It’s raining again—and this time it’s not just in my heart, whatever Buddy Holly says. No, Feste has it about right: the rain it raineth every day; and even if it doesn’t really, there are times when it certainly feels like it. This is one of those times. The rain is drumming on the roof, spilling out of the gutters and collecting in forlorn little puddles on the gravel. Downpours always turn the drains on our road into pools; one of these is now so deep and wide that a many-tentacled horror of the ancient world has taken up residence and has already dragged an abandoned shopping trolley down to a watery doom. It’s a good, hard, Calvinist rain, the kind of rain that would have had John Knox stroking his beard in moody satisfaction—a beard long enough to tuck into his socks, if tucking wasn’t an abomination unto the Lord—before dashing off a 15,000-word sermon on why breathing is sinful, but only if women do it.
The world is becoming saturated, sodden. The fields are one giant sponge and the distinction between sea and sky is blurred, as though the clouds have had enough of floating on high o’er vales and hills and decided to experience life at ground level. On days like this you find yourself drawing the curtains around five o’clock and checking the calendar to see if it’s March yet. Time, one feels, to open the dictionary and dust off such little-used words as squoosh, squelch and squirrel squish.
Marshland grassesI’m holidaying at home just now. Abraham Lincoln once described a Union general who’d been defeated as “confused and stunned, like a duck hit on the head”. This is a perfect description of me on the first few days of any holiday: I usually come down with a mild cold, as I have this time; but that’s just my body’s way of making me get a proper rest. So I’ve been having a great time reading, listening to Wagner and knitting. Knitting a lot, actually: I’ve finished the back, stormed up the front, joined the shoulders and knit the collar. I’m now on the first sleeve. That’s the detox/ r-‘n’-r taken care of; now it’s time for the holiday; perhaps even for more Wagner.
Heading inOf course, I know Wagner’s music isn’t for everyone. The American humorist Bill Nye said, “I’m told Wagner’s music is better than it sounds”. (Ouch.) Baudelaire wasn’t exactly a fan either: “I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.” But Gustav Mahler, on the other hand, felt that “There is Beethoven and Richard [Wagner], and after them, nobody. Oh yeah, and Bob Dylan. But that’s definitely it.” It was Dylan of course who, in his early career as a weatherman, forecast that a hard rain was a-gonna fall—well, it’s a-falling now, Bob, and pretty a-hard at that…
Spot on re John Calvin.
We had the week-or-so of rain earlier. Now the smoke of California and Oregon has (I hope) passed, and we’re into the cold, bright sun of cold October.
Hi Tamar, Calvinism is product of cold, hard, bitter northern climes, like the old Norse and German gods; Catholicism comes from a culture which enjoys figs, grapes and wine and takes siesta as from the afternoon heat…
And we are in a severe drought, 9 inches below average, not as bad as California, but bad when one lives on a sand dune, where any water drains away quickly.
Hi Gail, yes I heard it had been a bad summer for rain with you. I hope it breaks kindly for you soon! (Meanwhile, hope you like the pattern on your cardigan – so far so good…)
oh! was it raining ?I had not noticed!! :}
I have been reading the theory of how things really began.. dimensions between dimensions…so we do have alternatives to Boris..somewhere over that beautiful rainbow.
rain is lovely.I used to be plant…I can still feel it seeping into he soil around my roots.
Hi Meg, yes, in a multiple of universes where anything can happen, how on earth did we end up in this one??? ?
According to my wife, there are BUT
Two ways in which I sin.
One of those is breathing out, the other…
“… is carrying out satanic rituals by full moon with headless virgins and naked chickens…?”
Am I close?
There’s a thin line on the horizon of a pearly sky–we can’t expect real sunshine this time of year but it chased the rain away for the moment. The black birds came to tell me that, or maybe to say they want more fat balls?
Hello Sharon! As the poet Harrison once observed, “Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right…” (Though in his case he was talking about the end of winter, not the start ☹️.)
This may also be the first time the words “fat balls” have appeared on this website, and hopefully it’s not the last! ?
I used to make fat balls to put weight on malnourished rescue dogs. And, in spite of appearances, I did NOT sample any!
Hi Lois, thanks to you and Sharon I now have Jerry Lee Lewis crying in my head, “Goodness gracious, great balls of fat!” (Actually an improvement on the original, one feels…)
Hi Gordon, Amongst the seasonal pluviality, I don’t know if you got my message about the Frangipani Cordova shade – it’s soon going to be available from Propagansey & I’m taking pre-orders .. there are 2 or 3 photos on P’Gy f/b that give you an idea of what it’s like, it’s really a nice colour. If you’re interested in procuring a kilo, do let me know. Regards, Deb
Hi Deb, sorry, I hadn’t been on Ravelry for a while and missed it. Thanks for following up. Yes please to 1kg of the Cordova yarn – it’s a lovely shade and deserves to be supported!