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How does one wash jumpers? In the washing machine would be the logical answer. I usually wash them by hand because of some previous unfortunate shrinking and felting experiences with other washing machines. This usually means I end up with a mountain of jumpers to be washed because hand washing is tiresome and the end-to-end process from wash-to-dry is quite long. So today, with some trepidation, I am choosing to be bold and use the washing machine. It’s a nice machine. We have always gotten along quite well. It has a special ‘wool’ setting. I hope it doesn’t let me down. If things go badly, I can always make some cute felt toys, pin cushions, or fuzzy felt pictures. They will make excellent gifts.

I was looking for a photo to accompany the post below on luxury, and stumbled across these lovelies. Check out the youthfulness! Check out my hair! Anyone want to share some memories of that night? (Why am I wearing a party frock and everyone else is in casual garb? Well, it was their (anti)prom night, not mine, so I figured I’d dress up to represent the alternate world view. Or something like that.)

At Dinner the other night, Jane asked us to describe our version of “luxury”. Answers ranged from clean sheets to attending La Premiere. I said a holiday was a luxury, but felt that that was a pretty lame response. So while I’m reformulating my answer, what means luxury for you? If it helps, the dictionary definition is: “The state of great comfort and extravagant living; or an inessential, desirable item that is expensive or difficult to obtain.” From ‘luxus’ meaning ‘excess’.

Weekend Meditation is one of the best kept secrets on the Apartment Therapy website. I forget how I stumbled across it, but the writing is delightful, warming, soul food. How can you ignore an article that starts: “Sometimes when life gets too full of stress and obligation and disappointments, I lock my door, bury my cell phone under the bed pillows and start chopping carrots.” I like cooking and baking, and I love being reminded to notice the beauty in the everyday, and the sacred in the ordinary. If you feel the same, read on …

“For a happy life it’s important to be able to find beauty in everyday things. This teaches us to appreciate what we already have and to not look outside of ourselves for definition and satisfaction. This in turn dials down that gnawing feeling of dissatisfaction and lack. Which in turn allows more space and opportunity for happiness and satisfaction and the beautiful things to register. A simple formula, but often difficult to manifest. In my experience, the best place to practice this in in the kitchen. Why? Well, for one you’re likely to find yourself there at least two or three times a day so it’s a very practical place to start. And a very ordinary, everyday place, too. But the same time, the kitchen is filled with the most extraordinary things. Example? Consider the cardamom pod…” (From Weekend Meditation : Finding Beauty in the Kitchen)

The local secondhand bookstore doesn’t buy books. “Sorry, I have too many books.” I’m tempted to try and sell them myself, but I won’t. That’s not the point of the June Challenge. I’m happy to donate the books evenly between the local library and Lifeline. On another note, I think it’s insane for a brick and mortar bookstore not to have an online presence in this day and age. (They don’t - I’ve checked.) And I don’t mean Facebook, Twitter, or MySpace. I wonder what percentage of their stock has been sitting on the shelves for more than 2 years? More than 5? At some point you must have to either cut your losses and just get rid of the deadwood titles to allow room for newer, better stock, or try some other tack to shift them and attempt to recover some of the overhead. A $10 book on the shelf ends up costing you way more than that in terms of rent, electricity and staff wages if it just sits there unsold.

How many books have I purged to date? 81

Lucky me caught a mild cold this week, so I had a couple of days off work. In between sleeping, making soup, and taking herbal remedies, I watched some movies. One of them was Into the Wild, the story of Christopher McCandless, aka Alexander Supertramp. While it was a fantastic film, with great actors - Hal Holbrook who plays Ron is particularly brilliant - and gorgeous cinematography, I haven’t felt that angry or sad about a film in a while, or more correctly, about the main character. What a tragic, untimely end to a young life full of such potential. Clearly he was a very intelligent young man, but he seemed to lack common sense. Who goes into the Alaskan wilderness in early spring, ill-equipped and unprepared? Or did he really think he was invincible or able to do the impossible, as one scene seemed to suggest? If this was the case, one can only imagine how he felt following the devastating failure of the moose shooting.

Sure, he had some family baggage (who doesn’t?), and he was definitely rebelling against “society”, but I had trouble fully understanding his motives for cutting himself off so completely from his family. He appeared to love his sister, but he never contacted her. Not even a phone call or postcard to say he was OK, and yet he wrote to other people he met during his travels. He wasn’t antisocial, but he didn’t appear to need relationships either. He seemed to exist quite comfortably without them, with only his thoughts and books for company for many, many months.

Early on in the movie, his sister described him as having a strong moral code. I think this was shaped by the types of books he read. Perhaps the weight of his disappointment on discovering that others close to him either didn’t meet his expectations in this regard, or share the same values, was too much to bear. In that context I can understand the retreating, or as one character said - his running away. Maybe his adventure was intended to be a monastic or mystical experience. He did seem to have a spiritual side, some belief in “god”, however that was defined.

One of his postcards suggests that he knew and accepted that he may not survive this part of his adventure, but I don’t think he had a death wish. I don’t think he had a mental illness. I don’t think he is a hero, or someone to be emulated. (Apparently The Bus has become a place of pilgrimage of sorts. I find that macabre in the same way that I find visiting the graves of famous people like Jim Morrison a little odd. I just don’t get it.) I do think that his adventure didn’t turn out as he had hoped or expected, which makes it all the more tragic.

Of course this is all half-baked conjecture and speculation based on watching a 2 hour semi-factual retelling of his story, and some articles read on the web. That’s all it can be without the whole truth. No one will ever really know. Have you seen the film? What do you think?

I think The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster could be one of my favourite books ever. Clever, funny, imaginative, absurd, ridiculous, thrilling, and with a great message to boot. Highly recommended.