Every so often we have mish-mash for dinner, when the refrigerator is full of single servings left over from the week’s meals. Tonight, Laura had the last slice of pizza, Julia had Swedish meatballs, and David and I had the remnants of my first promenade through My French Kitchen by Joanne Harris and Fran Warde — lentil and sausage casserole and garlic soup, respectively. This is a lovely, evocative book that set my mouth watering as soon as I saw it. The lentil dish is pleasant and earthy (much depends on the sausages, I suspect), and the garlic soup very tasty. I didn’t much care for the Poule au Pot, but then I’ve made various versions of this and never found it to speak to me much, so I can’t fault Harris’. Her Boeuf en Daube, redolent of bay and thyme and olives and an entire bottle of white wine, was heavenly!
So, then, this post will be a mish-mash too, since life has been increasingly hectic chez Bluestocking these days, and little that I have to say would stretch to a full post on its own.
I made an Odessa the other day for my aunt, whose cancer is returning. Cashsoft DK again, so wonderfully soft and comforting — this color is 525 Kingfisher, and worth seeking out, a lovely tealy greeny-blue.
I could not resist the lure of the laceweight — the ball is one skein of Skacel Merino Lace, in 339 Pale Grey, luminous and pearl-like — I’m thinking something Shetlandish.
A cup from Annie Modesitt’s clever Fiesta Tea Set, in some ancient Tahki Cotton Classic that I dug up from one of the deeper drawers in my closet. Am not sure yet if I’m going to make the rest of the set in the same color (wh. is all I have), or find some peppier shades, or just enjoy this piece on its own.
I put up a photo album in the sidebar of some of my dad’s model trains, the ones I have. Trains were such an intrinsic part of his life that I feel absurdly grateful to have these.
My Daisy troop is up to fifteen. Fifteen kindergarten girls in one room! Need I say more?
I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately, curiously enough all Norwegian ones, hard to knit to since I need to read the subtitles, my Norwegian stretching mostly to exclamations — "Gud!" "Nå da?" "Fy!"– and words that I probably shouldn’t know. Anyway, first was "Insomnia", a bleak and gritty crime thriller from a few years back, in which a detective in the far north accidentally shoots his partner during a murder investigation, and finds himself increasingly mired in guilt and the insomnia of the title as he tries to cover up what really happened. "Hamsun" is the story of Norwegian Nobel Laureate novelist Knut Hamsun’s involvement with Hitler’s occupying forces during World War II, and of Hamsun’s turbulent relationship with his wife, a fervent Nazi supporter. It’s a ghastly, riveting film — like watching a car crash that one is powerless to stop — with Hamsun played with arresting dignity by Max von Sydow.
"Kitchen Stories (Salmer fra Kjøkkenet)" is the lightest of the bunch so far — and by far — and one that I can recommend without hesitation for those who like quirky, subtle, character-driven comedy. The premise is that Swedish researchers in the postwar craze for scientific research and efficiency are sending a team of observers to study Norwegian bachelor farmers’ kitchen habits — resulting in the quietly absurd set-up in the photo. One of these objects of study has had a change of heart and resents the intrusion stubbornly, but through a series of small events he and his ostensibly objective observer become unlikely friends. The ending is bittersweet but entirely believable and satisfying.
Little-known Fact #133: All Norwegian movies feature Sverre Anker Ousdal in some role, large or small.
(Not that I’m complaining, mind. Fellow polar geeks will recognize him from "The Flight of the Eagle", the lyrical and harrowing film based on the Swedish attempt in 1897 to reach the North Pole by balloon, and
as Roald Amundsen in 1985’s "The Last Place on Earth". The sight of Amundsen and his men skiing towards the South Pole is as stirring a thing I’ve seen in many a year.)
I read the last of the Aubrey/Maturin series while David was in Hong Kong. I’d been reading them slowly, trying to spin out the last few as long as I could, but then one night after finishing The Hundred Days, I picked up Blue at the Mizzen as if there were no covers between the two, just another chapter break. It was like running down a hill — I ran through it in delight, unable to stop myself and not caring a whit, and was surprised when I turned over the last page with something like utter joy and came to the end, not without a bit of a thud at my sudden return to reality. So, that’s that, and I guess — unless somebody stands me 21 for my birthday — I’ll start over again from the beginning.
I’ve just finished reading the fourth in the Brother Cadfael series, St. Peter’s Fair, retrieved deep from the basement storage area of our local public library. It’s interesting, reading the books hard on the heels of one another, instead of a year or two apart as I did when they were published — I begin to get a sense of Peters’ developing style and feeling for the characters. I had quite forgotten after so long that Hugh Beringar in his first appearance — in the second book — was in fact an opponent, not an ally of Cadfael’s. Almost makes me want to see the television series again, but not quite. Only for Sean Pertwee,
for whom I almost seriously considered starting a write-in-campaign-of-one to Peter Jackson, as I had long pictured Sean Pertwee in my admittedly fertile imagination as Faramir, one of my favorite characters in "The Lord of the Rings" cycle. Not too much of a stretch, though, I think! (I would rather, too — not that I’ve anything against Viggo Mortensen — have seen Sean Bean as Aragorn, as he was much more my idea of the character — but that’s another story, for another time.)
