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All I have to say is, SEE, I wasn't crazy.  We're in extreme drought conditions here, people.  But don't worry:  there's still enough water to make coffee, which is a good thing for me.

Rain Drops Aren't Falling On My Head

Marianne: Is there any felicity in the world superior to this? Margaret: I told you it would rain. 

Sense and Sensibility

I admit to insanity.

Last night, it rained.  The first rain I have seen since arriving here, and, oh, how much I've missed it.  And as the thunder growled and the water pounded onto our roof, I laid in bed and cried from sheer joy--and the Man was loving enough to not laugh at me.

But it didn't last long enough for me.  I woke up this morning to glaring Texas sunshine (who would have ever expected me to complain about sunshine!) and all I wanted was an Indonesian monsoon or a steady British drizzle or even a torrential Memphian downpour.  Something with which to be cozy.  I needed the right weather for a cup of tea and a blanket.  Since that wasn't an option, I've simulated: this afternoon, I curled up in bed and watched Sense and Sensibility, particularly enjoying the two absolutely soaking rain scenes with Marianne, imagining myself drenched and lovelorn (though I wouldn't waste my time today chasing a blue sky).  And since the movie only lasts a measly 136 minutes, I am now listening to rain sounds that I found online.  After this, I might do a rain dance.

What is it about rain? There is something so soothing about it, something so comforting, and at the same time, something that borders on danger and adventure.  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, "Into each life some rain must fall, some days be dark and dreary."  I just wish that this was true for me more often.  Sunny Texas, I don't dislike you, but could you try not to rub it in my face quite so much?

So here it is. I'm putting in a request for a nice grey day with plenty of rain, a few claps of thunder, occasional shivers of lightening, and just enough wind to put some variation in the home grown water music.  And yes, I'll take a cup of tea with that.

Meeting Madeleine

The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been.

Madeleine L'Engle

The Man and I stumbled upon a Half-Price Bookstore today while trying to find Marble Slab.  We got sucked into the vortex for about an hour, finally emerging with a book each (after much deliberation).  I have a sneaking suspicion he picked up a couple other items for me while we were in there, but I diligently appraised Etta James CDs while he checked out.

My book of choice was A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle, the first book in her Crosswicks Journal collection.  I grew up reading L'Engle's novels, and she always managed to fascinate me with her knowledge of science, music, literature, and life.  Each book of hers that I read challenged me to look at my world from a different perspective.  Coming to her journals, I find myself intrigued by what was going on inside of her mind and what I can learn from her.  

Aside: I've found that my book taste has changed significantly due to marrying the Man, who could spend hours in the History/Biography/Military section of book stores without ever setting foot in the Fiction section.  Initially, I admit, I was a little scandalized by this.  After all, isn't a historian merely an unsuccessful novelist (H.L. Mencken)?  But after a more than a few bookstore trips with the Man, I've learned to amuse myself while he browses, and by doing so found the attraction that he finds there.  You see, the Man reads about people that he wants to emulate, namely, good leaders and men of honour.  I, on the other hand, am finding all sorts of fascinating books about people that I want to emulate, namely, good writers and women of travel.  Hence, my new obsession with journals, travel writing, and biography.

Back to A Circle of Quiet.  I picked it up this afternoon while the Man was single handedly finishing off our nap (I put in an hour's worth of effort and then decided to move on to better things: reading).   The first few chapters were fascinating.  Not only did she manage to include some of my very favourite words (ontology, green, and art), not only did she jump right in to talking about creativity and the unconscious, not only did she give me new insight into the meaning of humility, but she took me right back to a younger me, back to the me that lived in her novels.  Because, you see, the Murry family of the Wrinkle in Time series lived in her very home!  Not literally, of course, but it was all there: the old stone farm house, the glacial stones and apple trees, the star-watching rock.  Old friends come to meet me in reality.  It made me smile.

The Man is sitting next to me doing peer evaluations for class now, and I'm happy once again that I get to curl up with my Mac to write about literature and return to my childhood and, perhaps, think deep thoughts while he actually makes money for us.  

Tea Bags and Mid-Morning Discovery

Just doodling for the moment while drinking tea made in a coffee pot. How I miss Aunt C's electric tea kettle!  I whipped out my flute while the water was heating and found my passport hiding in my sheet music.  I'd been wondering where it'd gone...  Amazing how I always think I've put it in the most obvious of places and then can't find it for a month.

I just wanted to set up the blog (since I have nothing more exciting to do at the moment or rather, since I have no energy to do anything more exciting at the moment), but I'll come back later when I'm feeling more inspired and actually write something cool.  Maybe.

For the moment, let me leave you with this most excellent of thoughts that came straight out of the mouth of my sleep deprived husband last night: "We're not in Neverland anymore, Toto."