Enjoying: how the morning swim is never the same. Today the air was cool and the water was too. Last week, during a heat wave, I realized the water was almost too warm, I was longing for the late April days when I couldn’t feel my toes. So this morning I swam, looking west at the islands, the hill beyond, an uncertain sky above, and enjoyed every stroke, a breeze ruffling the water’s surface. Just as we arrived at the lake, a woman, a man, and 2 dogs were walking back to their car. You will swim? the woman asked, and Yes, I replied. Every morning! There are 2 kinds of people, she said. The ones that won’t swim in cold water and the ones who will. I am the first kind, she said, and they are the second — pointing to the man and the dogs. Two kinds of people, dogs included.
Reading: I almost never watch television. I think I have the wrong metabolism. I can’t take tension, the anticipation of danger, the way the music will suggest horror or violence. But sometimes I do like reading a mystery and there’s no one better than Tana French for creating atmosphere, letting events unspool slowly but surely (and scarily), and for building suspense in an organic way, as naturally as bog cotton and spruce. Over the past 3 nights I read The Keeper, putting it down for short periods when the sense of threat felt too overwhelming, then returning, reading ten more pages, looking away through the dark windows.
Remembering: the loon swimming very near me yesterday, shadowing my strokes in the cool water, watching, close enough for me to see the intricate pattern of its collar.
Anticipating: when I’ve finished my garden chores this morning, I’m going to set up my summer dye studio. The table is folded away, the basins tucked under some shelves, the hotplate in its box inside. I have a basket of scoured cotton and linen and last week at the thrift shop, I found 9 beautiful monogrammed damask napkins, some of them with small stains, and I have a plan for them.
Appreciating: the letters and conversations about The Art of Looking Back. I loved seeing it on the Tyee’s summer reading list! And in the hands of my Czech friend, and my friend in the Netherlands.
Making: jam (rhubarb and ginger), banana bread, lamb tagine, excellent sourdough bread with Artemis, my trusty starter, pesto sauce with the beautiful summer basil, and every evening, salad with our gorgeous greens — deer’s tongue lettuce, kale, arugula, magenta spreen, mustard, huge leaves of Italian parsley.
Eating: raspberries, raspberries, and more raspberries. Yesterday I was picking them and for each one I dropped in the colander, one went in my mouth. For their first week, we say we are going out to pick raspberries. And then we say we are going out to pick the frigging raspberries. But in winter, when I take a bag of them out of the freezer, I will bless each one, frigging or not.
I also don’t like the tension of worrying about something horrible about to befall a character on TV or in film, and avoid those kinds of shows. And some books! Why would I want to feel that kind of dread? I recently read an explanation of why some people do; something about things turning out okay in the end assuaging anxiety about unforeseen events in the real world. -Kate
There are lots of books I won’t read but some murder mysteries — thinking of PD James, Tana French, Ruth Rendell — are often well-plotted, skilfully written, and kind of compelling. I read a couple and then I feel I’ve had my fix for a few months!