Pre-Flight Checklist

I'm off to Maine tomorrow for a little holiday cheer with my family. As this involves airplane travel, in a few minutes I plan to crawl under my desk and sob quietly.

Before that, a few loose ends to tie up.

Scribble, Scribble

Another weird leaf from the sketchbook.

New(ish) Blog

I have been extremely remiss in not mentioning a new blog that I quite like. Celtic Knitter is funny and smart and knits beautiful, creative pieces. He is also the only blogger I know whose profile picture includes a harp.

I always thought it would be so cool to play the harp. The first one I ever saw in person was owned and operated by Miss Seymour, the lady who conducted the first and only orchestra in which I ever played. This harp had flowers carved around the top. Lilies, as I recall. Very pre-Raphaelite.

I was maybe eight or nine, and I was in the violin section. Eighth chair out of eight. I mostly wanted to play the violin because I wanted to own one. Violins make great decorative accents. I used to take mine out of the case and arrange it on my desk in the sunlight, with my handsomest books and a couple of dried flowers, as a vignette.

I was no good at playing it. Screech. The only piece of music suited to my tone would have been the "Duo miaulé" (a duet for two cats) in Ravel's opera L'Enfant et les sortilèges.

I remember thinking it funny that Miss Seymour was very long and skinny and taut-looking, like a harp string. I also remember her nose, which was distinctive. When I went to see The Hours and saw Nicole Kidman's prosthetic, I felt a shock of recognition.

Miss Seymour told us that if we touched the horsehair on our bows that our eyebrows would fall out. I can't recall anything else she ever said. No, not true. She would scream "You are not attending!" at anybody who wasn't looking at her while she was speaking. Of course, I thought she was so freaky looking I couldn't take my eyes off her.

What I mean to say is, do go have a look at Celtic's blog.

Vox Franklini

In the next episode of Cast On, I'll be whining about last-minute knitting and why, for me anyhow, it's definitely a Guy Thing. If you're one of those who took the time (thank you so much) to write and tell me how much you hated my first piece, I can promise you that you'll hate this one even more. I am nothing if not consistent.

Reader Questions

Helen asked for the link to the New Yorker's archival posting of the short story "Brokeback Mountain." As far as I can tell, it has just been taken down. The story was published outside the magazine in an Annie Proulx collection called That Old Ace in the Hole. But it has just been issued by itself, in a slim volume with the film poster on the cover, under its own title. (C bought it for me for Christmas. Yay!)

Marie in Texas wants to know what the other three books were that I threw away after trying to read them (the first being Annie Proulx's The Shipping News).

They were Cry to Heaven by Anne Rice, The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkein, and Rabbit, Run by John Updike.

State of the Ruana

Finished. Pictures will be taken of the garment on the recipient. Unless she throws up on it when she sees it, as happened in my nightmare a few weeks back.