopping.  Our room was lovely, with a view over the river, (seen below) and windows that opened wide, which was good as there was no A/C and the room would otherwise have been stuffy.  The staff were very helpful and kind, but there was no coffee before 8, and then you had to buy it at the Starbucks station in the bar.  Or I preferred to buy it as the coffee in the dining room was awful, and the rest of the food was adequate but uninspiring.   The scotch selection in the bar was excellent however, and the prices were very good, at least as compared to what we found in Edinburgh. Oh yes, I learned that I do, indeed, like Scotch Whiskey.

 

 

Eating and Drinking:

 

 

Our trip wasn't really about food, which sounds odd considering that I am almost always interested in food, although at the same time I am aware that I can be difficult, and do not expect people to go to great lengths to accommodate me.  I knew I would eat, and for that I would be happy. The group meals were mostly good and an effort was made to seek out interesting local venues, which is not easy when you are organizing a group of 13 women.  

 

 

For the most part every place we went in Scotland was very accommodating to gluten-free options, even small pubs, more so than in the United States, gluten-free bread was always available, and most places would bring me my own little bowls of olive oil for dippng.  Even more interesting to me, was how many places had dedicated fryers for chips, so that chips were also often gluten-free, something that rarely happens on this side of the pond.  I ate more chips in Scotland than I have in the past five years, and I lost weight.  Go tell.

 

 

The best meal of the trip was one Liana and I had at a small place called The Grain Store, a short walk from our hotel on Victoria Street.  We dubbed the meal "the birds of Scotland" because Liana had partridge and wood pigeon and I had the grouse, shown above, which came with nettle berries and Tuscan Kale.  There was nothing on the menu that was strictly both gluten-free and dairy-free, but the chef was very willing to work with me, and the food was excellent.  When I am in Edinburgh again, I will return.

 

 

My second and third favorite restaurants are tied in my memory.  We ate at Scran and Scallie our first night.  It was a group meal and I was tired.  I remember that I had the best gluten-free bread that I ate in Scotland at that meal, and that the rest of my meal was excellent as well, but I don't remember anything else.  I would go back.  The other place was a little spot Liana and I went to twice, called Howie's.  It was casual and excellent.  The first night I had mussels, the second time a steak, and it was an excellent steak, far better than the one I had at a much fancier restaurant which was one of our group meals.  Our second night at Howie's, Liana and I had just returned from Inverness, where we started tasting whiskys.   We had a couple of whisky flights and shared, the photo is Liana's.

 

 

As for all the other meals, they were good.  I ate well.  Most people are accommodating.  I wish I could have had haggis and black pudding, but the oats are a problem. I don't know if the problem is with cross contamination, which is often a problem here with oats unless they are labeled gluten-free, or if labeling in Great Britain is stricter than in the US.  I know that oats have a protein that, although not gluten, does imitate gluten to some extent and many people have trouble with oats.  I used to not, but haven't had oats in years, and may in fact have a problem now. I'm not one to focus my energies on what I can't do, or have; there are plenty of other options in the world.

 

 

In fact, Scotland has made me think about food again here, some of that due to regulations about food quality which are far stricter than those in the US and partly just due to the experience of trying new things of learning new perspectives on old ideas.  Travel is great for that.  I ate a lot of carrot soup.  It seemed to be the standard dairy-free option in many spots:  carrot-ginger, carrot-coriander, curried carrot.  The best carrot soup I had was at the little café at the Highland Folk Museum.  Truthfully, I never thought about carrot soup before, now I think it is something worth exploring.  And desserts.  I encountered some fascinating desserts.  Although my companions got all kinds of wonderful rich and gooey things, I think I got the best options of all.

 

 

 

 

More pictures from San Antonio

I'm a little short on time right now, and hence on time for thought and thoughtful words.  Instead I thought I'd share the remains of my photos from my trip to San Antonio in August.  

