July 31, 2022
July 29, 2022
July 27, 2022
July 25, 2022
July 22, 2022
July 20, 2022
July 17, 2022
July 15, 2022
July 13, 2022
July 10, 2022
On the towpath of a canal in a town not far from London, not far from the coast, is moored a narrowboat pained dark blue with the name Number One picked out in red lettering on the prow. It is tethered tightly to the bank with ropes made wet by the rain and slimy with age, wrapped around pegs bent out of shape by the misaimed blows of a lump hammer. It is still in the water. At either end the doors are fast shut and the windows along the side are latched. On the roof is a skylight, cantilevered up to let the fresh air into the cabin below. Puddles of water on the deck and roof show that it has been raining, but at this moment it is not.
Eve drove the Number One through the first ten locks and Sally thought that, when she took over, there would be time to talk in the dripping gloom of an empty lock while that waited for it to fill up. This, however, proved impossible. It was necessary to keep the boat steady in the lock, avoid it drifting too far forward, where the nose could become trapped on a beam of the gate, or too far back, where the sill could foul the rudder, and the concentration needed, plus the noise, the engines and the roar of the water coming into the lock, meant that nothing could be said that needed consideration, until the last, calm moments as the lock filled right to the top, when the Grimm's crew swapped over.
The following photos are from the Great Rivers of Europe Cruise. We traveled through 66 locks (many while we were sleeping) over the course of two weeks.
July 8, 2022
As we left town I thought about the end of the season. Baseball began in the spring, when we planted and when hopes were high. It sustained us through the summer, often our only diversion from the drudgery of the fields. We listened to each game, then talked about the plays and the players and the strategies until we listened to the next one. It was very much a part of our daily lives for six months, then it was gone. Just like the cotton.I was sad by the time we arrived home. No games to listen to on the front porch. Six months without the voice of Harry Caray. Six months with no Stan Musial. I got my glove and went for a long walk down a field road, tossing the ball in the air, wondering what I would do until April.For the first time in my life, baseball broke my heart.
July 4, 2022
Florence Adler Swims Forever by Rachel Beanland (4/5)
Necessary Blood by Deborah Crombie (4/5)
We Run the Tides by Vendela Vida (2/5)
Wish You Were Here by Jodi Picoult (4.5/5)