The book’s at the local library, he told me, and I’d love it. Written by a Finnish author. In English, the title translates as The Canticle of the Joyous Apocalypse. The notion of joy appeals in any setting and the title is nice. I’m not sure I’ll take the time to read the man’s take on the craziness. I have my hands pretty full with the little bits in my immediate environment.
I did take a bit of time out last night to move into the second part of Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. She handles irony so well, a few pages are almost as good as a holiday.
I could have done without the animated discussion at four am below my windows. Didn’t much care for the canine out there taking sides with one of the speakers against the other – not because I much cared about sides, at that point. I just wanted the damn dog to shut up and the two men, ditto.
My Albanian friends came by last night so we could discuss the eviction notice and how to deal with their occupation of a space between the rock and the hard place that loom so large in the human experience. They brought me five walnuts picked from a nearby tree. Sufficient pressure applied the right way cracks a walnut shell, of course, as well it should or there would be no more walnuts. But a well constituted walnut shell can sustain the fall from a tree onto a hard surface such as concrete. As well it should also, because there again, there’d be no more walnuts if it didn’t.
From which point we agreed that life is often a question of pressure vs resistance vs yielding – where, when and how. Thus fortified, we moved on to practical matters relating to this principle.
When such is available, a hearty, healthful breakfast provides useful reserves of energy. Access to hot water and a shower belongs to the realm of blessings. A good book, a scrap of paper, a pen or pencil. Plus decent shoes and clothes appropriate to the season.
(Speaking of shoes: at the showing of the nineteen seventy-ish Australian film The Walkabout this weekend, I made a strong and concerted effort to willfully suspend my disbelief over two annoying details: 1) the notion a city girl from Adelaide could climb rocks and walk for days through sand, wearing her school pumps with no painful consequences to her feet and 2) that she could do so without a single rip or tear developing in her pair of white pantyhose until such time she willfully discards same. I willfully suspended, to the best of my ability to do so.)
Onward, and so on.