I’m back at the farm for a couple of days before heading off
next week to Minneapolis, Chicago, and Pittsburgh. If it seems I’m possessed
with seeking out Icelandic weather, you’d be only partly right. I committed to signings in those cities
before I realized how Iceland-like they could be. But no active volcanoes.
Or so I hope.
The closest I’ve been to a volcano since returning to the US
a day or so ago was my reaction on seeing that the folks diligently working on
my barn decided to update the look from 1842 Amish to 1970s suburbia. But that will work itself out.
 |
| Ancient Iceland, not New Jersey |
Or so I hope.
I also noticed that the Greek people once again united in a
24-hour crippling general strike to protest their government’s continuing austerity
measures. But I sense a different tone in these demonstrations. The protestors seem defeated, as if they
realize their efforts are useless, falling on deaf ears. Perhaps that’s because their government
insists that, even though the people don’t see it, things are getting
better.
Or so I hope.
And back here in the US there is talk of new Presidential
runs by old Presidential candidates. Imagine the great (un)reality television
that will make over the next two years.
It may even drive the Kardashians out of the national
consciousness.
Or so I hope.
It’s been a hectic, fanciful few weeks, bouncing from
Bouchercon in Long Beach, California, to Iceland Noir in Reykjavik, to
celebrating Thanksgiving with my daughter and her family in their new Long
Island home. Now it’s time to jump back
into the real world and try my best to make it better. Starting with the barn.
Or so I hope.
Jeff—Saturday
Posts
It was sheer delight to see you both in Iceland, Jeff. That dinner on the last night, when things degenerated to their usual highbrow level around the table,
ReplyDeleteLove the hopeful-yet-resigned air to your blog. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I note you can't bring yourself to post any pix of the barn. But hey, I did offer to come stay and bring tools ...
You take the highbrow and I'll take the low and I'll visit Caro before you...or something like that. Yes, it was a night to remember, Zoe, no matter how hard the wait staff may try to forget. And yes, as I sit here waiting for the power company to show up--did I mention the power's been out since I arrived at the farm?--I keep a resigned air to the fates, regret my decision not to accept your generous offer, and cuddle close a locked and loaded Benelli Super 90 for all others. Charlie would be proud, I'm sure.
ReplyDeleteShe certainly would, Jeff.
DeleteAnd don't worry about me. I'll be hidden 600 yards away in the tree line ...
The frightening thing is that in my neighborhood there might be someone up there with you!
DeleteJeff, from the look on your granddaughter's face, it is clear that she and I have a lot in common when it comes to working out exactly how to respond to you.
ReplyDeleteYes, Annamaria, I'm a sucker for thumb-sucking cuties.
DeleteI do love this blog and all of the bloggers (even the occasional irascible old goat). I will read whatever you folks write, and give the periodic Marco-Polo reply as the gray matter allows, for years to come.
ReplyDeleteOr so I hope.
I hope so too, EvKa, though in your case I think there's little chance of your losing gray matter, what with all the fifty shades of it you possess and exercise regularly.
DeleteBaaaaaa.
It really was super all being together - albeit separately, if you know what I mean. Remember that Africa invitation stays open. See you here one of these days. Or so I hope.
ReplyDelete