I saw the kids we once were in that picture you sent me
Yom Kippur is over, the gates of the year swung closed. In the digital roll of my camera, I have pictures of my godchild wearing my corduroy coat for Kol Nidre, snazzily over his royal purple shirt. Its shoulders fit him exactly, but my arms are longer, and I can still pick him up.
I never seem to notice vacations until I'm in them. I am waking up without an alarm and eating soup dumplings and reading my trip books as well as whatever printed material has been left where I can reach it and being shown the first season of Deadloch (2023–), which I am enjoying tremendously as both a black comedy crime procedural chock full of lesbians and a masterclass in the multivalence of profanity. (No one in this house is watching The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (2022–) and the minute I asked
selkie correctly figured Celebrimbor as the character whose actor I think about watching it for.) I have been gifted a king-size flannel in a sort of test-pattern plaid which I can treat like half a bathrobe. I ate nearly a bag of mango habanero beef jerky because it was there on the counter. My godchild keeps bonking his head into me like a cat. I am slightly overpeopled and having a wonderful time.
I had not been inside a synagogue for the High Holidays in nearly twenty years. Re-reading Peter S. Beagle's Tamsin (1999) for the first time in possibly as long, I keep catching all the technological similes for the interpenetrations of time that give rise to hauntings, slides in a projector, a tape running down, the flickering of a movie run in reverse. I haven't seen the eight-hundred-century comet, but I'm glad it's out there.
I never seem to notice vacations until I'm in them. I am waking up without an alarm and eating soup dumplings and reading my trip books as well as whatever printed material has been left where I can reach it and being shown the first season of Deadloch (2023–), which I am enjoying tremendously as both a black comedy crime procedural chock full of lesbians and a masterclass in the multivalence of profanity. (No one in this house is watching The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (2022–) and the minute I asked
I had not been inside a synagogue for the High Holidays in nearly twenty years. Re-reading Peter S. Beagle's Tamsin (1999) for the first time in possibly as long, I keep catching all the technological similes for the interpenetrations of time that give rise to hauntings, slides in a projector, a tape running down, the flickering of a movie run in reverse. I haven't seen the eight-hundred-century comet, but I'm glad it's out there.

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Enjoy your vaaation. :)
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This made me laugh, not very appropos of anything useful or particularly relevant, but I know when I've talked about Welcome to Our Village you liked Julian Rhind-Tutt from something (aka Uljabaan #1) and... Charles Edwards is Uljabaan #2, so you are apparently 2 for 2 on radio aliens who invade tiny villages and then run out of budget. XD
(I haven't seen RoP either, but Charles Edwards does seem to be a perfectly good person to watch a thing for!)
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You're my second DW friend that mentioned Tamsin this month, I'm going to take that as a double rec!
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