Fingerless glove

looking for what's missing... I'm a knitting, spinning, mother of teenagers with a big dog, a small cat, minus the lovely rabbit Meliflua.

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Location: Virginia, United States

Right now I'm listening to "An Irish Country Village" by Patrick Taylor, reading "Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake" by Anna Quindlen and knitting Wisconsin Wintersocks. And casting off the lace shawl I've been working on since I last posted.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Plum Tree as Metaphor for Love

I really like the writing of Bailey White and I like how her voice was just made to read her writing. (Not all authors should read their own work out loud.) I've just finished listening to her read (on tape) Quite A Year For Plums and this passage near the end of the book cracks me up every time. It's so wise and blunt and hopeful in a "there's-nothing-to-be-done-about-it" way.

"I don't quite understand the demands of that kind of love," said Hilma. "All those feelings were so long ago, the opportunities were so limited then, and we had different rules." But, she said, she had noticed how so often it left its victims ragged and spent, and she wondered why sensible people allowed themselves to begin, knowing where it would lead.

"There is no beginning to love," Roger said. "It just creeps over you."

"Oh," said Hilma, "like brown rot on a plum tree in the dark winter months, and by the time you become aware of it, the leaves are out and it's too late to spray."

"Yes," said Roger, "just like that."

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