A Harvest of Days

Well, for all of you who find my calamity stories so funny: I am sorry. Today, you do not get a funny story. My car, I am happy to report is still running. The jury is still out as to whether it will truly "run forever" as the English mechanic avers, but it has run for a whole week without the need of boiling water or jiggling wires. And I have taken it off the hill thrice. So perhaps, it shall whinny with us for some months longer.

At present, I am sleepy, so if there are any glaring errors is spelling, grammar, or punctuation in this post, you will know it is because I have scarcely been to bed in 2 days. It is not because I am ailing - oh no, not at all! Quite the contrary. I have not had so splendid a set of days in some time. The dratted White Dog of Life has been distracted for the time being, and I find that I can stand up in the puddle of my existence without being bowled over. The World Pipe Band Championships took place on Friday and Saturday, and as usually, there was a live stream of the proceedings, for those who wanted to observe the event in real time. I, obviously, was amongst that number, so I dragged myself out of bed at 2 ack emma, so that I might have the pleasure of gluing myself to a computer screen for the next 7 hours, and listening to band after band play the most astonishing music. 

Here is quite a low-quality picture of the blogger, taken
with my pathetic wee phone camera. It is about 3 am,
and I am drinking coffee from an appropriate vessels, whilst
wearing my Inverary and District Pipe Band shirt.

Last year's competitions were quite exceptional, and there were a few sets that were mile-markers. This year... Oh, this year! The piping was transcendent. By the time a mere handful of bands had played, the bar had been set so high that you began to feel as if this could not possibly be mortal men, standing there in a circle on Glasgow Green. Perhaps the Fair Folk had come out of the Hollow Hills and were enchanting us all with fairy music.... Do not mock. At 3 in the morning it seemed a very real explanation for the quality of music we were being treated too. I have no idea how the judges were able to produce a winner, the puir men, nor did I envy them the task. Suffice it to say, the title of Champion, after dwelling with Field Marshall Montgomery these last three years, has gone back to Scotland, With Shotts and Dykehead taking the honours, and my two favourite bands, St. Lawrence O'Toole and Inverary and District, coming in 2nd and 3rd, with only a point between them. I have had as near to my fill of piping as I have ever had, and the world is Good.

Here the blogger, having been out of her bed for 5 hours,
is treating herself to a pre-breakfast glass of Laphroaig,
whilst cheering on her favourite bands

Add to that, the unexpected treat of having Mass on the Feast of Our Lady in Harvest (otherwise know as the feast of the Assumption) and a splendid dinner of barbecued corned beef, with potatoes and carrots (also prepared on the grill as we DO NOT turn on the indoor cooking equipment in this weather) not to mention the luxury of two extra days off from work, and you have yourself one well contented blogger. If only every weekend could be like this!

I have also been attempting to apply myself to my arts lately. (My, aren't we preening!) I have produced a few passible little miniatures over the last month or so:

There us this beehive:

And this curious little medieval dragon and border:

There is this painting. There is a marshy bit of meadow, a couple miles from my home, where a little river comes out to the lake. We've been in a drought for long enough, that the grass comes down nearly to the lake in a wide swath of marsh grass and wild flowers. I like to walk down there if it is cool enough in the evening, and watch the sunset. I came home from one such jaunt and made a paint sketch of it - free hand. No preliminary drawing, just wet washes laid down quickly on top of each other, and a bit of drier painting on top for detail:

And lastly, there is this ladybird beetle - otherwise known as a ladybug in the US - painted up yesterday, for the feast of the Assumption, this particular insect being named for Our Lady:

And lastly, I have been trying to write poetry. I am not entirely sure why I am struggling so much with it. I have attempted four poems in the last month, and none of them have made it through the creative process. I still think the ideas behind them are quite good. I just can't get them out on to paper. This one came to me a couple days ago. The weather has been a bit warm of late, and the summer sun here at nearly 6,500 feet, is piercing, but the nights are getting the least bit cooler, and there is a bit of autumn in the wind. So I wrote this:

Turning From the Sun

The air lies heavy still, with heat

And still too fiercely burns the sun -

Too bright the blue, unclouded sky,

Too hard the earth, for want of rain.

But winds have come now, edged and sweet,

And copper needles, slanting down,

A chill curls where deep shadows lie,

And clouds give hope of green again.

