The English Patient

“I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently…but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.”   English Patient

On the road again.  This space again silent for far too long.  A whirlwind trip to San Diego two weeks ago - where I finished Where I Was From in one final gulp at the Dallas airport on a layover.  Then most of last week in (now warmer) St. Louis.  Where I read the English Patient in between meetings and on airplanes.  Oh Ondaatje.  Those sentences.  The way he feels his way around - and discovers so much in-between the cracks. 

I've been playing with fiction again on my flights.  It's incredible how much work it is.  Each draft accreting layers upon layers.  A palimpsest. 

Quick thoughts on various and sundry things:

• Where I Was From was just what I needed as I work my way into California.  That strange tension between independence and self-reliance and massive government investment.  The Spur Posse.  Water.  McDonnell-Douglass.  And those Didion sentences..  California continues to amaze.  I'll be in SF for a longer trip in late-April / early-May.  Including a weekend. 
• Now on to another McEwan - On Chesil Beach.  I'm almost half-way done and it's still the first scene (punctuated by flashbacks).  But the slow tension and the distinct disconnect between the characters is palpable..  and incredibly well done.
• I've seen far too few shows lately.  And, aside from weekend rambles at Great Falls, haven't been outside nearly enough.  I'm craving Spring.  And speed.  And altitude.  And baseball.   Rhiannon Giddens is coming to the Lincoln.  There's a lot I like about her. 
• Another semester almost over.  The year rolling around again.  A lot can change..