Drinking bear, eating pumpkin pie, reading Bring Up The Bodies. Mantel likes ‘sullen’ the way Tartt likes ‘scorched.’ So far have looked up ‘kine’ (cows!) and ‘corvine’ (crow-like!). Also: “If someone said to Lady Rochford, ‘It’s raining,’ she would turn it into a conspiracy; as she passed the news on, she would make it sound somehow indecent, unlikely, but sadly true.”
About 150 pages from the end of The Goldfinch. Really hoping the little dog makes it through okay.
(Was thinking this morning of Ann Friedmanish chart of What’s Making Us Anxious In The Goldfinch?, and how it’d be 40% Popchik dying because everyone is too drugged out and forgets him or he gets run over.)
Yesterday we went mattress shopping. A friend of ours works at a mattress store, and he offered Lowell a good deal on one, and so off we went. (The old mattress was an ancient futon one and has gradually been turning me into Rumpelstiltskin.) The store turned out to be a big warehouse-type space off a country highway. Inside, Lowell and I took off our shoes and lay down on a series of different mattresses side by side in our stocking feet while our friend, who is a poet and this tall genial kind of magical personage in our lives, explained memory foam to us. Then we’d blurt out weird domestic trivia (“He gets hot at night.” etc.). You’re supposed to take fifteen minutes to test a mattress but I kept popping up after five and our friend would say, “No, take your time! Take your time!”
The model we picked out is called Opulence. It came packed in a long rectangular brown box that looked too small to hold a mattress; our friend said when we got it home, we’d pop the bag the mattress was rolled in, hear a hiss, and then the mattress would begin expanding. “You can sleep on it tonight but it’ll continue to expand for the next 24 hours.” And it has! Every time I went into the bedroom today it looked taller and taller, like a giant mattress soufflé in the bed frame. Opulence!
“The surest way to get a secret into mass circulation is to tell it to Hitchens, swearing him to silence as one does so.”
— Alexander Cockburn on Christopher Hitchens. (It’s funny: Every group has this person!)
I’ve started going to Pilates class on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, and it’s the closest I come each week to feeling like a Lorrie Moore protagonist. Like, it’s sort of dark and harrowing but then I also think “HAHAHAHAHAHA” for most of it.