Maybe we will finally have a proper winter here on the West Coast, and the drought will ease, if not leave entirely. I miss snow in winter, and green growing things in summer. 

Semper Gumby

See this thing:

From Wikihow

That is a car battery terminal. That is where you clamp the red or black wires to the car's battery. Everyone who has ever had cause to open the hood of a car and glimpse the battery, knows what a terminal is, even if they don't know they know it. 

Here's the thing about battery terminals - they are subject to corrosion. And corroded terminals are a bloody nuisance. They cause your car - which has had its alternator replaced twice in one week - to lose its charge as it sits in your driveway overnight with the engine off, so that when you go out a bit early, intending to run an errand before heading off to work...You find yourself subjected to that increasingly familiar experience of sitting in a car that is so dead, even the dashboard lights quit on you when you attempt to start it. 

And Your mechanic is then subjected to the weekly wail of a stranded and very fed-up female.

"What's your car doing?" the laconic and unflappable English voice demands.

"Its not doing anything. Its just sitting there, and won't start."

"All right, Lovely, I'll tell you what you do. Just pop up under the hood, and look for the black wire on the battery terminal and give it a bit of a jiggle."

"Battery terminal" you repeat dutifully, walking out, phone in hand to the car.

"Right. It will be the one on the right - right up there under the fender. Just give it a bit of a jiggle."

You obediently pop up under the hood and jiggle the black wire on the terminal - which you already knew how to find - it being, after all, the only jiggleable black thing on the battery. Then you try it again - upon which the car gives you a wheezy cough before lapsing back into a coma.

"It didn't start." you say.

"Riiiight. Ok, then. Here's what I want you to do. Boil up some water, right? It needs to be boiling...."

"Right." 

"And then you pour it all over the terminal. Got that? Boiling water. All over. Give it a jiggle. And it will start right up and run forever."

"Right."

"And be really, really careful not to get any of the water that will come pouring off on to your clothes. Because anywhere it splashes.... it will leave a little hole."

"O... K....."

"Right. Give me a call back if it doesn't start. That's all it needs - well a new terminal really, but I can't do that from here. My arms aren't long enough. So just pour boiling water all over it and that will be you."

So, after vowing to replace the terminal as soon as possible, you take yourself off to boil water and fetch it back. You pour boiling water all over the terminal, taking care to avoid splashing little holes on to your clothing. You gingerly give the black terminal wire another bit of a jiggle and sit behind the wheel, feeling something like a mad scientist, about to test his newest theory. To your relief, the car does start right up, as though its brush with death never happened. Whether it will run forever remains to be seen, but so far, it has carried through the day. You might not have to hit it with a hammer after all.

And you know a new trick. Fancy that.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Yes, yes. It has been too long. And I should be ashamed and make it up with a long witty post, Alas and alack, that is not going to happen. Nor am I going to explain why. I shall merely leave you with this gif, and allow you to draw your own conclusions:

Sumer Is Acumen In...

Lhude Sing..... oh blast.

I think I gave myself a mild case of sunstroke yesterday. Or it could just be that this, the first truly hot day we've had thus far, triggered the heat headaches I generally get during this time of the year, when the rest of the world is lhude singing "cucu" and I am considering moving to Antarctica. Or it could be that I had a restless sleep last night. I remember waking at least once to strange dreams. Though I remembered nothing of the dreams when I crawled out of my bed in the pale grey of early morning... I hope all of you Sun Worshippers are pleased. 

But that was a digression. I did not come to lament the passing of clement weather. Not to complain about heat headaches. No! I Came Burdened With Glorious Purpose. I came with a plan. I came to review books! 

I have been making more of an effort lately to read things. I know that such a statement, coming from the mouth of a legitimate book person, must smack of irony. But I am in earnest. I have not been reading nearly as much as I like, and this grieves me. The trouble is twofold: One, that my own predilections in literature are rather quirky, and run very counter to popular trends in books these days. And two, that I have a remarkably low toleration for the style of writing in most popular fiction, coupled with an intense dislike of the obligatory tough female romantic interest (and all the paragraph-skipping nonsense that goes with it) which current storytelling finds impossible to dispense with. The result of this is a discouragement that quite puts me off reading for a while - a state of existence which my teenage and young adult selves would have found inconceivable. It is most unpleasant, as I miss the singular satisfaction that come with immersing oneself in a good book. So I have been making more of an effort to find things to read. The results have been mixed:

The Short Reign of Pippin IV by John Steinbeck

I did not have very high hopes for this one. I dislike Steinbeck, mostly on principle, and doubt I shall every read another one of his books again. However, once or twice a year I try to read something nominally 'classic' that falls outside of my comfort zone, and had stumbled upon a review of this particular work that made me think it worth a shot. I was pleasantly surprised.

