1. I have a playlist called Rollicking that I like to listen to when I'm doing things in the kitchen. The songs on it, which include Chuck Berry and a lot of The Cramps, makes me feel like what I'm doing isn't mundane; a bit like Tracy Jordan reasoning that because birds are like little dinosaurs, feeding Kenneth's is cool and brave. Vincent's Mum once called me asbestos hands after feeling the extremely high temperature of the water I had just washed dishes in (sans gloves), so I think dish-doing is also brave, and listening to this music makes it a bit cooler. Anyway, I just did the dishes and then found this cover of Strychnine, which I think is pretty good.
2. Today Vincent found a place in Auckland City that sells Peanut Butter M&Ms. Peanut Butter M&Ms are one of my favourite sweet things in the whole world, and I expect this discovery to make my skirts a lot tighter, and that's fine by me.
3. I'm feeling both inspired by and mildly jealous of these well-dressed women. One of the great things about autumn is being able to wear knits with bare legs, but I wish my bare legs ended in heels instead of boots (how do these ladies do it?), and that I could find a jumper in the right pink, and that I had that exact skirt (except in however many sizes bigger I would need it). And I wish I was as cool as lady no. 2 (cigarette most definitely included. Don't hate me; I was formed in the 90s). Both photos are from The Sartorialist.
4. In just 9 1/2 weeks, Vincent, the Jenga Queen, her parents, and I are going to Samoa, and I can't wait. In honour of / preparation for the trip, Vincent decided to read Treasure Island, so I began reading it to him and now I'm reading it myself. I'm enjoying it very much, but does anybody know what Long John Silver is saying? I understand about 50%.
5. It's raining, and although we can hear it coming down, Vincent has just said how much he misses hearing it come down on the roof (we live on the fourth floor of a seven floor building). It's made me think of one of my favourite poems, with which I will leave you.
Rain on the roof
My nephew sleeping in a basement room
has put a sheet of iron outside his window
to recapture the sound of rain falling on the roof.
I do not say to him, The heart has its own comfort for grief.
A sheet of iron repairs roofs only. As yet unhurt by the demand
that change and difference never show, he is still able
to mend damages by creating the loved rain-sound
he thinks he knew in early childhood.
Nor do I say, In the traveling life of loss
iron is a burden, that one day he must find
within himself in total darkness and silence
the iron that will hold not only the lost sound of the rain
but the sun, the voices of the dead, and all else that has gone.