27 December 1998: Trequus

Of one journaler I think particularly highly ("[A]ny body may know how highly* I think of her"). She writes particularly well and is, by turns and simultaneously, witty, insightful, introspective, incisive, and of course, right. I can even forgive her having cats, because she wants a dog. She recently put up--again--an award-winning list of journalers--her own award. So, being the loyal person I am and trusting her judgment, I skimmed her list for new suggestions. No one's taken Kim Rollins's place yet, and that's a big hole. So I read with interest what Beth said of Sugar and Preserve and followed those links, including one to a journal whose author actively disliked Kim.

I found it interesting that a journaler who disliked not only Sugar and Preserve but, by extension and presumption, Kim Rollins herself, is one whose attitudes, stances, and postures I myself disliked keenly. But. I have not yet liked a journal by a parent, and her being a parent could skew my perception even more than her disliking Kim did. I hope not, though. Freud and my mother would have too much fun with that. According to them (or at least to my mother; I forget what Freud had to say about it), I am unfulfilled until I spore, and therefore my distaste for parents' journals could be a projection of my own guilt at not sporing. Besides, it wasn't the journal--her mechanics, her thought process, or anything--that I disliked, as it has been with journals by other parents I've tried. It was she. She writes "a lot" as one word. However, I should probably attempt to strike up a correspondence with her as she is the only person I know of who has read The Secret History.

I'm still trying to work out how mistaken I might be for judging a whole person by how she portrays herself in her journal.

Oh, and I forgot. I liked Tracy's journal I Am Becoming. She had a daughter. There are a lot of journals I like even if I think I wouldn't like the journalers in the flesh (hers was one), and I'm sure there are journals I've rejected whose writers I would not. Maybe I just felt guilty about my dislike because Beth likes her. I should rely on my own judgment more.

Equus

Yesterday I randomly glanced from my book (A First-Rate Tragedy, slap my 'hind with a melon rind for jumping on that bandwagon) to the television and shrieked. CNN was showing its program "Business Unusual" which this week featured Steiff, the teddy bear company. They apparently make not only teddy bears but teddy horses too. The scene I glimpsed was a man attaching a horse's eyes: what I saw was him pulling a long needle through the horse's face from the right eye socket to the left, threading a black bead eye and plunging the needle back into the left socket. So what I shrieked was "EEeeeEEeee! Equus!" It was horrifying.
The reviews of Equus at Amazon are universally (all six) praiseworthy. Perhaps I should reread it. I was but a tot first time 'round, but I am, after all, the one with the CM movie rating.

Trek

Instead of our usual walk, today we walked about twice as far in a loop, along first the dry Highline Canal (the regular stretch) then the filled Cherry Creek. Since the Creek is wet, it supports more wildlife. Today we saw three kestrels--or one that shadowed us continually. One harassed a crow thrice its size. Also we saw, in addition to the standard mallards and Canada geese, waterfowl that might have been northern pintails.
I think I got some sun on my face. Lots of vitamin D.

* Jane Austen. Emma (London: Penguin, 1966) p. 238