It is possible I am coming down with a cold. It is also possible that I merely have a sore throat due to sinus drainage from allergies. I am hoping for the later, but am not yet convinced. I have had more colds this winter-into-spring-that an any time since the first winter I moved to Knoxville and started spending more time with a certain 5-year old, un-accustomed as I was to school-yard germs. I am ready to be home, and in my mind that alone, the fact that I am not home, is the source of all these niggly little upsets. Perhaps not, but please don't burst my bubble. The thought of home is a good reward.
Despite my scratchy throat, today is a good day. Despite my tendency toward petulant self-pity, I cannot help but smile. The sun is shining. I went for a walk. I've scanned, shredded, and carted away several boxes of old paperwork that I refuse to move one more time. I had a bowl of red curry soup for lunch and the spice of the curry cleared my sinus while the creaminess of the coconut milk base soothed my scratchy throat.
I read quite a few good books in April although not perhaps books that led me into deep thought. Sometimes thinking is overrated. One needs simply to be allowed to enjoy. I had not read anything by Kate Morton or Belinda Bauer before, but I shall seek out their other novels. I thought that Ta-Nehisi Coates managed the almost impossible in The Beautiful Struggle. There is one point where he seemed to encapsulate perfectly in poetic prose that moment of self-realization and actualization, when a child begins to come into him- (or her-) self, when a person stands on the cusp of knowing who they are in the world. He does this, and he reminded this reader of her own childhood and the childhood of her friends, touching on the universality of humanity, while also laying bare the fragility of childhood and the fragility of experience. Coates childhood was not my childhood, could never be, and yet in one moment he simultaneously tied us all together and shredded all my myths. By making me feel what we had in common, he also made me feel the shattering differences of our experiences and what we can never share. A book worth reading again.
But not all the book were keepers. I took a couple of bags of books I don't think I will want to look at again to the second-hand book store, including a few items from my April reading list. Included were the Dan Brown, which was entertaining enough (meh), the Mary Higgins Clark, which I found to be the weakest of the Under Suspicion series. But then I am really not a Mary Higgins Clark fan to begin with, so I am probably also not a good judge. I also sold Master and Margarita, which was good, and may well be one of the great books of the 20th century, but which didn't really resonate with me. I won't read it again, unlike the other "great" satiric 20th century novel The Tin Drum, which I adored and will read again and again. Also on the "meh" list is The Beautiful Edible Garden. It is one of three books I have been reading as I think about my garden and my dreams for its evolution, and it has pretty pictures, and great bones if one doesn't know much about garden design, but it doesn't really offer enough substance to be useful, nor does it offer any options or information for readers in areas other than the author's California planting zone.
Otherwise construction and planning and packing continue apace. The first Saturday Market Square Farmer's market was last weekend. I tried to go early but only partially succeeded. It was already crowded when I arrived at 9:15, but I still enjoyed walking around and shopping.
I didn't buy the bread, although I ran into a friend, who did. We chatted and shopped and decided to go to brunch. I intended to return to that first stand to purchase some of those wonderful white Japanese turnips you see in the top picture but instead we dawdled and chatted and by the time I got back, all the Japanese turnips were gone. Alas. I tried some small red turnips instead, which I had never had before. They were delicious, a mild turnip with an almost buttery roundness to their flavor..
Here is my small haul. The red turnips are on the right with the beautiful greens. I also bought rainbow radishes, which I am still eating. The radish greens got a little wilted while we chatted and brunched, but it didn't really matter as I prefer them cooked anyway. The beef knuckle bone went into a pot of stock, which simmered away in the slow cooker most of yesterday. In fact, a ladle of fresh stock, the remainder of the greens, and some left-over steak made for a lovely soup when I finally returned home for a late dinner. I had worried about over-buying. Instead I may have not purchased enough as everything is now gone, except a couple of radishes and some eggs.
One final good thing. The tile installers finished the tile in the powder room. The painters need to return and repaint the trim, which is supposed to be black and not blue. The schedule calls for black. But even that cannot dim my enthusiasm. Trim can be repainted. The tile and the sink make me very happy. Eventually, the black trim and the wallpaper will make me even happier.