The action takes place some time after the close of WWII, and France's dozens of political parties are so at each other's throats, that they are unable to elect - much less keep - a government in power. Once they have all argued themselves hoarse, they decide on a most unexpected course of action. They decide to re-instate the monarchy. What they are looking for is a patsy. What they get is Pippin Héristal, legitimate heir to Charlemagne and amateur astronomer, whose sole ambition is to gaze upon the heavens in peace… and who astonishes the nation (and himself) by taking the job of monarch seriously.

It is a very light work, and the satire is merely farcical, not mean-spirited. Pippin is a rather endearing. Like many good kings of myth and story, he goes out to meet his people, incognito. In Pippin’s case, this means dressing in his oldest clothes, and dashing about on his little motorbike. He talks to the people and he listens to what they have to say. The story bubbles along, cheerfully pitting the unworldly Pippin against the self-interested modern world he has been dragged in to. There is a chapter near the end that gets a bit bogged down with the sort of political ideology that makes me so leery of Steinbeck, but it is brief, and gentle, slightly bittersweet ending makes up for it.

Would I recommend it? Well I wouldn't exactly go around shouting its praises. The Napoleon of Notting Hill takes the idea more seriously. The Mouse That Roared is more fun. Still it is quite charming, and Pippin is such an altogether nice man that I quite enjoyed my time with him. So, yes. If you are looking for some pleasant reading for an evening or two, give Pippin IV a try.

Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz

This might be the one and only time in my life that I have completed a book by a popular author. I was going to say that it is the first bestseller that I ever got all the way through, but due to the vagaries of human nature, both Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society were on the bestseller list. So let it be noted that I am capable of enjoying popular fiction. But Dean Koontz falls into a category of author I avoid with almost snobbish superiority. To a man, these authors churn out books with impossible frequency, and write with a curiously voiceless prose that serves merely to tell the story. There is nothing special about it, nothing to give pleasure to the inner ear of the reader. It is a vehicle, nothing more.

Why, then, you might well ask, would I bother with such a book at all? Well, in part so that I could say that I had actually read one of those authors that everyone else seems to love, and that, having tried, I can be honest in my dislike. And in part, because I had read a review about the Odd Thomas series, extolling its orthodox Catholic underpinnings, and I believe that much good can be accomplished by weaving traditional philosophy and theology into a popular story in a modern setting. So I took the plunge and read the thing.

I shall be honest right off the start and admit that the protagonist, the premise, and the way the story plays out, reminds me a bit of Matt Murdock and Neflix's Daredevil. It is possible that I would have enjoyed Odd Thomas more, had I not already seen Daredevil - and had Daredevil not done it better. It did have some good things going for it. The story itself was not bad at all, though a bit too much like a popcorn film. There was enough conscious morality to save it from banality. The titular hero is a 20 year old fry cook, whose first name really is Odd. (Odd is actually quite a popular name in Norway. It comes from an old Norse word meaning a sharp edge.) Our Odd can see dead people, as well as a creepy sort of spirit which he terms bodachs, which are heralds of coming death. They bear only the slightest resemblance to the bodachs of folklore - it is simply the word Odd uses for them. Because of his ability, he is about to assist in the solving of old crimes, and in preventing new ones. Odd himself is a very good character, old for his age, wise and wry - given to an entirely understandable discouragement at times, but retaining a sturdy hopefulness. He tries to be virtuous and is honest about his weaknesses. He doesn't bother with whether his ability is a blessing or a curse. It is merely a responsibility, and it makes him selfless. Odd regularly goes out in to dangerous situations, in an attempt to use his gifts for good, and often comes home quite the worse for wear. I really like Odd a lot, and if I ever read another book in this series, it will be solely on account of himself. It was refreshing to come across such a wholesome and principled character.

