Brit travel books

After supper and dishes and door locking and all, I sat down last night to write a blog. A rambling blob. Look how that's one letter from blog. I see I also did it in extra large type, which possibly accounts for why it was so reasonable to me, last night, after supper.

At the end of the day I no longer hold reasonable thoughts. Coherent. I cannot find words. I quit last night when I lost words. I woke up with the word this morning, but it's gone again. There still is hope it will return, and I'll write it on the pad.

From the ridiculous to the sublime! I got it. I wrote it down. There is a place it's appropriate, and I'll put it there.

Last night I was close to the end of a book that's sucked me straight in. Not Tonight Josephine, a sweet growing up book by a traveler, a Brit. I realized how many Brit travel books I've actually read. I even took a picture of the shelf of books I've read since I no longer have a teenager to talk to.

 

And a picture of the books I'm working on now:

Yesterday I finished weaving the Denim warp. I decided to leave it to today to begin finishing. I would have some supper, write a blog post about Brit books and get up today to finish up the warp and probably clean the house.

My most coherent thought from last night is, much as I disliked Travels in Siberia, none of the travelogues I replaced it with were equally dissatisfying, though far more readable. Notes from a Small Island, The Road to Dribbling, A Walk in the Woods are enough Bryson for a lifetime, and I see I have one left.

Maphead and Accidental Adventurer are much the same thing on opposite sides of the ocean. A Town like Alice does not belong in the pile. It was a compelling book. It was an historical novel. I didn't include Salt Path. For some reason I hold it above the other books. I was going to say that last night, and throw in "from the ridiculous to the sublime" some where about here, except I couldn't say it, and went to bed.

On to today. The day to full the denim toweling and clean the house. On the way to the studio to cut the fabric off the loom and secure the warp, I realized it had not rained overnight and wasn't forecast for today. I stepped outside to bring in the watering bucket, to remind myself to do it.

Cathy called. I'd texted that I'd finally reached the landlady, who claimed to have retrieved my August rent check from the USPS mail box only today, and she would be sure not to charge a late fee, honey. Cathy and I know this is pure horse hockey and discussed her motives extensively. But enough, that's just trailer park talk.

I put the fabric in the washer, sat down to lunch with Not tonight Josephine. I was close to the end. In fact, I'd already read the last chapter. Just to be sure. I put the fabric in the dryer and kept on reading. 

Finished the book, folded the fabric, and "Oh, crap" I forgot to water the plants!

It takes that much water to give everyone a thorough wetting down. Yes, it's heavy and I am very careful getting it outside. 

I did the zinnias no favor, not watering this morning. None of them were "real" zinnias, but they do deserve watering.

Can you see the inch of water left? The flowers were relieved. I haven't cleaned the house. And that's my post on Brit travel books.