Frivolity

 A minor impatient rebellion by a few of my writers in my writing workshop yesterday. Demands to see their finished pieces published already. I took the requisite 24 hours before responding as my initial internal reactive one would have curled the hair on anyone's head. 

So I managed the reasonable, reasoned one a few minutes ago. Still calling them idiots but couched very prettily in one of those passive aggressive apologies. "I thought I had taken the time to explain the process in detail, I am so sorry if that wasn't the case."  (Note to readers: you see how imperfect I am.)

I read the rag of our local newspaper (on line) today, I don't do it often as it makes me grit my teeth. But I idly looked at my horoscope and it said:

So yes on the horoscope theme, I just finished "A Spool of Blue Thread" which was book club reading for this month. I see it has mixed reviews. I love Anne Tyler so admit to a bias. I would give it 5/5. It reads with extraordinary intimacy into a family. The secrets, the unspoken, the unresolved.

I've also nearly finished all the episodes of Season 5 of The Crown which, much like Downtown Abbey, one can't quite take seriously. The cars and frocks and sumptuous dinners and palatial residences and backbiting can't be beaten for their sheer entertainment value and re-creation. It must have cost a fortune to produce.

Blogjam

Sunrise from my window a few mornings ago, the deep crimson red was breathtaking and the phone-photo doesn't quite capture it. That's an owl (my spirit animal) pendant - a gift - on the window. It captures the light and moves a rainbow across my floor every day when the sun shines.

We soldier on. In spite of. Because of.

Or do we? I confess to being absolutely knackered by the latest cases of Covid with one case of Omicron here, contained, but hey. Anybody else feeling a sense of gloom and defeat?

I mean we can sway in the wind from time to time and shrug and carry on and then at others feel like crawling into bed and staying there as The Plague, in all its iterations, takes over the planet and thumbs its nose at us. Even those of us fairly safe with an abundance of caution and the health experts taking control of protocols and not the politicians. Like here in my province, Newfoundland. 

It's not good news out of Ireland and the UK and Ontario, Canada, et al. I haven't checked the US lately, I'm hoping you guys are OK with the New Man in charge. Australia has this abundance of caution thing going as well.

Meanwhile in my country of birth, the prime minister has admitted to being "worried" as Omicron gallops through his country with no end in sight. And old Boris in the UK is folding, it looks like.

So we all agreed yesterday, the writing workshop keeps us going like never before and all the writing is remarkable. It's a great way of losing one's self, immersing in an imaginary plague-free world.

I watched For Life which was on Netflix here. Quite good.

I watched some of the Irish series  Single Handed not bad so far. On Amazon Prime here.  Great views of the old sod and seascapes. For those of you not Irish, turn on CC. The accents come flying at you quickly.

Reading Anxious People (Fredrik Backman) who wrote A Man Called Ove which I loved. It's very unusual. And I'll reserve my review until finished.