Yes, Moby Dick.

Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal August of the Tropic. The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up—flaked up, with rose-water snow. The starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns! For sleeping man, ’twas hard to choose between such winsome days and such seducing nights. But all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely lend new spells and potencies to the outward world. Inward they turned upon the soul, especially when the still mild hours of eve came on; then, memory shot her crystals as the clear ice most forms of noiseless twilights.

Pg. 161, in my text. Chapter XXIX: “Enter Ahab; to him, Stubbs.” There’s an entire chapter I am thinking about putting up – a whole page. Nothing else is going on, except weirdly enough Daughter and I went to Duluth to go to a real clothing store. And no trip to Duluth is complete without a visit to Barnes and Noble’s, and I found three books in a matter of 10 minutes, including Tolkein’s Beowulf, while Daughter came away empty handed.

And while I’m not touching those other books till I finish Moby Dick, Duke University has published a bunch (all?) of their books on line. It took me a solid three minutes to find something I must read – because of slow loading, mostly. But I’m not touching the paper books. I think.

We had days of perfect weather, ending this morning with a daytime thunderstorm. I spent my shower time downstairs getting valuable things out of the way of the possible basement flood. There’s a lace shawl in progress, which needs pictures. (I think I like that sort of thing because it’s a pattern, and I don’t have to think.) And Katniss is being all adorable and cat-like.

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