FiberTribe

Italian Murder Mystery

In translation because my Italian isn't up to that. Been too long.  I just devoured The Voice of the Violin by Andrea Camilleri.  It's the fourth in his Inspector Montalbano series set in the fictional town of Montelusa, Sicily.  The real town that inspires the fictional Montelusa is Agrigento. And the book is not about the mafia though there is some glancing mention, unavoidable since after all, we are talking Sicily, eh.

Don't you love that cover art? The artist is Jeff Fisher.  The translation from the Sicilian dialect is by Stephen Sartarelli.  As I was reading it, a character is referred to as a 'raven' when the correct translation would have been 'vulture'.  I was about to get all critical on Sartarelli's ass but then noticed that he graciously provided translation notes at the back of the book to explain the peculiarities of  this expression among others.  If you're a language geek like me, the literal translations of phrases can be very entertaining as well as telling much about the culture.   

The good news is that the three preceding books are waiting out there, gloriously perched for me to read. The bad news is that there isn't any space at all to store those books when they arrive. Talk about a need to de-stash. Migod. I've got a book backlog worse than my knitting backlog. And I read fast.  Raise your hand in the comments if you'd like to be a giftee of my book destashing... I find it's easier to destash when I know the book/magazine is going to a good home. It will be a grab bag surprise, if you're interested.

Knitting, you say? Right now that consists mostly of wistfully carting the knitting around  not finding actual time to knit.  But I did read Kay and Ann's new book the other night and loved it. Witty and wonderful with much colorful inspiration.  Africa Knits came in the same package and while I enjoyed it, the colors were so blah and the sweaters so boxy that I doubt I'll use the book for anything more than pattern inspiration. Nice try, though.

Oh, Yes, We Want More England...

Heh.
This is one of the streets of Arundel village in the shadow of the walls of Arundel Castle. 

Christopher declares that I am the only American he knows that is not fascinated with manor houses, posh sculpted gardens, and castles.  Eh.  Heresy, I know, but I could give a rat's ass about manor houses. Some castles, however are worth making an exception for. I didn't tour this one, but my-o-my, I surely will next time. Firstly, it is massive with a gigantic keep. Don't you love that word deployed that way?  A castle keep. Today in the 21st century.  And that's the former European history major (for about three weeks until the first boring paper was due) talking, not the American. ahem.

Do you get the claustrophobic feel of a fairly small village pressing itself as close as possible to the skirts of its castle?

And here is the teeny tiny Arundel village square all illuminated by the sun that refused to come out while I was snapping up Arundel Castle.

The monument is to the dead of at least two wars, so far as I could discern. At Pallant on the far side of the square from me, I purchased some lovely cheeses, Brebis des Pyrenees, a Comte Extra, and some lovely Irish cheddar. The cheddar never made it off the plane. We devoured it with our pint of gin surreptitiously poured into tomato juice and also into and surprisingly good with the pomegranate juice I took aboard.  The other two unpasteurized and therefore illegal cheeses...well, we shall just let that be our little secret, eh?
Pallant had an amazing cheese array. And I bought some lovely and decorative marmalades and blood orange slices in white wine to carry back as gifties.  One I've tried and the sugar would peel the enamel off your teeth, woof. I briefly forgot that there is a reason for the cliche of bad teeth on the English, heh. Generally not true, btw.

And can't you just love it?  A Miss Pittock's Items Bought and Sold... a second hand shop.  Check out the mad hatter's head teapot to the far right. And the lovely snarling leopards. love it.

And here  is one of the big three (heather, broom, and gorse) that I have so long read of in various classic English novels where our hero or heroine are striding over moor or cliffwalk, etc.  This is broom in bloom by the side of a traditional thatch roof on a seaside house in Angmering-on-the-Sea. 

The metal mesh is to keep the birds out of the thatch. 

Here are two craggy coasts both looking out over the English channel...

a better view of the sea and sky on a cold April's day. This is West Sussex's version of the Jersey Shore...

one more with sky slightly up the coast from here, in Pagham, for all my big sky grrls: Margene, Neena, Laurie & Heather...

This used to be the full sea with fishing boats and lobstermen.  Did I mention that it's gray and muddy to watch possibilities crumble? yes, I believe I did. and we ain't talking lobsterpots here, eh. 

Say good night, Gracie...

West Sussex In All Its Glory

Here is the view over the fields from our B&B in Storrington, a smallish village in West Sussex, south  of London.  (If you're up on your English geography, south of Horsham and north of Worth.)

Every evening the sun set in a ball of orange fire at the top of that field. And brilliant young dude pheasants were prancing about on the edge of the field looking for a hen or three. We saw wood pigeons aplenty and even rabbits along that fence line. It was quite cold every night but as you can see, we had amazing weather in the days for an English spring.  Ok. A very late English spring, we were told. The daffodils, as you can see, were out, and the hyacinths and the forsythia (which they pronounce all wrong over there, I tell you).

We had several running jokes going on through out the trip. Joke #1 was that I NEVER could get a photo of a damned pheasant. By the time I'd get the camera out, away he'd be over the hedgerow. Or the light would be crappy, or a tree would be in the way, or Christopher's hard of hearing father would move the car. You get the idea. Sort of a mobile sight gag. 

