On May 1st I started a hundred day challenge to write a hundred posts each of exactly a hundred words. I completed it, but by then it had become a habit!
Am I a careless reader?
I’m a thoughtless reader, rushing over words, irritated by idiosyncrasies – a writer’s style for some careless reason annoying me. Am I holding some writers in arrogant disdain? Someone wrote that not finishing a book disrespects the author; I disagreed, but actually, maybe my recent reading is ill-mannered and rude. Speed reading, skimming, letting my eyes roam across a page is just plain arrogant and for no reason. I’m not in any hurry, no need to rush over exciting adventures, keen to find the solution; in truth I’m lazy and can’t be bothered. Must do better.
We thought the smoky night air was due to sweeling, burning off stubble by farmers. We also thought sweeling was banned. The other day the village was foggy with acrid smoke, not sweeling but a barn burning, over by Brean Down; an accident no doubt but the fire brigade took no action and it was let burn itself out.
Except it didn’t. Our village air is still tanged with smoke, and when we drove out that way, we saw, three days after the fire, the barn still smouldering. It’s bad enough for us, must be unbearable for those living nearer.
The first classic novel I remember reading, in an abridged form was ‘Wuthering Heights’. I think I was ten or eleven, still at junior school and shocked and a little frightened by the scene where Cathy or her ghost scratches at the casement to be let in by Lockwood. I was gripped by the characters, reading to the end, probably not understanding the complexity of the relationships in the abbreviated version. What disturbed me more, haunting my dreams for years was Heathcliff’s instruction to be buried by Cathy, the side of her coffin opened so they’d be together for eternity.
I love aubergines, but somehow when cooked at home, they’re always disappointing. I can’t achieve that unctuous softness of a parmigiana di melanzane, my baba ganoush is tasteless and has a strange texture, and the family hates my moussaka, saying I tricked them into thinking they were having lasagne.
Today I bought an aubergine, loving its fine, imperial purpleness, its smooth skin without a crease or wrinkle; they always look so cheerful, full of optimism. I worry that yet again I’ll disappoint it, my parmigiana will be chewy, my baba ganoush timid, feeble and dull.
I’ll try my best, aubergine
For the first time, a doubly belated post – how did I miss two days? Is it cheating to write this two days after the date it was supposed to be written. Maybe, or maybe it’s just a lesson to say, must do better! For the first time in 115 days I have not written my 100 words – apart from Day 102 (see note below)
Day 115 was Monday, Ann early morning trip to buy a birthday gift for daughter, successfully but with an expensive miscalculation. The rest of the day was spent in the gardening, wrestling the eternal nightmare – weeds!
Day 102 was the first time I didn’t write on the actual day, but on the following day; it seemed like cheating. However, it was an update to Day 91, so I count it as valid.