...insofar as I am the hero(ine) of my own story, & I certainly feel like it after submitting to the emotional buffeting that is V. Woolf's Day & Night--what fun that book was. I also read The Third Policeman (F. O'Brien), and The Portrait of Mrs. Charbuque (J. Ford). Oh how I love the vacation-within-the-vacation of novels, how could I forget them so often?
What I mean to say is, I am back! But I am still reading novels. Now it's The Divided Kingdom (R. Thomson). In denial, obviously.
It will probably take me a few days to get through my email, etc.
I also have some photographs.
But get this: FOR A WHOLE WEEK, WE KNEW NOTHING ABOUT THE TIME CHANGE. It did not occur to us until we got home. The clocks were flashing (the power'd gone out in a storm, also evidenced by a good thrashing of our backyard trees' missing limbs, etc.) and when we went to set them against a wired clock we were all like, WTF, how can it be that time?! Are we in a time warp? (me) A wormhole? (him). Yeah, we are funny. 'Twas a very odd sensation for several minutes--as if the minutes themselves were sentient or alien & somehow plotting against us. We "took some time" to hide out in the woods, came prancing back in at our leisure, and Time was all like "nuh uh, you don't!"