Joke #2 was the BBC weather report.    The waaay too perky BBC weather boys and girls were consistent only in being dead wrong 6 days out of 8.  It got to be our evening ritual and joke to watch them on the 10 pm BBC newscast and hoot with derision whilst swilling a glass of wine and eating chocolate.  And for chrissakes, who dresses them?  It was insane.

But these are quibbles because it's all-in-all a helluva nice way to live.  I mean we were only two short blocks from the High Street and one morning as we were walking down the lane into the village, a neighbor is full English riding gear came walking her spectacular horse down the lane on her way to a morning ride through the fields.   

I truly admire the English love of all things green, wild, and flowering. On a small island stuffed with 50 million plus people, there are still public footpaths, horsepaths and overflowing greenbelts, tilled fields literally on the approach to Heathrow, sheep and even llamas plopped smack in the middle of posh neighborhoods and hiking and off road paths literally at every turn.  We should be following this model of preserving open spaces.  It makes for a way of life like having your morning cuppa and then saddling up for a ride.  And not having to live miles from anywhere to do so.   Have gotta tell you, we'd being doing a lot less shopping here if we had nature so close to hand.   Since I've returned to Miami, I've been pretty frustrated to find a replacement for our morning and evening walks there. Anyway.

That field above leads to the South Downs.

With quintessential English irony, the South Downs are really UP. As in they are very old and rolling hills as you'll see below. The pictures after are of us hiking along a path up over the downs, and then the view from the Downs out over the chalk hills and cliffs to the English Channel.

You can even faintly see the Isle of Wight in the distance (picture below).

A really clear day. And to top it off, I heard a lark singing. And saw his courtship flight. Had read of larks since I was a little girl, never had heard or seen one.  As the ads say, priceless.   
Mind you this was on our first day in England. We hopped off the plane, were picked up for the 45 minute drive from Gatwick, arrived at the parents' house and were whisked off to the pub (The Five Bells) for a late pub lunch and then off to the Downs.

There's a  bit more to the tale but it's late and the gym is calling so I leave you with the Black-Faced Leicester sheep from hell. Channelling Robert De Niro...You talkin' to me???

Summer is Here

Woke up to coolness with the promise of the same blazing sun as yesterday plus the first harbinger of early summer, smoke in the air from a fire in the Everglades.  Bad for the Glades but lovely in the early morning.
And this popped up from Lana Grossa's site as free model of the month. Go to www. lanagrossa.com and you'll find it there.  I'm sure there is something in the stash for it.

And Wednesday's giftie?

If you don't already know them, run don't walk to find Over the Rhine. Karin Berquist and Linford Detweiler, a husband and wife and band. She plays guitar and sings, and O my peeps, her voice, her voice...he plays piano and both compose the songs.  They have four CDs out, but I'd say start with Ohio, a double CD set. Drunkard's Prayer is their most recent 'studio' CD and was recorded in their home.  The first CD is a little more rough and is Films for Radio.  The most recent CD is a live one, "Live From Nowhere". You can hear them at www.backporchrecords.com or on their website, www.overtherhine.com.  There are some freebie mp3s and a video there, too.  They are just the best example of down to earth pure and simple  consummate musicians who walk the walk. Not superstars but they should be. 
Favorites?  'Born' on Drunkard's Prayer for truth and joy,  'Remind Us' on Ohio for falling in love,  'She (is Dying to Put Down the Knife)' on Ohio for all your friends who just can't leave him, and Ohio, the title cut on that CD for just plain haunting beauty. And the new CD has a great cover by Karin of Van Morrison's Moondance. She seldom does covers so it's a rare treat.  Enjoy...

England Before Utah

I know I promised more details on my education on the Theocracy but first a little bit on England.  One of the highlights of the trip was getting to meet The Wool Palace Mary on my day visiting London.   We met up in Victoria Station and  then  took in Westminster Abbey (no pictures allowed inside) where I got to see the tomb and deathbed sculpture of one of my all time heroes, Elizabeth I.  The Abbey is very tall inside but just chock-a-block with crypts and monuments to over 3,200 famous and not famous Britons. So the feel is very cramped and crowded.  It was a blazingly sunny and warm day. Being inside at about noon gave us the beautiful fall of color through huge and intricate stained glass windows onto the ornate carvings of marble and wood within. just beautiful.   

On our way to the bus we passed Big Ben

And a semi-permanent and very creative protest against Tony Blair's lapdog-like support of dubya's mad crusade in Iraq (we were not far from 10 Downing Street)

Then we were off on a double decker bus to visit the mecca, Liberty of London. Here we are, breaking the rules for no photos are allowed, rubbing up against the crack silk haze posing for a photo in front of the Rowan lushness.

The high pound vs. the dollar kept me from buying much but that which I can't easily find in Miami, so I came away with enough crack silk spray (like crack silk haze but softly variegated) in deep rose/raspberry to make Glad from Rowan 39.

