23/04/2015 sunrise

september TBR

(hopefully)

summer log #7

  23rd August:

summer log #6

14th August: I am very good at packing, though I've noticed some people have quite a different idea of what "good at packing" entails. Look at all of these books - I single-handedly packed and carried home all of them :3 

And then, even though I was going back to my bookshelves, at least half of which have unread books, I still had to bring books. Because books.

15th August:
I had stuff to read on the train, but I was also tired and had a cold, so this was one of the rare journeys that I spent actually looking out the window.

17th August:

Studied, but with entirely too many tumblr breaks. Then I made food that actually tasted good (one pot wander, I think; must make again) and then I made the couch which now looks so comfy I kinda wish I was sleeping there. 

The weather was perfect today. Almost chilly, it drizzled, and then this happened: those colours, how?!

summer log #5

13th August:
* made it till dawn
* not happy about it
* but I discovered my camera had an exposure setting
* so I could capture exactly what it looked like when I finally went to bed
* not sure why all this is relevant
* but
* first and hopefully last time I'm skipping a night this summer
* because it makes me forgetful
* and sentences just won't happen

summer log #4

12th August: Is this the obligatory sleep deprived blogging? Guess it is. I've been up 19 hours now, after a couple of nights when I haven't gotten much sleep. Today I went shopping and found this really pretty Wess Anderson-y fabric that I decided to make into a tote bag. And that's what I've been doing all day (and night, and part of the morning, if 2 a.m. can even be called that). I have only the straps left to attach, but I'm gonna give it a rest for a while.

summer log #3

9th August:

There. Wouldn't be a very accurate journal without any cats :) I actually spend most of my time in the countryside trying to coax these little fellows (he is one of four) into play. Day 110: still no luck, but one can approach within 0.5 feet of them if one avoids eye contact. Or if one presents food. 

One of the best things about the cottage is that we have a large garden, and my mum is most definitely a witch because she can persuade delicious stuff to grow where there used to be nothing but weeds and the occasional goat. Which would make my dad a warlock, I guess; he is really good at improvising and making things work. Last year we made preserves over a bonfire, which was honestly a far better setting for chanting the "Fire burn, and cauldron bubble" bit, but this year we had to upgrade a little because no one was going to stay in this heat to poke, or feed, or fan, or whatever one does to maintain a fire. Enter dad and my grandma's old, retired stove. He's still got some fire in those, uh, pipes of his, silly old fellow. Or perhaps "gas" would be more exact?

And, speaking of growing things, there are so many flower-y bits, and leaf-y bits, and just green bits in general, that I had forgotten how dried-up things usually get in summer. I happened to glance over the fence and it took me back to the days when it used to get so dry and dusty that you could just picture tumbleweeds rolling everywhere. It was quite fun, though one did get the urge to ride off into the sunset occasionally, or at least buy a pair of spurs. 

10th August: Because I couldn't write this right away, I almost forgot what it was I did yesterday. I knew I had to have done something - it was one of those very considerate days that stretches itself out to make room for all your plans, practically begging you to go on, go outside, don't just sit there reading the entire day. So I didn't. By the time I'd exhausted all the comfortable and even a few of the less so reading positions, I caught a whiff of baking and decided to venture outside (to the kitchen; it was still a while before I left the house). 

Words can make people happy, right? Well, I was positively giddy the entire morning because ants·y could perhaps originate from the saying "to have ants in one's pants" and I can't think of a better way to get something that means both fidgety, and restless. It's been quite rewarding, getting back into the habit of using a dictionary, even when a word seems familiar. 

I'm going to miss our tiny, cluttered kitchen. Not least because my designated place is on the stair, from where I can watch the food being made, while chatting or fetching things, no involvement in the actual cooking part whatsoever.

I'm also going to miss riding my bike at the most inappropriate times - middle of a very hot day? check. middle of a night swarming with mosquitoes? check. Whatever shall I do for fun when these two dozen mosquito bites heal?

11th August:
How am I not a morning person when this is what mornings look like at the cottage? All I could think on our drive back was how neatly fog emphasizes distance. At least, I don't usually acknowledge it, unless I'm looking at how fog colours all the layers of landscape lighter, and lighter, until the very farthest hills are completely  drowned in brightness. And it's a little bit like 'hey, it's pretty over there, but how nice is it that you can see better right in front of you and, look! you move a little closer and now that bit that was foggy clears up". Don't know where I was going with this, but it's 3 am currently, so this is going up or I'll completely lose track of these entries.