As promised, here’s a photo of my treasures from the annual Hyde Park used booksale. Missing from the photo are a couple of gifts, but otherwise, they’re all here, 50 books for around $30. Taking a look at my piles, I can see why I have a hard time answering “What’s your favourite genre?” questions. I truly do read a little of everything. But they’re not all mine. Most of the left-hand stack are for my son, especially all the Patrick O’Brians. And the Star Wars. But you knew that.
I felt like the last part of my childhood died today.
I know a lot of people have said that by now, but that’s because sometimes a cliche is true. To my son, Michael Jackson is nothing more than a set up line in a joke about pedophilia, but like so many others, I grew up with him. For me, he was in the background, not centre stage, but always present, from the Saturday morning cartoon show to the explosion of “Off the Wall” — which made a much greater impact on me than “Thriller.” I’ve always loved his dancing more than his music, though some of his songs are still iconic for me. “Billie Jean” was high school graduation. I still have an old cassette tape somewhere that has Yaz’s first album on the A side and then Altered Images, ABC “The Look of Love,” Men Without Hats “Safety Dance,” and “Billie Jean” on the flip side.
My relationship with Farrah is far more complicated. She hit on the very cusp of my homely adolescence and what that poster said to me and to a generation of young women was, “You will never, ever be good enough. You will never be who someone wants.” When we played “Charlie’s Angels” in the playground, I knew instinctively that the most I could attempt was Kate. And that’s sad, because, given her choice of roles in later life, intimidating a crowd of teenage girls was probably the last thing Farrah ever wanted to do.
I think this video is as good as any to close with because it shows Michael at one of his most admirable moments, and also encapsulates the era I’m saying goodbye to as well as anything could.
You’ve all read Romeo and Juliet. But did you ever wonder just how that famous feud between the Capulets and the Montagues got started? Blixt did, and his answer to that question is just one of the threads that makes up his spectacular debut novel, The Master of Verona
It’s not Shakespeare who is at the centre of this book, however. It is Dante Alighieri, or Alaghieri, and especially his eldest son Pietro through whom we witness the desperate battles between the Guelfs and Ghibellines and the slow-motion tragedy that is the beginning of Verona’s fall. Pietro is an enormously engaging and sympathetic hero whom we follow as he strives to come out behind the shadow of his famous father and make his own way in the world.
And what a world it is. It isn’t fair to compare any author to another, and Blixt’s contribution is wholly original, but I couldn’t help be reminded of the work of Dorothy Dunnett when I read this novel. Like Dunnett’s, Blixt’s characters are larger than life — in a good way — and his battles have real consequences. No one escapes unscathed, either in body or in mind. Astrologers, diviners, illegitimate children, mysterious foreigners, and shrewd teenage girls crowd the page. It is a wild and completely satisfying ride.
elizadee is the name of the beautiful new Etsy shop started by my sister. She is selling some stunning screenprints there, so go check it out. She also does wonderful and original custom embroidery work and makes custom screen print portraits. Here’s part of the portrait she did of my son — not for sale, but all she needs is a digital photo to make one for you of anyone you like:
It’s not so much each individual statue; it is the volume of them all there together. (You can click the photos for more detail)
When they were first painted and carved in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, each parish church must have had one. They wouldn’t have ever seen then all massed together like we do, in this museum and at every episcopal museum in the country.
Some Marys have crowns, while others are simply veiled.
These weren’t the only objects Mares collected. The remaining floors of the museum are filled with rooms containing such random objects as pipes, fans and fan holders, holy water stoups, cigar bands, playing cards, images of Montserrat, scissors, bedpans, carved shells, candle snuffers, creche figures, and really anything else you could gather in mass between the Roman era and the early twentieth century.
I watched the inauguration among a crowd of others at a party given by the American Society at the Meridien Hotel at Barcelona. It is really hard to get a good idea of how many people were there because we ended up split into so many places, from the main room, to the overflow room and then out to the bar and restaurant, but we must have numbered in the hundreds, and our presence was well covered by the Catalan media.
Anyway, here is how the moment looked to us.
I lost it early on, when Malia and Sasha came onto the screen for the first time and I realized, not for the first time, that these little girls who are going to live in the White House had ancestors who came to the States in chains.
I loved Aretha, Rev. Lowery’s benediction, the poem, Obama’s speech. And I adore Michelle’s gloves!
I mentioned the other day that “bullar” was one of the most popular search terms for people finding my blog. Some things are, well, a little more obscure. Lately, I have had people find me looking for answers to questions that I do not answer on my blog, but I could in fact answer in real life. I kind of want to hunt them down and give them the answers they sought, but alas, that is impossible. But, just in case they ever turn up here again, here are a few recent ones:
“What do you call the books where you pick what happens next by choosing different pages numbers?”
What is…a choose your own adventure book!!
“Is The Tenant of Wildfell Hall a fairy tale?”
Oh! I know, I know! *ding* No, it’s not! But it is darned good book anyway, so you should go out and read it.
Some people ask questions that sounds like how long is a piece of string like the not one but two people who asked, “How many tales in Beowulf?”
And this one wasn’t even a question:
“book hidden in stacks lost spain novel bookstore”
But I bet I know the answer — Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Shadow of the Wind. Another darned good book that begins in a bookstore in Spain.
But the search string I am most proud of was the day someone found me by actually googling “dominican bitches.” Yessssss.
No, not me. Well not exactly. Today is the feast of Sankta Lucia, the patron saint of light. In the old calendar, her feast was the shortest day of the year, and in Sweden it is celebrated with singing, candles, coffee, and special little buns at dawn. It’s also a great chance for me to try out my new camera.
“But Lucy,” you say, “Those little buns look so delicious. Where can I get some for myself?” I am so glad you asked. I posted the recipe for them this time last year, and they’re called bullar. Follow the link and they too can be yours. Which brings me to an interesting factoid about this blog. My food posts are by far the most searched for parts of this blog. If you google “bullar,” this recipe turns up close to the top of the page. But by far the most popular recipe I ever posted is the one for flan de queso. It is regularly the top monthly search string. Makes me think I should post more recipes.
See over there, in the blogroll?
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A new link to the ever-curmudgeonly but always adorable Dr. B's latest foray into the blog world, Globe & Mail Watch. Love to hate Canada’s national newspaper? Concerned about the dreaded seep of the plague of false equivalencies ever further north? This one’s for you.
