Currently dealing with the hard truth that I am horribly addicted to Sudoku. Having bought a book that has 531 puzzles, there's plenty to keep me busy and I don't 'ration' this activity (addicted, I said...). I figure, I can always buy the same book again. Certainly I won't remember a single puzzle, as extra-puzzling as one or two might have been to me, the memory is not of a specific puzzle. So...I 'puzzle' away.Books of any sort are usually associated with a trip. I bought this particular one in the San Francisco airport, on our way to Brazil in late July. I didn't know at that point that we would be delayed - or, actually, our plane would be delayed coming into SFO (fog), arbitrarily chosen by air traffic controllers to stay in a holding pattern, while others would arrive afterwards to pick up their travelers on time. We eventually made it to LAX - but were 10 minutes past the LAN cutoff for boarding in the international part of the airport metropolis and turned away. After a surreal afternoon at the United desk, we had dinner at Denny's, spent the night at a Travelodge, and made it back in for an Continental flight to Sao Paulo, via Houston...lots of time for Sudoku-doing during the flight, especially at night when I could not sleep. (Fr C's oh so very complete travelogue here.)
I also brought along Harry Potter 1. Had started it when first purchased a year or two ago, but was distracted by the norm of an insanely busy life. I finished it on the way to Brazil, occasionally reading charming passages to Fr. C. Upon our departure back to the U.S., I was positive I could find HP2 at the Sao Paulo airport bookstore. NOT! A huge international airport, I expected a more 'cosmopolitan' array of books. Ended up buying a cheap romance novel from their minuscule English section, at an astronomical price, so I wouldn't be bored during the 24 hours of travel or so. Then -- on our one hour layover in Lima - voila!!! HP2 in English!
Distracted by the most excellent accommodations, food, movies on demand on LAN, and as always alternating reading with Sudoku, I did not get far into the book. Brought it along on the drive out to Warsaw, but didn't get much reading done (I wonder why???). Now, that book, along with some other car treasures (my Patricia Barber 'Verse' CD), are 'missing' -- safe, I suppose. Just hidden from myself.
But I still have my Sudoku volume here. Fr. C watches me ply that obsession with renewed mono vision. 'Maybe you could read a real book', he reminds. Hmmmm. Unpacking, I come across my well-loved, but never finished, Piano Shop on the Left Bank. (Rather than offer a link to Amazon.com, or the like, wonderful musings on this book can be found in blogland: Cornflower - you'll enjoy the previous post of hers, as well - and Stuck-in-a-Book.) Begun on a 2004 California tour, on a patio at the quaint (i.e., delightfully cozy and small...) Coast Village Inn in Santa Barbara...a few miles from where we attended college...I forced myself to mouth and relish each word as an antidote to painful speed-reading habits. It's the kind of book that has such elegant writing, it seems to matter not if you start over, take up where you left off, or open a page at random and just dive in. So, I've started grabbing it for a quick immersion in his seductive prose, here and there, as able, sometimes opening it and simply beginning reading at the first word of a random page, always admiring his art. I cannot do anything but marvel at its weavings of a real life centered around music (piano!)...perhaps embellished by his poetic imagination.Happening upon his chapter entitled "Master Classes" yesterday morning, describing such an event with Peter Feuchtwanger, I suddenly felt the joy of my own unique musical skin around me...synchronicity in the universe...renewed passion for the 'ease of playing' that is my mantra, endlessly played and varied for students, lesson after lesson. 'Elliptical, relaxed movements...fluidity...'. Yes!! I tried out his concept of 'Natural movement - both freeing and riskier' with a 13 year old wunderkind this afternoon. Tomorrow night, the 15 year old boy whose rigid strength endangers my piano parts. Oh, the joy of oneness with the keys. Better to feel them as flesh than to play with wooden fingers.
