Certainly one of the more interesting ideas to come out of the French Revolution was a new calendar. Not as showy as, say, a big machine for executions on an industrial scale, but it did have merit as a communications tactic. What better statement that we've started something new than to re-name something so fundamental? If I had been put in charge of the month renaming business, I would have dubbed this time of year "renaissance", for I've always found it to be rich with potential and new beginnings. That's because in my heart, I've never moved beyond the academic calendar. Not unusual for a kid who loved school. And for an only child who, frankly, was always a bit lonely by the end of the summer. I adored September. The return to the classroom, the reunion with friends, the introduction of a whole new set of courses and challenges. (And my birthday.) I still find a blank notebook and a new pen filled with magical inspiration.
If September is the new year, that makes August the month to get ready. The month to make resolutions, and to get organised before the next phase of life starts.
I haven't lost this habit. Thus, while much of the rest of the world is on holiday I am in the middle of working through an ambitious personal agenda. There are doctors and vets appointments to be made, cabinets to be cleaned, closets to be sorted and taxes to be done. One of the most challenging tasks: finish and file the stack of reading material next to my bed. In fact, I have forbidden myself from buying any new books until the space is empty and clean.
This is, actually, an ambitious goal that's kept me busy since my return from holiday. The three fabulous novels I consumed there never made it to this pile. No, this is the realm of "must read" and "almost finished". I have a habit of picking up topical history books on my holidays, getting three quarters of the way through them on the way home, then losing interest. There's that family history of the Hapsburgs from Vienna that has a century or so left to explore, Vasari's Lives of the Artists (good intentions in Florence) and a few guidebooks from English country houses.
Between Holy Water and Salt Water: A History of Southern Italy, had me hooked until unification, then I put it aside. Dad gave me a history of the Pulitzer organisation and the prizes that he swears is great. I haven't cracked that one's cover. And then there's Roy Strong's history of British coronations. A birthday gift, so I've been doing my best to plough through, but ... unlike Strong's other work ... this is heavy going. Might have to skim up to George IV and Victoria (really, the most interesting ones) and call it quits after.
It's not all history books. There's The Miracle at Speedy Motors, the latest Ma Ramotswe novel. A lovely series, but increasingly similar and easy to put aside. There's a big book of Italian fairy tales, in Italian, that I once thought I would read nightly to build my language skills. A large stack of Vanity Fairs waits for me to move past the handful of articles I bought them for. The Food Illustrated issues need to have the "must try" recipes torn out before they're ditched.
And that leads on to the cookbooks. There's one from Gloria and Emilio Estefan's Cuban restaurant, Bongos, that I just picked up in Florida. Another features healthy recipes for cancer patients that came with some of Mom's medicine. And then there's the guide to historic feasts from the National Trust. All of them need to be reviewed. I'm either going to cook something out of them or not, but they really need to make the move from bedroom to kitchen, post it notes placed to flag culinary intent.
And then, finally, that precious bedside space will be empty. Just in time for the new school year and new books. Bliss.
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