The writing is what killed this one for me. For the most part, it was merely bland. It disappeared into the landscape, and so long as it stayed that way, it was bideable. However, it occasionally lapsed into a hard boiled attempt at something vaguely poetic. Every time it did that, I was pulled violently out of the story, recasting the phrase in my mind, trying to twist it into something that wasn't trying so hard. The short, taut chapters made it easy to keep turning the page and reading "just one more" before getting on with the rest of the day, but I think the momentum fell off a bit about halfway through. By the end, I was just frustrated with the pat way the story covered all the points. There was nothing superfluous in the writing. It was very economic, which is not a bad thing, but... well, for me, at any rate, there was no joy in the telling. The story was just there. 

Would I recommend it? You actually get a caveated answer. I would not recommend it to my friends, as their taste runs similar to mine, and they would probably all be as frustrated with it as I was. However, it was an entirely decent book - a good deal is made about the chastity of an important couple's relationship - and I can see what the author was doing with it. I wanted to like it. It just didn't suit me. But, I would have no qualms whatsoever in recommending Dean Koontz to librarian patrons, who are fond of that sort of thing. Indeed, it is rather nice to know that I have that option now.

Vango by Timothee de Fombelle

I have been trying to read more books for adult, and get away from YA stuff - mostly because I like a certain amount of maturity and thoughtfulness in my reading - even when I am reading for fun. That is not to say that I don't read a fluff. I do. I have, indeed, been reading far too much fluff and I am a bit tired of it. Vango, however, sounded intriguing  "....In a world between wars, a young man on the cusp of taking priestly vows, is suddenly made a fugitive..." The first chapter opens with Vango, laying on the ground with other young men, at the beginning of the ordination ceremony, and ends with him climbing the Gothic carving of the cathedral face, to escape a gunman who is inexplicably shooting at him... and catching a ride on the zeppelin which miraculously appeared at that very moment. From that point on, we get an understated, old-fashioned story, full of chases and shadowy men, mystery, intrigue, and adventure. The book is set between the wars, and the tone of the book matches the time period. It is impossible to give any sort of a summary without spoilers, so I shan't try. The downside of it, to get that out of the way, is that this book is apparently the first in the series, and ended without any real resolution, which disappointed me. But the book itself.... Well, for all the familiar feeling of an old-fashioned yarn it had about it, I can't remember the last time I read anything quite like this - certainly nothing that has been recently published, and definitely no other YA book that I can bring to mind. There is a hidden monastery on an island, that figures largely into the plot, and I doubt that anyone else has ever come up with such a swashbuckling reason for a monastery to be hidden. I want to live there. Vango is believable as a young man who wants to be a priest, but he is not annoyingly pious or faultless - quite the opposite. He is sweet, quiet, meek, obliging - and also stubborn, reckless and impetuous. I really want him to be a priest... but there is a dashing young woman in the book too, who is not a love interest yet, but shows every indication of turning into one in the next book. I didn't want to like her for that reason, but she is so spunky and fun, that I do like her. Quite a lot. I just would rather she remains Vango's sisterly friend. 

Would I recommend it? Oh, come on. There is a zeppelin. And a hidden monastery. And Italian islands. And a hidden treasure. And a young man on the run. Of course I recommend it.... I should however, in fairness, point out that Vango tells its story on its own terms. It is not a fast paced book, for all the drama and suspense it generates. The author has an easy affection for the story, and easy affection for his characters, and a delight in the landscape and time period he has set the story in. I keep using the phrase "old fashioned" to describe it - and it is. But sometimes, old fashioned hits the spot, and on that level Vango delivers. I am looking forward to reading the next book in the series. 

Nature...

The grackle’s voice is less than mellow,

His heart is black, his eye is yellow,

He bullies more attractive birds

With hoodlum deeds and vulgar words,

And should a human interfere,

Attacks that human in the rear.

I cannot help but deem the grackle

An ornithological debacle.

                                              

                                                                  Ogden Nash

Warm weather being upon us, and self somewhat paltry in stamina due to my own laziness, I have begun to take longish sort of walks in the not-quite summer weather. I walk briskly. I stride vigourously along the shoreline of the lake, watching the gulls and terns at the fishing, the sandpipers, dancing at the very edge of the water. And I encountered The Grackle.