 

Saturday morning I went to the McNay, one of my favorite small art museums, and I've posted some pictures of things I saw on my visit there previously.  There was a fabulous exhibit of artworks from the collections of the museum's Collector's Forum, a group of supporters who are interested in art, and who support the museum and museum purchases.  They seem to be something like the Collector's Circle at the Knoxville Museum of Art, but we are a smaller city and a smaller museum.  Photos were not allowed so I cannot share, and I do, in fact understand the reasoning behind that decision.  I did however wish that, aside from the name of the work and the artist, there had been a brief statement about why each collector was drawn to the work chosen.  But that could just be me.  I always like the stories and the personal connections.

I also went to the Pearl Brewery District and wandered the farmer's market.  Made me wish I had a kitchen so I could take something home.  But I had fun anyway.  I love wandering farmer's markets and cities and just walking through a town, especially where there are people gathered, getting a sense of the place.

Tikka and I, of course, took several more walks up or down the river walk.

This photo from early Saturday evening.

And I love the thoughtful planning;  even areas under the bridges were not neglected. 

The early morning view directly across from our hotel:

After that Sunday morning walk we were off to Houston to meet a friend, and visit the Rothko chapel.  How much has changed in such a short time.  My friend's house was not flooded,  but loss is everywhere around her.  It was a trip filled with joy and yet tinged with sadness.  How precious and fragile are our days and our world.

 

 

Summer Wardrobe Additions: A Review

In late June I wrote about whittling down my summer wardrobe and also about purchasing a couple of pairs of new chinos, both shown in that post, here.  Of course now that summer is winding down, and fall has theoretically arrived, it is time to take stock of how those purchases actually played out in terms of what I wore.  Were they worthwhile additions to my wardrobe, or just passing fancies and wasted dollars?

 

Of the two, the yellow was the win, even though it was the least considered of the two.  I wore the yellow chinos all the time, and they seemed to go with almost everything, despite the fact that I am wearing white in the photo above. 

I wore the blue less often.  In fact I mostly wore them working in the garden.  I've always preferred loose, ankle length pants for gardening, and they look good with my blue sun-proof shirt.  They are perhaps an expensive purchase for garden pants, but if they work they work.  However, when a spell of early fall temperatures came through in the first part of September, the pale blue chinos came out of the closet more often.  The yellow seemed so overtly summery, and although the pale blue is a summer color, I could wear them with light sweaters and jackets more easily.  They felt psychologically right as a transitional garment. 

 

However, the chinos only account for half of my summer clothing purchases.  While I was in Anthropologie trying on chinos, I saw a little baby-doll top and took it to the dressing room, certain I would hate it.  I did not, despite all my reservations about grown women in baby doll garments.  It has proven to be a great top for those days when it is so hot and humid that you really don't want anything actually touching your skin, and I convince myself that it looks good as well, although that may be pushing it.  It looks cute layered with a long slim tank over skinny jeans, but I didn't actually wear skinny jeans much during the hot days.  Usually I wore it with shorts when I was just hanging out.  And yes, I actually wore shorts this summer despite the fact that I refused to wear them when I was younger and had better legs.  Perhaps it is true that I just no longer define myself by other people's opinions. 

 

But probably the best purchase, one that rivals the yellow chinos, and might prove a better investment, was a pair of wide-leg cropped jeans with dangling fringes. They are slim through the hips and wide through the legs, reminding me somewhat of gauchos.  But wearing them makes me feel so happy.  I wore them all summer.  I'll probably wear them with boots all fall.  

 

 In some ways all of these garments pushed my sartorial boundaries a little bit, were part of the process of letting go of notions of defining what I should wear by what I understand to be expected.  Not that I am ever going to go way out on a sartorial limb -- I'm more comfortable being an artsy cousin than full, in-your-face bohemian.  But in these garments, and these outfits, I feel most like myself, most confident to negotiate the world, and if the proportions are occasionally "off" by someone else's scale, I find they are perfect for me.  But it took me a long time to accept that the private me could come to terms with the public me.  I liked having a structure of expectation to fall back on.  In the corporate world there are parameters that are not there in the casual world, and I had trouble negotiating that transition. It seems I am finally claiming my  space, my voice, my place.