Scant reason for not posting in four days other than sheer terror. This blog has never seen as many hits as those who came to read Allison Anders' brilliant piece on Polanski. If you haven't seen it, you can find it here. Thank you so much, Allison.
Leaves are turning a yellowy-brown and the temperature has dropped about fifty degrees from last week. I'm feeling grateful for my thick Scottish sweater -- a present from my sister-in-law -- and the bath tub. I soaked for hours last night and read I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith. I'm smitten.
I've found it very hard to get Minky to read much of anything but the Twilight series and Teen Vogue, but we lay outside, covered in a huge blanket, on Sunday and I read the book to her. The protagonist is a 17 year old girl, so it is not hard for her to relate to. We lay at opposite ends of the sofa, our knees meeting in the middle and providing a protective barrier so that we couldn't see each other. I read and she listened, so attentively in fact that I couldn't hear a sound, till I peeked over the wall of knees to see her fast asleep. But I've decided that reading to your children isn't just when they're small. If my 14 year old won't read on her own, we shall read together. Of course, it's tremendously hard to stop reading a book you're very excited about just because one of your audience members is snoozing softly.
On Friday I leave for England. I can't wait to be in England in October. I don't remember the last time I was in the countryside in the autumn. More often than not, I'd find myself in London for the film festival, and I'd go for a half-hearted walk around the park, looking for crispy piles of leaves in which to jump.
All is well and all manner of things will be well.
And this is what I miss most:
The English Oak. There will be plenty of them where I'm going. And beech trees.