See this thing:

From Wikipedia

That is a grackle, a not uncommon creature in these parts... They have their points.Their plumage, sooty from a distance, upon close observation, turns out to be iridescent - deep blue and green and purple gleam out from the black depths. So beauty we might grant them. That is one point. They are also fierce - brawly fierce. I have, myself, seen a mere handful of them drive away a raven, and it was a mighty satisfying sight indeed. But neither iridescent plumage nor ferocity can change the fact that I like the grackle very little. They are Not Nice Birds.

They have terrifying yellow eyes:

From Hilton Pond

And they used these horrible orbs to give the innocent passer-by the malocchio. And if said passer-by is not intimidated by it, the grackle follows, golden eyes fixed maniacally upon him:

From National Park Service

From eBird Seed

From memecreater.org

Still, I am not one to be intimidated by a small, iridescent blackbird, however evilly he might stare. I've got a fairly decent stare myself, if we come right down to it. But grackles, you see, have another trick hidden up their feathers: for the sheer hell of it they dive-bombing things.....

From ABC Local

Being dive-bombed by a grackle is exciting. I know, One did that to me this morning - cawed ill-humouredly first, then hurled itself down on my from upon high. It wasn't out for blood. Its claws merely scraped against my scalp as it snagged a great lock of my hair and attempted to fly off with it. It was alarming and startling, but I can't say it really hurt. I thought I must be near the thing's nest, but a glance upwards, revealed a nest around which a whole squadron of swallows was wheeling, so I could not even find a good excuse for the wretched beast. It was just a mean-hearted bird that had probably had a bunch if indignant swallows chasing it off all morning, and figured it just needed to put the fear of God into some unsuspecting, flightless beast... and I was handy.

From i.imgur.com

One Doodle and Two

Yesterday was the feast day of St. Brendan the Navigator. St. Brendan was an Irish explorer monk, the patron saint of sailors, who is credited with the discovery of America in the 6th century. (I've written about it before.) Tolkien wrote a poem called The Death of St. Brendan - or, alternately, Imram, about St. Brendan's adventures. You can read the whole thing here and you really should do so. It is lovely. Many years back, I started a project involving writing the whole thing out on pale blue paper, in Tengwar, with watercolour illustrations and silver gilding all over the place. I didn't get so far, though I still have the pages I wrote out, and would like to start fresh, as I never did entirely abandon the idea. However, I have been thinking about it a good deal more than usual the last few months, because St. Brendan figures into the myth-building part of the story I am working on, and that line of Tolkien's "a cloud, a tree, a star..." has been going about my head while I struggle to write what I want to write. I ended up doing a small illustration for the poem yesterday. It started on a cheap bit of scrap paper while I was at work, and though it was meant for a draft, the sketch was better than anything I was likely to follow it up with, so it turned into the illustration. Cheap scrap paper does not lie flat once you splash watercolour on it, even if you are restrained in the splashing, so it did not photograph as well as it ought. But I was rather pleased with it. So here you are, a day late: St. Brendan the Navigator:

This other picture takes a bit of explaining. Several of my co-workers were discussing small children the other day and how small children generally want to grow up to be famous. They both agreed that they had wanted to be famous when they were little, and that seemed to clinch the matter. That is, until one of them looked at me sitting there, and amended it to, "Except Mahri. Mahri never wanted to be famous." Which was true. I wanted to be good at thing, I just didn't care who knew about it, and I said as much, aloud, to the amusement of the audience. "You just wanted to be Daredevil." one of them remarked, and I, after a stunned moment, agreed whole-heartily. The timing of this conversation was rather uncanny. My sisters and I were in the middle of watching Daredevil at the time, though I hadn't mentioned it to anyone at work, and the idea of being a sweet anonymous person during the day, and a skilled avenger at night (thus maintaining my anonymity) appealed to me strongly. So I came home a doodled a Daredevil librarian, which was gradually embellished (ha, what a word for so slight a work) with a tiny bit if watercolour and some green and brown ink. The result isn't nearly so impressive as the image in my mind, but I rather liked it when it was finished. 

And that is that. Doodles, as usual. I think I must make an effort to work at this art stuff a little more seriously than I have been. I enjoy it. It's just not my strongest suit.

Hi There!

