Back in the Saddle

In the spring of 2017, I finished what had been an eight year plus epic journey of reading of the Overlook edition of P.G. Wodehouse’s books at the rate of one a month.  However, it was not enough to simply read the books.  Oh no, anyone could do that with enough time and willingness.  I needed to do something to add to this achievement.  To this end, I added a blog onto the entire proceedings to record my thoughts once a month.  The result was Plum and I.

Yes, before you ask, I have been identified as having a Type A personality, although I think that is perfect nonsense.  To me, Type As are CEOs of multinational corporations, or at least they have multiple minions at their feet.  The closest I come to management is running my household, and yet I would never call my husband a minion, and certainly my son and daughter flirt with mutiny whenever I tell them to do anything.  I don’t even know that I qualify as an overachiever these days, though that label might have served some use in high school, eons ago  Basically, I try and get by in life, making certain that my husband is happy, my children are civilized, and my employer does not get it in their head to dispense with my services.  Although given the state of the world these days, those goals in and of themselves might be construed as overachieving.

Back to the blog.  Having a writing outlet was wonderful, especially one that did not have a Looming Commitment, such as stories or novels do.  One of my nice Facebook friends encouraged me to start a new blog when I announced the end of my Wodehouse Project.  This appealed to me, particularly since I try to read most days and often have opinions that I share with anyone who will listen.  So, I made a quiet pledge that  at the beginning of 2018, after a few month’s rest, I would get started.  It seemed to be a nice thing to do, and I always enjoy a good New Year’s Resolution.

I was all set in January to begin, and had even taken off a week at the end of that month to attend to some things in my house, one of which was “Start New Blog.”  The week got off to a rousing start, the high point of which was reclaiming the dining room from the flood of children’s toys that overwhelmed it.  I was happily tidying my son’s room that Monday afternoon when, suddenly, I did not feel well.  Thinking that it would pass, I continued on until ten minutes later I was feverish and shivering with what turned out to be the flu.  By the time I fully came to in February, we were hit with the inevitable round of New England storms that require much shoveling, looking after children, and wondering why this resulted in so much laundry.

My good intentions prevailed throughout the spring, only to have their high spirits squashed by the minutiae of daily life.  You know the sort of thing, bills needed paying, Verizon decided to make my life interesting by refusing to accept money from me (I spent what turned out to be 35 hours on the phone with them resolving this matter), 1,001 forms for my children needed filling in (all with the exact same information, maddeningly enough), my cat Churchill developed a mysterious complaint.  It goes on.  Mine is a life replete with glamour.

It was when I was making mincemeat ice cream in July that I realized that Something Must Be Done.  The mincemeat was the frozen remains of the fillings I had used for pies the previous holiday season. The spices always remind me of Christmas, and it was that Proustian moment that made me remember my resolution about the new blog.  A fortnight later, I am happy to say that, at long last, here I am typing away on my ancient netbook.

Readers of my last blog might be wondering what the subject of this one might be (that is, if I am not just typing into oblivion having bored the internet into clicking away to see what those Kardashians are up to now).  Whereas the earlier effort focused on Wodehouse with occasional guest roles filled by the other books I had been reading, this one will be solely about my general reading.  I am going to try to keep the current political quagmire out of it, but, given some of the things I have read, that might not be entirely possible.

Then there is the title: The Gothik Chick Reads Again.  Where on earth did she come up with that, you might be asking yourself.  Those that knew me in high school might remember that it was a nickname given to me.  I would hasten to add that I was not what might spring to mind as a typical Goth  I did not wear all black, did not own a pair of Doc Maartens, my eyes were not rimmed in kohl, and I only rarely listened to the Cure.  (The Docs appeared in college after a bad ankle sprain and the wearing of all black on a regular basis began when I was 20.)  The name was given to me because it probably seemed to most of my classmates as though I wanted to live inside of a Bronte novel.*  That would not be entirely inaccurate, although now the thought makes me shudder for various medical and social reasons.  That being said, the name always pleased me, though I never admitted it, so I thought to reclaim it.

I hope you enjoy what I write and that it either makes you think or, at least, pick up a book.  If not, then I hope it helps to relieve insomnia, because I firmly believe in the restorative powers of sleep.

*I do realize that the Gothic period reached it height in the late 17th and early 18th century.  Somehow, I think this fact eluded my classmates.