The Four Horsemen and Farfara

Sunday, January 29, 2012

The library before the Four Horsemen (fire, blood, flood, and bookalanche) arrived

Yesterday I went to put a book back in the library, and found myself sloshing through a substantial amount of water. After an initial moment of panic in which I believed that our septic system was backing up, I discovered that in fact I had simply broken the washing machine, which was now pumping its entire supply of sudsy water across the floor of our house. 


In telling this to D much later, I summarized: "So, thus far, I have set the kitchen on fire, bled with Jacobean abundance from hands and feet all over the ground floor, and flooded the library. Basically, I am the End of Days for this house."

"Have you considered sitting down and just, um, not doing anything for a while?", D asked.

"I'm Apocalyptic!" I replied, laughing low and not a little maniacally.

The Dragonfly on Privilege (and Hats)

Friday, January 27, 2012

The following is what this dragonfly is whispering in my ear.

Hats literalize the workings of privilege, Revelation #1: 

Being fashionable can be exactly like wearing blinders...

Hats literalize the workings of privilege, Revelation #2: 

...with the result that, in your cloche, the only path to self-preservation is the adoption of a sneeringly aristocratic head tilt, and a gaze that travels archly down your nose, now parallel to the floor. You think you look aloof and dashing. In fact you look myopic and contorted.

[These are corollaries to the Dorky Medievalist's first law of fashion, "I always wear heels when I teach hegemony."]

Snow White, Blood Red

Thursday, January 26, 2012

I hereby dub last weekend "Snow White, Blood Red," in keeping with Farfara's fairy tale theme.

Fairy tales happen here

It's so gorgeous with the snow falling that I'm beginning to regret telling everyone that winter (November-June) was a dull time to visit. 

How is it that we can watch the sun set over the ocean from our house on the East Coast? It's all about the Bay, baby.

In related news: why on earth don't we own a sled? Farfara Way has not yet realized its full potential.

This is where I read, of a sun-drenched evening when the snow turns every surface fiery.

The next morning, I tell D (in decidedly unfrigid Honolulu) how beautiful it is at Farfara, where the only things marring the snow are the prints of a bunny that made its way past in the night.

"A coyote-bunny hybrid?" D asks.

I consider this for a moment, trying to unearth its logic. I think it's that our coyotes, the Nova Scotian beasts who have taken the nearly unprecedented step of attacking human hikers, are thought to be wolf cross-breeds.  

"If so," I finally say, "I'm a lot less worried about these coyotes, because they are less than a foot tall. And they hop, which, let's face it, isn't that scary."

"Clearly you have never seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail," D replies.

Oh, but I have. And just like that, I've got one more thing to worry about.