You know, I really wanted to be able to show you a lovely picture of my Flower Basket Shawl, all blocked and ironed and looking beautiful.

The problem is that–it seems every time I finish a project, we get weather like this.

Cloudy.

Rainy.

Practically no natural light at all.

Downright depressing, in fact.

  So that this is really the best I can show you. Draped over my arm in what little sun we had yesterday. (And I think you can tell by the photo that that wasn’t much! But you know, it’s misty. The Dementors are breeding.)

  Or this one, laying over the ottoman in the front window. The colors are not glowing, they’re not shining, they’re not glimmering from their depths–because there’s really, again, no natural light to speak of.

Really, you’re just going to have to take my word that the shawl looks beautiful and that the colors are wonderful. At least until such a time as we have a sunny day and I can provide better photographic evidence. At least you saw the blocking pictures from the other day. That’s something, right?

I’ve been reading Robertson Davies today. I find that after flying through a much-anticipated book, that trying to read anything afterward that’s too similar is a mistake. Almost any other Fantasy book would be compared to Harry by my currently Harry-obsessed brain, and almost definitely be found lacking in fun or some, indefinable quality. Later, after other readings, I’ll be able to follow him up with, say, Diana Wynne Jones (always a treat) or Robin McKinley, or some other, similar “feeling” book and be okay, but for the first reading? It would be a mistake–like asking somebody to come out and sing the Star-Spangled Banner right after Ethyl Merman, or Blue Suede Shoes after Elvis. It’s just too much to ask. The only thing you can do is bring out someone who excels in jazz or country or anything that’s different than what your star just sang, but who is equally good.

Hence, the Robertson Davies. A Canadian man of letters, erudite but funny. Quirky but elite. Accessible but a little bit of work. And absolutely no wizards, wands, prophecies, or evil villains. I picked the Salterton trilogy, whose first two books I love. (Though the “Lyre of Orpheus” is my favorite of his.) Because this is the other trick–to force your brain to settle into something else when it’s thinking “Harry. Harry. Harry.”, or after any book that catches your imagination and doesn’t want to let go. You have to pick something else you already love. Trying to follow it up with something new is a mistake, because if it’s not sterling-good, it won’t keep your attention, and you’ll just blame it for failing. You can’t know how good it’s going to be until you’ve read it. No, you have to pick a book that you already know you like and is worth the read, so that if your attention flags you can urge it onward, knowing there’s a good pay-off coming.

(See? This is what happens when you’re an obsessive reader who is just as happy to re-read an old book as read a new one. You learn lots of little tricks to make sure the brain up there doesn’t get bored!)

Hey, did anybody else catch that Dumbledore knits? He mentions enjoying reading Muggle magazines for the knitting patterns. Aw, sweet!

• Tags: Finished Knitting, General, Knitting/Spinning, Reading • Permalink:Art Photos They’re Not! //