All Things Come...
Thu., July 28, 10:41 PM
…to those who wait — a reminder about patience. Or maybe it’s about the difference between what’s important and what’s urgent. A matter of life and death is urgent. Other things can wait, important or not.
On June 28, 2003, I was complaining how long we’d have to wait to find out what marks the Triumvirate got on their O.W.L.’s. Last night I finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, only twenty-five months later. I would have to say it was worth the wait.
Harry is almost grown up (one year from his majority, by Wizard standards) and much easier to take than he was in Order of the Phoenix. Oh, he still does some foolish things, but guys do that. Some things seem to be falling into place (I'm not publishing any spoilers!).
Despite some incredibly sad events, despite some great dangers, I didn’t have to keep putting this book down because it was scary, as I did with the previous one. The only reason it took me this long was my inability to read more than a little bit at a time — which has the added disadvantage of “now, where were we?”
I’m understanding something else as I read. Remember, I don’t agree with the many people who consider these books dangerous for kids. It’s because I tend to see magic simply as a science I don’t understand yet, as opposed to those who see Evil in anything they don’t grasp. Oh, yes, there is Evil — blatant Evil — in these stories, but it’s not in the magic. Order of the Phoenix was about evils that humans have used through history. Knowing that it is real is what made that book scary.
My attachment to the books, I think, is a belief that Harry has the ability to learn enough — he hasn’t got it all yet — to correct the evil magic. This part is not real; it’s what I call “suspended disbelief,” that mindset that one uses in reading science fiction — or fairy tales. The final book will demonstrate whether I’m right or wrong.
It’s been at least three weeks since I overworked some muscles and discovered that such things heal more slowly now. The original injuries are better, I think, but the spot I reinjured hurts like a [fill in your own curseword; it hurts that bad]. Nothing you ever learn is wasted; I’ve figured out how to reduce the stress on that muscle without letting it “freeze up.” Patience, patience — it will heal.
One of the more annoying things is that it hurts to press on the gas pedal, so I won’t drive too far for a while. (On the other hand, it’s easier to get myself into the driver’s seat than into the passenger seat.) But I did manage to do the supermarket yesterday — babying myself a lot more than usual, of course — and I’m still alive today. This shall pass too.
At long last, my roof is re-shingled. A roof is expected to last twenty years and, come December, we will have been in the Cheesebox for thirty-five years. So we have been fortunate, but it had to be done. And it was.
I would have trouble selling this house without some improvements. Husband will not want to sell it. And he will have a fit and a half when I tell him we’re moving, which is why I’m doing all the investigating and such without mentioning anything to him. It will have to be a fait accompli before I deal with him.
Well, I’m tired. Be patient; I shall return.
