I'm plowing through Pynchon's "Mason and Dixon" once more. There is something about his writing that I find hypnotic and yet along with the mesmerising comes a certain sleepiness that makes me wonder how much I should take care. Long ponderous sentences with words of depth juxtaposed everywhere. In this writing I've note odd capitalization and wonder if the letters need decoding. Which letters? And he sneaks things in and perhaps he means them and perhaps he doesn't. It's like wet confetti pouring down and just sort of mucks up the works until I must set the book aside. Ah, just two more pages until I achieve the end of the chapter. Can I last that long?
We had the first round of holiday guests last night. Made a very tasty rice dish with the typical New Orleans Trinity and then added overtones of Pesto sauce to it. Topped with dry roasted chopped pecans. Also a kudo or two on a salad dressing that was worked around lime juice and mint. What was in that salad dressing? Mint? Really? And the sauce for the salmon won praise too. Might have an encore of the rice dish next week. Won't be serving fish.
Winter just can't deciide when to arrive. Warm outside which tempts me to tackle more yard work and cleaning in the workshop. The table saw got a going over this AM. Last night we cranked up the heat a degree or two for the guests. Smoke detectors woke up or sensed that batteries were weak so they were chirping like mating crickets. Need to replace batteries today. THe minute our guests departed we went back into "don't buy oil unless you can see your breath mode."
Time to track down a wiring problem on the railroad.