Read in June

1. Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

The apocalypse with a heavy dose of British humor. I didn't find the way the plot played out entirely satisfactory, but it's smart and funny enough that it doesn't matter too much.

2. Fall of a Kingdom, by Hilari Bell

Except for some extra ethical complexity, I kind of feel like I've read this book before. Sometimes that's why I read YA fantasy, for something familiar that I can count on, but I guess I wasn't in the mood this time.

3. How Green Was My Valley, by Richard Llewellyn

One of my friends has been trying to get me to read this since last spring, and luckily for me, she gave me a copy for my birthday and left me unable to put it off any longer. It's set in a nineteenth-century Welsh coal-mining village, but it manages to avoid triteness and predictability, even when dealing with subjects like loss of innocence and labor rights movements. Bittersweet, wise coming-of-age story in simple but sometimes almost lyrical prose.

4. The Miracle of Mindfulness, by Thich Nhat Hanh

I didn't connect with every single chapter of this book, but that parts that did resonate with me SERIOUSLY resonated. Eminently wise. It's about eating a tangerine.

5. How To Ditch Your Fairy, by Justine Larbalestier

Definitely a beach read, but in a good way.

Last day

I went walking in the park behind the hostel on my last full day in Iceland. It's on the edges of Reykjavik—more roads, a couple business parks, not many houses.

I think of Iceland always in these colors, thin ice and dead grass and sleeping trees and northern ocean and early winter sky. I'm glad I went at the time of year that I did.

Leaves frozen under ice on the pavement.

You can see Esjan, the beautiful, beautiful mountain range that lies to the north of the city, across the the water.

Commence wedding week

We're departing for Southern California yet again, this time for my older sister's wedding [EEP].

I'll be in Upland and thereabouts until Monday. Fortunately we are staying with the relatives who have wireless in their house, so I am daring to imagine that I won't go completely nuts.

I posted some pictures from where the wedding will be held a while ago.

Ciao, NorCal.

Loose ends

In Reykjavik's city centre.

The opera.

Protest.

The hostel.

Icelanders seem to like their traffic circles. There are quite a lot of them, anyways.

Happiness

- Tofurkey. It tastes better than I remember turkey tasting.

- My pen pals and other people who send me mail [right now that means pinkapplecore and Bambola]

- Naan Sundays with my sister

- Wandering Saturdays with Odessa

- Cute dreadlocked hippie boys [especially when they're offering free samples of delicious nectarines]

- The bunch of fresh lavender that I got at the farmer's market

- Having flowers to carry around while I'm out and about. It always makes me happy to see people carrying flowers, especially on public trans, so I imagine it does the same for other people, plus strangers talk to you more.

- Clearing my wardrobe of things I don't wear and managing to resell some of them to my favorite second-hand store.

Working girl

I've been at this temp job for six weeks...everything says there is a good chance I will get offered a permanent position.

Having to save for Australia keeps my motivation fresh.

Friday I daydream with Bambola in the [California] morning. On my lunch break I buy some bread, soy cheese, and tofurkey at the health food store. I make a sandwich and a half parked at the beach, put my feet on the dashboard and pretend I am a barbarian, savagely tearing my tofurkey with my barbarian incisors.

And yet

"There is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. You want one and I want one, but there isn’t one. It comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect. And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough."

-Marya Hornbacher

Grundarfjörður and south again

[Hobbitinn means "The Hobbit."]



That's A.
Fjörd.

This is where we went:

Laugardalslaug

I'm not allowed to leave Iceland without visiting a geothermal pool, the front desk lady at our hostel tells me. So Monday night I walk to Laugardalslaug, the pool just down the street.

It costs a few dollars to get in. There are strict rules in the changing rooms about where you take your shoes off, where you take your clothes off, where you shower [soap and nekkid-ness mandatory], and where you dry off, which is nice because it means it's very clean, and completely dry up until the showers. The other reason for this is that geothermal pools don't have chlorine or filter systems. Water flows continually into the pools from geothermally heated natural sources, so the water is constantly being replaced, but I guess they still don't like to take chances with dirty peoples.

Also, geothermal pools are not rocky natural little pond things like hot springs, FYI. They look like normal pools, with concrete walls and the like.

The pool deck when I step out is gritty with salt to keep it from getting icy, and slushy with slightly frozen pool water.

The stars are very sharp. Once I am the pool, I am looking up at them through the steam coming off the water. The water is warm, but not hot like a sauna or a bath. The lap-swimming pool is empty; I'm in a smaller pool with a slide, near the hot tubs, which are called hot pots, which I think is fabulous. Even though it's night there are children and grownups and teenagers unwinding and socializing, more in the hot pots than the pool, but anyways, a fair number. My guidebook says the pools are busiest in the evenings and in the early mornings—before and after work, sort of like gyms. They're a big part of Icelandic culture. Sort of like saunas in Finland, maybe.

No one hangs out on the deck like I'm used to seeing at pools, but I guess that shouldn't surprise me given that it's the middle of winter as well as nighttime.

I decide to remember how I floated on my back, pulling warm sulfur-smelling water around my too-protruding chin and toes, with pool noises sounding their funny underwater way in my ears, Yoko Ono's peace tower slanting across the dark sky. I do.