For my next French language exercise I thought I might read that French historical novel La Dame de Kyoto, about Murasaki Shikibu, but as I was looking over the shelves in the downstairs front room, eye was caught by The Poems of Francois Villon, a facing page French-English text. It's the equivalent of the Muromachi poetry book: read the original, chance a guess at the meaning, check the English. Might go with that, except--
--shriek opera next door has made me start up my sound system, untouched for nearly a decade because it clanks and grinds when changing CDs. It's nice to have something that will play any CD- my much loved and much-lamented Sony boombox won't read anything now- and yes I have music on my side of the wall, but I can't read when music is playing. I subvocalize and music- and songs certainly- interrupt the process. So... we'll see.
Had a dream last night, a proper dream with resonances that actually stuck in my head, about being back in Japan and meeting my former kiddy students who were now only a few years older than then, all of whom were fluent in English and showing me how they could write it. And their handwriting was beautiful and I was so impressed. And there was a long-ago Mom from the daycare who was called Naomi in my dream, though I can't remember if she was in RL, with her four children (I think in reality she *may* have had three sons) 'but one of them died', who was Japanese in my dream but still looked the same. Time telescopes this year: turns out I last saw her in the spring of 2018, going down to the Yayoi Kusama exhibition with no.2 son, and no idea why she's in my dreams now.