There aren't a lot of people I can read the way I read Sjón, with a respect that is awe-adjacent, and without a twinge of jealousy. There is something about his voice (or the voice that shines through Victoria Cribb's translations) that leaves me humbled and aspirational. I just started Codex 1962, and withing two pages I was utterly in the book's thrall, as always happens. If I were a dog, I would have rolled over and one hind leg would have begun spasmodically twitching.
I notice there is a cat hair in the photo. Life with cats....
The real news is that my mom was in the ER today for a burst blood vessel in her leg: not life-threatening unless she were to pass out, and perhaps not even then, if it were to scab quickly (as today's did). In and then out: my brother drove over from the Twin Cities to keep her company and check out the situation and found her already at home, wrapped up in a bathrobe and looking a little lightheaded. I talked to Mom and then Rich, who has been cleaning up. He gave me good advice: if you ever stab someone, you can use a broken varicose vein as an excuse for the blood all over you. I am calm about this, mostly because I heard about it all after there was any uncertainty or concern.
I am recovering from the Iceland cold that has kept me inside for a few days. I ran errands, so many errands.
And I wrote this morning! I have three weeks to get this Sphinx thing to start making sense if I want to send it to Conjunctions. Come on, subconscious, do your stuff.
...and that's five.