Notes from Maine - 2022/07/24
We’re currently in the middle of the Dog Days of Summer. I’m not complaining. Things are much worse in other places in the world with record temperatures. I’m just using the original definition of “Dog Days,” which stretch from July 3 until August 11.
From National Geographic:
“To the Greeks and Romans, the ‘dog days’ occurred around the time Sirius appears to rise alongside the sun, in late July in the Northern Hemisphere. They believed the heat from the two stars combined is what made these days the hottest of the year, a period that could bring fever or even catastrophe.”
In Maine, we’re only experiencing moderately warm temperatures, maxing out about 90° F (32° C), with a continuing dry spell. ‘Dog Days’ are also defined as those days where a giant dog will inexplicably stand about 5 inches from your face (13cm) and pant constantly. Last week, we had to take a couple of days off from throwing the (frisbee) because Albert had a sore foot. He ran so much that he had worn out part of his pad. It healed quickly, but for a while he was a little (frisbee) crazy. In fact, if I even type that word out loud, he will jump up and go look for it.
I’ve been experimenting with a sprinkler this year. I’m seeing if I can revive a small portion of the pasture with watering for 20 minutes a day. So far, I’ve managed to coax a patch of grass back to a green color, but there’s no real additional growth to speak of. I have well water here, and I don’t want to run longer for fear that I’ll spend too much of our drinking water. It’s easy enough to buy hay, but it would be difficult to bring in enough water for all of us if the well runs dry.
This weather is perfect for reading out on the porch. I inherited a couple of chairs from my father that are very comfortable for reading—so they’re out there too. I’ve been slogging away at reading a romance novel. It’s not my favorite. When I grow weary of that, I retreat to science fiction. Maybe I’m not cut out for romance? I rarely have anything remotely approaching romance in my books, but last year I wrote something that strayed into that territory and I wanted to know if I had gotten everything wrong. I think I did, but I’m not yet far enough away from it to judge its failures.
Erotic scenes should read like detailed technical instructions—right?
Regardless of whether or not I ever get that book right, it was an interesting exercise. Some books are just learning experiences. For that same reason, I’ll finishing reading that romance book I mentioned. I may not like it, but I will finish it.
Recently, I read The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet. It came out more than thirty years ago, but I hadn’t read it. For some strange reason, I was convinced that it was a slow-burn space opera. Spoiler Alert: none of the characters ever leave the planet. Chapter after chapter, I waited for the plot to advance out of the middle ages. When I was a quarter of the way through, I thought, “Ken better pick up the pace if these people are going to industrialize and become space-faring.” Turns out, the whole thing is about building a cathedral. Good book, but certainly not what I expected.
A space-opera without a single reference to anything more advanced than geometry was definitely a surprise. Lots of people love that book, but my experience with it is probably unique, given that I misunderstood the whole point of it until I was more than fifty-percent finished. I’m halfway done with the sci-fi book I’m reading. It’s called We are Legion (We are Bob). I think when I finish that, I’ll go back to the romance I was reading before.