The clincher was that Liberty had a shop model of it on display so I could try it on. After making the sleeves, oh, about 4 inches shorter is will be a dream. And light enough for over airconditioned nights in South Florida. But it looks much better with one long front piece thrown shawl-like over a shoulder.

Mary had a great hint for all who maul yarn at Liberty, take the yarn over to the window to look at it in natural light. The shop lights totally distort the colors.  We peeked in on the cafe where the knitting group meets. Looks lovely.  And I also bought the large hardback of Kaffe Fassett at the V & A.  The showing of his patchwork quilts made from inpirations at the V & A.

I sorely regret not taking pictures of the building itself which is lavish with carved wood and amazingly creative displays.  Ah, well, next time.

We were feeling hungry so we walked across the Millenium Bridge

And headed down the embankment on the South Bank of the Thames toward the OXO Tower. There is both an informal Brasserie and a lush and lovely restaurant, on the 7th or 8th floor, with a 180 degree view of the Thames, the Millenium and Waterloo Bridges and the City of London on the other bank.

The restaurant was quite posh, elegant service and a prix fixe 3 course menu that was to die.  I splurged for a bottle of good, dry rose champagne and we drank the lot.  Here's Mary lingering over the cheeses we had for our dessert course.

Note the lovely handknit top and matching shrug. Mary? help me here for I cannot for the life of me remember the pattern name...   
And lunch took rather a long time, ahem, the champagne had nothing, I say nothing to do with it... heh. but I had to take a cab to meet Christopher back at the hotel where his business meetings took place.  On my way down the street I spied one of those lovely absurdities of English life borne of their obsession with all things avian.  Mind you this was on a side street surrounded by large concrete buildings.  Humped Pelicans? Alrighty.

Tomorrow maybe West Sussex in all it's early spring glory. 

 

Chapter 5 of Caroline's Guide to Dating North of Fifty

Chapter Title:  Epiphany of the Birthday Card

Ahem. Let's say you're somewhat confused and befuddled by just exactly what the hell is going on in this more-than-dating-but-less-than-a-relationship type thing you've got going on.  You've consulted formerly reliable psychics but they seem to be channelling someone else's mutant relations.  You've pulled runes, read your tarot, journaled till you're blue in the face and nada. Still dazed and confused.

Pay me now. The secret is going to tarjay and shopping for a b-day card for the object of your derangement.  Your hand lingers over all the "I love you, happy birthday, Sweetheart" cards and you realize these aren't quite right.  You could sorta, maybe start down that love road but he won't let you, you're firmly outside the walls.  OK. How about something with a hip little risque leer to it?  nah. Well how about (this is a direct quote now):

    For the Special Man
       in My Life (capitals theirs)

         Long talks,    (actually, we hardly talk at all. Mouthy old me can't seem to open a real topic)

    easy laughter,    (not much of this either)

           wise advice,   (used to be)

    quiet comfort,      (used to be this, too, wtf happened?)

          fun together...   (time together, but fun?)

Inside the card:   I love the simple pleasures
                                 of spending time with you.

                                 Happy Birthday

And that, my peeps, is when the dime drops and you know clearly what you have on your hands... Toast.

So I found two hip and humorous cards that will be fine.  And you know what?  I bought that other card anyway.  And I smiled that rueful smile you know so well and thought, hey, when the student card is ready, etc., etc., yadda yadda. 

Damn. The simplicity of it, the clarity. I wish somebody woulda told me about this technique years ago. 

To Tide You Over...

Here's some of the cast of characters out Utah way. First at the Silver Fork (taken by Marshall). From left to right: me, Neena, Margene, Laurie.

then at Jordan Pines (taken by me) up Little Cottonwood Canyon enroute to taking pictures of Margene and her lovely Seaweed. L to R, Margene, Laurie, Marshall & Neena.

Margene's mountains (aka the Wasatch) taken whilst heading from the airport to her house. Can you feature seeing this on your commute??? I mean, every road in Salt Lake has one of these looming up at the end of it. just about.

Or how about this? As Neena and I headed up to Park City?

Here's one of the views from Neena & Don's deck. You've seen an horizon pool? Well, they have an horizon house. heh. Those are the Cedar Mountains across the valley.

This is the road to Kolob Canyon from Cedar City with a lowering sky. That weekend there were intermittant white-out mini-blizzards interrupted by abject sunshine and total melt.
This reminded me of the winter sky over Amish country west of Philadelphia. Beautiful.

 
Neena posted better pics of Kolob but here is one with a bit of the vista beyond...

And here are two of the gi-mongous ravens they grow out there perched on the roofline of a house down the road from Neena & Don's house.  My theory is that all the old, nasty, mormon patriarchs are condemned to come back this way... nah. The ravens are too smart for that.

Next time, Fetal Fotos, kick-ass mexican food, proper garb for baby polygs, Willie Wash, modest wedding gowns, lousy mixed drinks, good fast food (who knew?), 75 mph speed limits or Caroline's orientation to the theocracy. stay tuned. oh. and the matching ski hat seamed my Margene. (I may never wash it.) Back after a short intermission in ye merrye olde England...