... he will cry out against Frieda if she dances in the wind with her scarf flying above her like a banner. She dances for pure joy, but the war does not recognize that kind of dancing. It knows that she’s twirling her scarf in a prearranged signal to the U-boats lying out offshore, waiting. [p.128]

This was Helen Dunmore's first novel, and some of her tropes and traits are visible: sexual tension within the family, arresting images of the natural world, the inexorable force of gossip and rumour. The setting is Cornwall in 1917, a village near Zennor: D H Lawrence and his German wife Frieda have taken a cottage there, and Lawrence is trying to farm, and to maintain his anti-war stance.

The focal character, though, is Clare Coyne, only daughter of Francis Coyne: she keeps house for her widowed father, paints illustrations for his book on wild flowers, and spends what time she can spare with her friends Hannah and Peggy. As the novel opens, the three girls are eagerly awaiting the return of John William, Hannah's brother and Clare's cousin, who's on leave from the trenches because he's going to be made an officer. ( Read more... )

https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap260414.html

Why does Comet R3 (PanSTARRS) have a wispy tail?

https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap260414.html

Posted by John Kovalic

https://www.dorktower.com/2026/04/13/19986/

https://dorktower.kovalic.com/?p=19986

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https://www.dorktower.com/2026/04/13/19986/

https://dorktower.kovalic.com/?p=19986

I did so many things again!

(I was thinking, after the four-day work weeks the last two weeks, how rough it's gonna be getting through five days this week. And both of these first two have felt like a few days each.)

I woke up at about six, and wasn't getting back to sleep, so I did what I often do between April and September (well, July at least): started watching the previous night's Twins game on my phone.

This time, that really woke me up: they (against another exceptionally good pitcher!) scored eleven runs in the first two innings! Garrett Crochet only got five outs before they sent him to the showers. It was wild. So fun to watch. I was giddy afterwards.

By seven, I'd gotten bored of telling myself I'd get up and go to the gym before work, a special skill only available to me in the lighter half of the year so I haven't done it yet this year.

It's so much quicker if I can ride my bike than if I have to walk, but my bike tires needed inflating first and I've never managed it on my own, but D did talk me through the process the other day so I figured it was worth a shot... And I did it! Went very smoothly. (My front tire was so low that hardly registered as having air pressure at all when I attached the pump, aww....)

I opened the door into a cool sunny morning, that smelled like burnt sugar. If the wind is just right, we can just about catch the delicious scents from the McVities factory. It felt like a magical way to start the day.

I went to the gym, didn't stay long, got home and showered and dressed for work by a time at which I've been just waking up on some weekdays lately. I had an okay work day, a lot of meetings to slog through, but with a nice one at the end of the day where someone I rarely speak to wanted my advice specifically about something to do with internal communications. She's so fun to talk to, and she was really flattering my ego with this "you were the first person I thought of to ask about this..." And I got a really adorable rendition of her plans to go to the gym herself after work, her upcoming holiday to Cornwall for a family gathering...so that was a fun way to end the work day.

Then, for the second day in a row, I walked both Teddy and Lizzy. It was kinda miserable today though: Lizzy was so intent on going a certain way that was too much work for me, that she refused the walk she's specifically demanded the last few days, and all I could do was drag her and Teddy up and down next to the A-road which she kept trying to dive into every few steps because she really wanted to be on the other side of it and only let me walk her along it because she was convinced at every point we'd be crossing the road.

Then just as we got back, the Tesco delivery showed up half an hour early (I'd actually seen the van stop on a nearby road when I was out with the dogs, and figured there was no way we weren't next on the list, so I wasn't as surprised as I might have been!), such that poor D had to choose between dealing with the groceries and returning the dogs to their home down the street. He took the dogs, and luckily they were good (they can pull a bit when they're near home, like a lot of dogs do I think, because they're excited to get there). I'm glad he chose that because I got the minimally-helpful driver, and spent much more time bending and reaching and lifting than I do if they're a little more careful where they put the crates and less staring-at-their-phone.

It was fine, everything got in the house, but with that right after the dog walk I was surprisingly tired! So I was glad when D did most of making dinner, he managed to find a good use for something we keep being sent as substitutes that isn't really suitable for us.

Last night, D and I started watching a documentary about why the Expos left Montreal, and it's so fucking depressing and so similar to Oakland and the A's! Also, knowing what I know now about, like, how most ownership groups are cashing in on their teams, and how bullshit it is to make taxes pay for rich people's stadiums...Stuff that happened when I was a naive kid (12 during the strike in 1994, for example), I now see in such a different light!

I thought I spent the whole thing making grumpy gloomy comments about the greed of billionaires and the doom of consigning civic institutions like sports teams to them. But when I tapped out halfway through -- I had a headache and thought I should sleep -- I told D to watch the rest without me and he said it wouldn't be as fun without me going "oooh, Ian Baseball!" I've passed along Andrew's old habit of referring to abstract or hypothetical entities having the first name Ian, so in this case, the Ians Baseball were, like Andre Dawson and Marquis Grissom. I've taught him about the joy of Remembering Some Guys, and apparently it works even secondhand! I did worry that the Guy Remembering was over by the halfway point of the doc, and indeed tonight's half was just depressing stuff, including David Samson who could hardly be more cartoonishly The Rich Bad Guy from a movie (assuming that the original prototype for that, Donald Trump, wasn't chosen): even his voice sounds evil. It was very touching to see so many old Québécois men weep openly though. I like baseball because it's so low-stakes, until it's not.

And then I was D's unglamorous assistant as he climbed up a ladder with multiple flashlights to take pictures of our loft (for solar panel purposes) and now I'm looking forward to going to bed!

I walked into the lounge at my mother's care home this afternoon to find two alpacas holding court.

Now I knew they were going to be there as an 'enrichment activity', I was in fact there to be sure my mother got to see them if she wanted to, there was even a van outside the door advertising them (plus glamping and various other farming related money spinning projects). But I just wasn't ready for the sheer ludicrousness of alpacas in the lounge. 

It turns out alpacas in the flesh look like someone crossed a deer with an Old English Sheepdog and turned the floof dial up to 11. At which point my reality sensor threw a divide by cucumber error.

(The alpacas couldn't have cared less about the lounge, the residents, or the various toddlers and older kids that had been brought in by staff members - school holidays this week - the only thing they were interested in was the dish of alpaca feed being held under their noses)
 

"...in effect, you must paint what you see, and not what you know to be there. Because what we see and what is there are not always the same thing. I suppose it is important to learn that." [loc. 2026]

My initial mini-review is here: I reread the novel for this full review and can confirm that it is still an utter delight.

Titus Pilcrow is a colourman, a maker and supplier of paints and colours for artists. As the novel opens, he is in despair, because his landlord (also his ex) is evicting him. By a stroke of fortune, ( spoilers below )