Well, golly. It has been nearly two weeks since my last post. How time flies. Not that you are missing much by my silence. There is no news. Life is life. I am taking a bit of a break from poetry after that furious spate of it last month - though I do intend to go back and read it over and clean up the best ones to keep.... or maybe even do something with them. Don't ask me what yet. Meanwhile, I am doing a bit of regular writing, and some doodling, and some reading, and watching telly... You know. Ordinary life things. 

But since I really don't want to let things languish around here, and since I have a line of tags waiting to be done, I thought I would drop in and be hilarious.

There are two Leibster Blog tags - one from Amy and one from Bella. We shall dispense with the requisite 11 random facts about myself. Either you know me well enough not to be surprised by my randomness, or you are really much happier remaining in ignorance of my eccentricity. So, straight on to the questions:

Amy has earnestly inquired:

1.) How do you feel about pool noodles?

    I don't know. I don't use pools. I swim - when I swim at all - in a lake, and use fallen trees as floatation devices.

2.) Forest or Ocean?

     Both. 

3.) On a scale of 1-10, how adorable do you think Camels are?

     Zero. A big egg. They are hideous and smelly and rude.

4.) Would you ride a camel? Keeping in mind that they spit.

      Does this camel come equipped with a zamburak? If a zamurak is involved, I might overcome my loathing of the beast for a chance at the thing. Otherwise, the only thing that would induce me to mount up would be if the fate of the world depended upon it. 

5.) Batman or Captain America?(Don't worry, I don't judge... Okay, I do, but I'll be kind.)

     Captain America. He is a good, old-fashioned gentleman. I find him refreshing.

6.) Bananas or Pineapples?

     I love pineapples excessively. Do you know if you eat too much pineapple, you can give yourself raw sores around your mouth? I know this from bitter experience. Therefore, I am going to stick with bananas. Bananas are good. All that potassium. 

7.) How well can you chop an onion?

     *sniff*. *sniff*...  My eyes..... my eyeeeeeees!

8.) Given a choice between jogging 5 miles or doing boxing for 20 minutes, what would you do?

     I frequently feel like punching people in the face, so boxing, hands down. Furthermore, I  question why anyone would run unless they were being chased... or expecting to be chased, in which case, I would suggest that they question their life choices.

9.) What was your favorite picture book as a very young child. 

      I truly do not recall. My earliest book memories are of my mother, reading aloud from  Laura Ingalls and The Outlaws of Ravenhurst.

10.) On a scale of 1-10, just how good are your reflexes?

       Um... throw something at me and we'll find out. 

    

11.) Are you a morning person or should others be afraid for their lives if they bother you before you've had your coffee?

        ARRRRRRRGGGHHHHHHH. GRAAAAAAAAWRRRRRR MMMMMMRRRRRRRRGGGGGG.

So there's Amy's questions out of the way. Bella, on the other hand, has demanded answers to the following:

1.) Do you like Mint?

     Are you referring to money?

2.) Have you ever been on a motor boat?

     Once. There was a depth finder on it, and you could tell when we hit the drop-off, because it maxed out at 1,000 ft. and stopped working. I found it hugely unnerving.

3.) Do you like Cinnamon in your Cocoa?

     YEESSSS.

4.) Have you seen The Court Jester?

     The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon. The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.

5.) Do you write?

      I wouldn't say so myself, but my friends all tell me I can.

6.) Firefox, Chrome, or the Big e?

     I used to prefer Internet Explorer. My old computer ran it faster than Firefox, and it did not insist on being part of every facet of my life, the way Chrome does. However, the new computer does not like Internet explorer. Firefox is constantly suspicious of very activity I use it for, so I am putting up with Chrome. And telling it no very firmly when it gets too invasive.

7.) Do you read comic books?

    If, by this, you mean have I gone through the entire Calvin and Hobbes collection, or if I have been known to read the occasional Tintin book, then yes. If you mean things like Marvel and DC, then no. The fact that I am something of a Marvel movie fan right now, comes a surprise to me. I think it is the casting and the dialogue. I have absolutely no desire to go back to the source.  

8.) Do you like Ice skating?

     I did, Once...... I don't want to talk about it.

9.) Do you like strawberries and scones?

     Och, aye. Its braw, halesome food, scones.

10.) Fantasy or Action Adventure?

      I watch what I want, and I don't care about genre. I prefer things without obligatory love interests. I find love tedious.

11.) Movies or TV shows?

       See above. 

There, don't you feel like you know me so much better now? 

