Crimes of the Heart

Yesterday was a bit melancholy. Every time I looked up from the couch it was raining, and then just when it would seem to stop and Olga would look at me with hopeful eyes, it would start again. She wound up snoring away the afternoon while I read and watched a movie. It's amazing how much that dog can sleep when there's no other apparent alternative.

I rented "Crimes of the Heart," with Diane Keaton, Jessica Lange and Sissy Spacek, which I loved back when it came out in the mid-'80s. I saw it in the theater with my friend Suzanne and we ran around repeating lines for months:

"She works out in the garden wearing the lime-green gloves of a dead woman."

"I'll snatch you bald-headed!"

And of course, the ever-useful "I don't know...I'm just havin' a bad day." (This from a character who's dragging a chandelier from a rope around her neck. It's a long story.) I have to credit Ms. Moon for reminding me to watch this movie again in one of her recent posts.

Apropos of nothing, this is my Oyster card, the fare card for the tube and bus system, which I got back in 2011 when we moved to London. It's amazing how well it's held up considering I use it pretty much every day. Isn't it ironic that I'm carrying around a memento of the royal wedding? I bear no ill will toward the royals but I wouldn't call myself a huge fan, either.

Anyway, back to yesterday -- I read the newspaper and then my book about Shostakovich and World War II in Russia. It's a good book but I hadn't touched it in more than a week, so it's taking me a while to read. I don't think I'm as interested in Shostakovich as I thought I might be, but this is no fault of the author. Also, I knew millions died in Russia under Stalin, but the book details just how paranoid and murderous he was -- even before the Nazis arrived. I think even Donald Trump couldn't run a nation off the rails as thoroughly as Stalin. (Hopefully that theory won't be tested.)

Finally, I'm trying to get Dave to warm up to the idea of going up to Oxford for October break. We could take Olga and spend a few nights. I found a hotel that looks pretty amazing and takes pets, and I'm going to see if I can work a deal. Dave, the eternal homebody, wasn't thrilled when I proposed the idea, but I think he might eventually go for it.

(Top photo: Graffiti in Peckham, last weekend. I tried to learn who Bertie Bangs is and all I could come up with is a funeral notice on page 31 of this publication from last September. But apparently he is greatly missed.)