(no subject)

 One of the objects in my house that makes the most consistently happy is the ridiculous set of chopsticks I bought from the MoMa design store.  Despite wanting to dress mostly like I either crawled out of a goth club or out from trying to blend into a dark forest, despite having painted almost the entire interior of the house as if I was trying to live in the interior of a storm cloud, I freaking adore bright accents.  Don't really have the skills or consistency of aesthetic to put much of them into my decorations, but am kind of tempted to find other places I can put more cheerful colors.

 

I had one of those dreams, where I wake up only remembering the barest sliver of it, and I was saying, or someone was saying to me something like "you're either doing your best or you're not and that has to be enough"  I really wish I remember what the rest of the dream was about.  

 

February contained a lot more reading than it did cooking, unsurprisingly.  And the pre-surgery depression was bad enough that it a) included less reading than I might have otherwise done, though convalescing balanced that out b) I didn't even cook much before the surgery and I think I didn't even make a note of what I did cook.  

 

The five best things I made, however were a gigantic pot of homemade spaghetti sauce which I then turned into a cheese lasagna, something called vegan pantry rojo mole sauce, which I then slathered on top of savory cornmeal waffles w/ seitan and peppers and a batch of bog-standard oatmeal cookies for my dad.  

 

Five best february books:  

 

The Deep by River Solomon.   This one was probably the hardest read, it was both thought provoking and lyrical in that way that borders on opaque.  Interesting project, though.  I think at some point I'd like to re-read their Unkindness of Ghosts, because I listened to it the first time around and feel like I missed some nuance.  I tried to listen to The Deep and quickly realized that it wasn't going to work.  

 

Middlegame by Seanan McGuire.  For some reason, I kept putting off starting this book.  And like everything Seanan writes, it was eminently readable and a delight, but it also felt a little rushed, like it could have been two books that they smushed into one, which, considering the central conceit, seems like a missed opportunity.    This one I also tried listening to, but the narrator's attempt at a thick new england accent was so painful I gave up and read my hard copy. 

 

The Night Country by Melissa Albert.   This felt like it got a little darker than the Hazel Wood, but I liked that.  There was an amazing secondary character, a lot of intrigue and a lot of narrative magic (like magic about fairy tale narratives) that scratched one of my favorite itches.    

 

Clockwork Boys by T Kingfisher.   The characters!  oh, i am in love with the characters.  I also just finished the second one so it'll go against March's tally, but that may be influencing my love.

 

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix Harrow.  So, this was a lovely, lovely conceit as well.  The ending felt a little telegraphed, the familial love a little forced, but it hung together well.