Star Island, day 2

I think I have finally figured out the secret of the battery alarm clock in the front room. We shall see if I can make it work this coming morning.

Today was another slow day. I woke up to discover Dad making blueberry muffins -- which, true to form, went slightly wrong. He was interrupted by Mom calling on the phone, forgot to add the eggs, and had to scrape the batter out of the little muffin papers to remix it.

Then I overcooked them by about a minute. *sigh* They tasted fine, despite the slightly burned rims.

I split a few logs in the late afternoon. Some were new wood cut this spring, and some were the pieces of the cathedral pine that I didn't get around to splitting last summer. The main trunk of that tree is still lying across the back of our lot. Possibly Dad will go after it with a chainsaw, but since we're leaving on Saturday morning, I'm not sure he'll have time.

Dave Martin dropped by to visit; he and his family have a cabin on the South Shore, and he was one of Dad's friends back when they were kids and teenagers, back in the days when it was feasible for them to spend the entire summer on the island. Ah, to live in Minnesota and not the east coast!

This evening, we grilled kebabs of sorts -- steak, onions, green pepper, and tomato for Dad. We also finished the leftover riceroni cheese sauce thing that I overcooked last night. (I have a bad habit of getting distracted while cooking, and leaving things on the stove a couple minutes longer than I should.)

And I started War and Peace, in the revised Maude translation from 1938. The introduction irritated me slightly, as it was all "Hail, Tolstoy, greatest of geniuses!" and kind of talked trash (in a genteel way) at Dostoyevsky, but so far the story itself is okay. I think Tolstoy is doing a certain amount of "I shall beat you over the head with my brilliant psychological interpretations of my own characters," but he has some interesting comparisons and I do like the way that his most beautiful woman, Helene, is full-figured and perhaps even slightly plump -- her arms are described as 'round,' and obviously full enough to distort with the pressure of resting on a table.

However, she doesn't seem to have a brain in her head...

Ah well. I will withhold any real judgment until I've read further and have a better basis with which to consider the various characters.

The fire is dying, and I should get to bed.

Star Island, day 2

I think I have finally figured out the secret of the battery alarm clock in the front room. We shall see if I can make it work this coming morning.

Today was another slow day. I woke up to discover Dad making blueberry muffins -- which, true to form, went slightly wrong. He was interrupted by Mom calling on the phone, forgot to add the eggs, and had to scrape the batter out of the little muffin papers to remix it.

Then I overcooked them by about a minute. *sigh* They tasted fine, despite the slightly burned rims.

I split a few logs in the late afternoon. Some were new wood cut this spring, and some were the pieces of the cathedral pine that I didn't get around to splitting last summer. The main trunk of that tree is still lying across the back of our lot. Possibly Dad will go after it with a chainsaw, but since we're leaving on Saturday morning, I'm not sure he'll have time.

Dave Martin dropped by to visit; he and his family have a cabin on the South Shore, and he was one of Dad's friends back when they were kids and teenagers, back in the days when it was feasible for them to spend the entire summer on the island. Ah, to live in Minnesota and not the east coast!

This evening, we grilled kebabs of sorts -- steak, onions, green pepper, and tomato for Dad. We also finished the leftover riceroni cheese sauce thing that I overcooked last night. (I have a bad habit of getting distracted while cooking, and leaving things on the stove a couple minutes longer than I should.)

And I started War and Peace, in the revised Maude translation from 1938. The introduction irritated me slightly, as it was all "Hail, Tolstoy, greatest of geniuses!" and kind of talked trash (in a genteel way) at Dostoyevsky, but so far the story itself is okay. I think Tolstoy is doing a certain amount of "I shall beat you over the head with my brilliant psychological interpretations of my own characters," but he has some interesting comparisons and I do like the way that his most beautiful woman, Helene, is full-figured and perhaps even slightly plump -- her arms are described as 'round,' and obviously full enough to distort with the pressure of resting on a table.

However, she doesn't seem to have a brain in her head...

Ah well. I will withhold any real judgment until I've read further and have a better basis with which to consider the various characters.

The fire is dying, and I should get to bed.