On the day of Kiddo’s wedding, I drove Tress into town for her to be with the ladies for a marathon dolling up session. Kiddo, the bridal party and Tress were all getting a makeover. It was early when we went into town and my plan was to then get back to the house in Monash, walk LBJ and treat him well (we were going to leave him at home from around noon till late at night), get dressed myself and then drive back to the hotel in time for the car to be dolled up. As I had some time, I decided to get some confetti too, as the lady quarterbacking the proceeding in Canberra Baptist had, during the rehearsal, suggested we got some.
I still had some time before I had to leave for my duties so I sat in front of Kiddo’s bookshelf to see if there is anything I could take back to Melbourne with me. I had done that a couple of different instances too but that morning I settled on a classic tale in Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky’ St Petersburg tale in answer to Dicken’s Great Expectations in London (or is it some other work by Dickens…).
I didn’t start reading this in earnest until the end of last week however and I am slowly getting into a pacey rhythm and it has become a bit of a page turner. His characters have such depths and breadths in spite of such dreadful settings and circumstances. I’m now just getting into the stage where Raskolnikov, the protagonist, had just done his thing and was going through a hellish phase of “what have I done”. He’s a total wreck and every page invites a visit from the local constabulary. In a way, I think such a visit should come sooner rather than later, which would be for his own good.
My train rides have become in many ways, the highlights of my work days on account of the books that kept me company. I hope to keep commuting like this for a little while yet, for these slow cook types of satiables to be soaked up by yours truly.
Those books have become little gourmets and those trains are my buffet cars.
Ante 