some writers

like ruth reichl

and lucy foley

must be rationed

because they come limited

and one must not

read faster than they can publish

taking stock

there! after years of waffling i finally am taking steps to taper down and to switch off:

• it feels unreal still. possibly because i still wake up and show up and will have to do so for another ten days yet
• i feel excited. lots of projects vying for attention in my head. shall i learn the violin? calligraphy? pilates? whither shall i travel next? no doubt my thoughts will settle into a more sedate jumble soon 
• i feel just a little bit apprehensive. what if i need care? who may i even ask? what if i lose my edge? what if i vegetate into oblivion? 
• i feel thankful. for life as a working woman and a trailing spouse and as a practitioner-educator with full agency and supportive colleagues and colleagues who have become friends
• i feel supremely grateful. i have met and influenced and taught and been taught by and i have been enriched stretched and fulfilled beyond every thought i had when i started 

now to be done with one kind of doing and to be starting on another kind. 

inspector lynley books - elizabeth george (1988-present)

like peter wimsey but without the toddling and tootling linguistic whimsy and longer and more convoluted plots hence more satisfying but ohhhhhh the side developments of the recurring characters are really detracting from the core business of murderrrrr and may well be the reason i abandon this series soon.

error of enthusiasm

i find myself part of a group of middle-aged short term mission trippers who are friendly well-meaning convivial and inclusive. the hotel is clean centrally-located and pleasant and the bed is enormous firm and comfortable. but i am crusty and set in my ways and have much struggle with:

• the communal meals (picky eater that i am)
• their love for durian (and my life-long revulsion)
• the packed activities (including after dinner!!)
• the energy levels (the absence of mine, i mean)

note to self: leave such trips to betters. church camp is probably the most i can do. gah.

the paris novel - ruth reichl (2024)

delicious and whimsical and delightfully written. if it were a food this would be the perfect soufflé: uniquely lop-sided light deceptively simple with just a soupçon of seriousness. 

wait. there is a nod to mrs harris goes to paris too. and by the end of the book i wish to go to paris myself.

KL commercial book company

HOM and i wander into the bookshop and i am transported back decades to when dad and us used to spend many hours at similar stores (and maybe even this one). row upon row of titles i can barely read interspersed with roman-alphabet titles translated into chinese with writing paraphernalia scattered among them. occasionally even a music sheet or two. almost always paperbacks, never hardcovers, the front cover usually longer and folded in. there is a special magic to chinese language bookshops.