And lastly....... Melody's Lord of the Rings tag. We haven't talked about Lord of the Rings in a while, have we? Ehehehe. My favourite topic :-)

1.) How were you first introduced to LotR/TH? Was it love at first sight/read?

     I don't actually remember a time when I did not know about Tolkien. My parents owned paperback copies of The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion. I remember staring at the trees on the cover of The Hobbit, trying to decide if I liked them - I was used to pine trees and not sure what to make of the things Tolkien had placed on either side of river. I did like the little Barrel-Rider, though. The Hobbit was one of the first books I read on my own, and I loved it from the very first chapter.

2.) If you could meet the actors who portray the characters in the movies, would you?

     Probably not. I sort of have them all fixed in my mind as the characters they play, and I'm content to leave it at that. However, I will say that Billy Boyd is good fun to watch in interviews. He tends to be rather thoughtful on subjects like poetry, Tolkien's world-building, and music. 

3.) What is your favourite credit song from LotR/TH?

     Credit song only? Drat. My favourite thing to come out of all the films is probably the dwarves singing about the Misty Mountains. I have a very soft spot for Into the West, especially the bit when the French horns come in an play that little fall that also plays behind the scene where Gandalf is telling Pippin about a far green country under a swift sunrise. 

4.) The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit?

     Well, I am going to take this as a question about the books rather than they movies. I have a small, leather-bound copy of The Hobbit in my purse - a gift from a sister, and my emergency reading for whenever I need such a thing. The Hobbit has the delightful quality that allows you to open it at random, and start reading with complete enjoyment from wherever your eye happens to light. It is a comforting sort of book - the chocolate brownie of Tolkien's Middle Earth. For all that, The Lord of the Rings is a better book, and I always come away from it feeling deeply moved, and determined to be a better person. 

5.) Who is your all around favourite character?

     It is always a toss-up between Pippin and Boromir for me. I identify with both of them to a certain degree, I like the way Pippin starts out as a foolish and rather soft character, who has trouble seeing the big picture, and turns into a great hero in his own right. On the other hand, I like the way Boromir starts out heroically, but falls, and so completely redeems to become more heroic than before, Both characters give me hope for my own self. And there are times when I understand Eowyn better than I ought.

6.) What is your opinion of Boromir?

     I was very young when I read The Lord of the Rings the first time - 11 or 12, I think. That first time through, I tended to agree with Sam's opinion of everyone and everything, and since Sam mistrusted Boromir, I did too. However, his death caught me hard, and I surprised myself by crying over him. I didn't read it again for a couple years, by which time, I had grown up enough to appreciate Boromir on his own terms. He wasn't my favourite character - that was Pippin at the time - but I thought that he had too much responsibility on him and pitied him. By that time, The Lord of the Rings had entered a special category of book - the book you always feel like reading, and which you have to consciously resist reading, so that you do not make yourself sick of it. I tried to wait a couple years between each reading, and the result was that as I grew and matured, the book seemed to grow and mature with me - every time I read it, there was something fresh and astonishing about it. By the time I was a young adult, I found myself liking characters I hadn't paid attention to before... and meeting all my old favourites again for the first time. And Boromir went from being the guy I was sorry for, to something astonishing - a man who was tested beyond his limits, who fell, and whose repentance was so complete that he transcended mere goodness and achieved greatness - heroic sanctity, if you will. As a result, although I am well aware that there are better characters - Faramir, for example - Boromir is the character that never fails to inspire me.

7.) How many times have you watched the movies/read the books?
     A huge number of times. Honestly, I can't even give you an estimate. (except the Hobbit movies. I've seen the first two once, and not gotten around to the last one. I love the hobbit parts. I just don't like everything else.)

8.) What book is your favourite?
     *Smirk*. Maria the smarty replies: The Lord of Rings because it is technically one book.

9.) Who is your favourite female character?
      I think I actually like Galadriel better, but the older I get, the more I tend to identify with Eowyn.

10.) Favourite male character (not mentioned in #5)?
    Beregond. He's the Tower Guard in the book, who fought off Denathor's guard's and saved Faramir's life.

11.) Which if the movies, in your opinion, has the best ending?
      The Return of the King, obviously :-)

Ta Da! Never let it be said that I scorn a tag. Or two. Or three. And now, the hour is late and the road is long. I bid you all a very fond farewell.