Spring is coming on slowly around here. It’s almost May and most of our trees have barely begun to bud. It’s been cold and rainy, which is actually really nice. I like this kind of cloudy weather, and we don’t get much of it most years. I find the clouds and wind soothing.

In this cloudy, indoor weather I’ve been doing my usual, knitting and reading. Pandemic parenting burnout and depression* have sapped my energy and made me slow, but it hasn’t stopped me entirely from doing the things that make me happy.

1. I did finish my second M.E. Braddon book, Aurora Floyd. I said I was reading this way back in December, and even though I read it slowly I’ve been finished for weeks. I was hoping for another delicious little mystery, but Aurora Floyd is more of a straightforward romance. It was still pleasantly written, with interesting characters, but Lady Audley‘s secret was much more dramatic than Aurora Floyd’s. Since it’s more romance than mystery, I’ll just give you this spoiler: turns out Aurora ran off and married a handsome jerk as a teenager, and kept it a secret from her second husband. After some drama, her second husband forgives her completely for her immature mistake. As I read, I realized this must have been a really exciting fantasy for a Victorian woman–Aurora is passionate and headstrong, she has an unladylike interest in horse racing, she even ran off to marry a handsome horse trainer was not officially divorced when she married her second husband, but instead of being sent away in shame she is defended by everyone who knows her. I don’t imagine it would have played out that way in real life. It was a stirring romance, with some twists and turns I haven’t mentioned, but “she was married once before” just isn’t a shocking twist for a modern reader.
2. I also mentioned ages ago that I was going to put lace and decorative buttons on a couple scarves I made. I said that maybe six months ago and now I’ve finally finished one. It would not stand up to a close look–I sewed the lace on free-hand instead of pinning it so it’s pretty crooked–but it’s an okay first attempt.
3. I also finished my first attempt at knee socks. I couldn’t find a good pattern for the yarn I had, so I worked one out for myself. I’ll definitely change a few things for my second attempt, but they’re not bad and I feel like I’m really getting the hang of turning sock heels now.

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4. I also finished reading Yoko Ogawa’s The Diving Pool the other day. I’ve been deep into Victorian horror for a while now, but I still do read more contemporary stuff. This is a collection of three stories written only a few years ago. Well, translated into English a few years ago–in Japan, they were published separately way back in the 1990s. I discovered Ogawa through a list of gothic horror, but I wouldn’t exactly call these horror stories. All three stories involve some body horror, but the horror isn’t the main point of any of the stories. The stories’ real focus is always the alienation and emotional disconnects of the main characters. Each story is like a portrait of the narrator’s inner self, and each gave me a sad, haunted feeling that made my own world seem a little brigher and cozier when I put the book down. In that way, they do what good ghost stories often do, but they’re definitely written in that artsy, metaphor-laden style literary novels are usually done in. If you go in looking for blood and drama you’ll find these way too tame, but if you like things subtle and psychological you might really enjoy these. I know I did. Ogawa has a few other works translated into English, and I’ll probably give those a try sometime soon.

*My depression tends to be “atypical” when it hits. I get many symptoms of “normal” depression, but instead of a steady sadness or numbness, I get really reactive. I feel good when something good happens, but when I feel criticized (or start criticizing myself) I take it really personally and start ruminating on how awful and useless I must be. Because I still have the ability to pump myself up for short periods and get basic things done most days, other people rarely seem to notice what a wreck I am on the inside when I’m depressed. It’s a blessing and a curse.