All this year I've used environmentally indefensible but oh so convenient one-a-day contact lenses in my left eye. They're thinner even than my one a month lenses so I can wear them in the worst of the allergy season(s). In the usual way of things I spend on average three or four months a year on one eye. The brain adjusts to one good eye and one bad, so I can bike and see the screen and play solitaire without difficulty: the foggy eye gives me depth without affecting the clear one's distance focus. But brain has had no such exercise this year and the result is that I can't do any of the above. Must have a lens in or else I can't operate.
Oddly enough, walking in boots is proving easier than walking in shoes. Lower back seems to prefer them. It's still not exactly *pleasant*, but it's a great improvement over the last three months. Or maybe it's just my Gandalf staff that allows me to stretch out more easily than walking unaided. I'm still a bit disconcerted by this, but oh-so-grateful that knees aren't having the conniptions of a year ago when walking on bumpy surfaces.
Umm, well, did read half of Ulverton and skimmed through the other half, skipping the stream-of-consciousness in phonetic dialect chapter entirely. Am a lazy reader, and the atmosphere of the book is lowering in the extreme.
Also read the last of Kipling's Tales of Fantasy and Horror- the last was The Man Who Would Be King, Masonic silliness and all. Then got the compilation Kipling I bought several years ago and looked at a few more stories. Man does know how to write...
Jonesing for cozy Brit mysteries, picked up two books at BMV. One is the Dover paperback The Curious Mr Tarrant: 8 Detective Stories, which proves to be not Brit at all, but 1930s east coast American. Mid-Depression, but our well-heeled New Yorkers live in unspoiled comfort, smoke and drink constantly- both men and women- and tootle about in roadsters while solving very unlikely mysteries involving Aztec codices and the harp that once through Tara's halls and so on, all of which have but naturally wound up on these shores. No more enlightened than one would expect of that decade. I rather like Mr Tarrant's gentleman's gentleman, a Japanese doctor called Katoh, who is also a spy. Tarrant knows this and thinks it a hoot. Pearl Harbour will be a very great surprise to him.
Have started Tell My Horse, Zora Neale Hurston's accounts of voodoo in Jamaica and Haiti. All caveats aside, an anthropologist is still an anthropologist, and anthropologists are always oogey. But then, so are some of the attitudes of 1930s Jamaicans, so double the oogeys.
I am 2nd of 25 for Vallista and have also put a bunch of holds on active status.