Enter Rooms With Great Joyous Shouts

As Dame Edna might say, "hello, my possums!" It is a stormy Sunday here in Ottawa. Just as Katherine and I stepped off the bus with our groceries, Mother Nature decided that now would be a perfect time to rain like crazy so that our stroll to the building became a rain-pelted dash. Thanks, MoNa (I can call her that. MoNa and I are tight).

A few days ago I was looking through Steph Wittenberg's blog, seeing all the old photos. Much to my surprise, I realized that losing them doesn't hurt any more. It still feels sad, but I'm not sad for myself anymore. It is funny how we cicatrice (I have wanted to use that word since I saw it in The Name of the Rose). I guess all I mean to say is that remembering doesn't feel bitter to me anymore. I no longer feel the desperation of loss.

I'm quite enjoying The Name of the Rose, by the way. It's quite an amazing book, actually. The dialogue and narration are just beautifully in period and all the learned-monks stuff is very good. It's hard to think what possible bearing Aristotle could have on a murder investigation, but Eco makes it work! Another one I want to read is that Joan Didion memoir, The Year of Thinking Magically or whatever it is called. Must add that to my "to read" list!

It's Nate's birthday tomorrow. He's turning 23, the old man! He and Emily are in Hamilton right now, having a family weekend. We got him the most amazing present the world has ever known, but I can't say what it is until it has been presented.

What a great storm! Seeing it out the window, it's really quite impressive.