my heart is a glorious machine;

I had all of this stuff written up and thought I might even post it, but it's all out of order, so I'll wait. I keep trying to record things, but I didn't start at the beginning, so it'll take a bit of organising which I haven't got time and internet for. So, yes, I'm sitting in a little coffee shop in Baddeck, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia (it's bad-ECK), thinking about ordering a pastry or two, and falling in love with this place. Have just bought several things at various shops; one of these was a beautiful multi-coloured necklace from an antique shop; the proprietor thinks it's from the seventies or eighties, and it's very quirky but sophisticated. There were so many marvellous things therein: commemoration cups and things from the coronoation of King Edward of England that never happened; an old tintype of some forgotten stranger in an elegant little frame; stunning Art Deco jewellery; a Victorian china tea set; all sorts of phantasmagorical little trinkets gilded with story. And a suit of armour standing outside the shop! I wish I could have taken him home.

Stanfest was amazing musically, and dreadful weather-wise, as it rained almost constantly and there was mud everywhere and we didn't have any wellies or anything, so I trooped around in my tall gothy lace-up boots and got soaked and muddy and managed to remain determinedly cheerful most of the time through sheer force of will, and the aid of some pretty spectacular music. New favourites: Po' Girl, Kellin Watson, Christina Martin. Lots of dancing, especially as I was so cold. It sunned and warmed up on Sunday -- around the time we were leaving, of course. Alas! More on the festival in the bits I haven't got into any kind of order yet.

Now we're staying in a little hundred-year-old farmhouse -- actually probably quite a large farmhouse, for its day -- called Green Gables, though it hasn't any gables that I've seen. (Clearly the name is meant as a tourist lure, but this tourist is glad to be sentimental.) I keep crowing joyously to myself, L.M. Montgomery was right!! Of course it's faddish in the States to belittle Canada, and I've always been a bit scowly about it, partially because I don't really like dismissing an entire country like that, and partially because, growing up reading Montgomery -- not just Anne of Green Gables, but everything -- I've always seen Canada as a wild, beautiful, fascinating place, with little pockets of old world culture, and sunsets and seashores and crags and forests and stars. And it's true, every bit of it! The people here are impossibly friendly and alive; my father and I have commented on how incredibly refreshing we find that. Everyone at Stanfest seemed to want to say hello to us, not because they knew we were visiting from Foreign Parts, but because we were human and deserved to be acknowledged. Festival people tend to be pretty fantastic and helpful and friendly in general; I've had a lot of wonderful festival encounters: but I have never been so helped and welcomed, or felt so loved by strangers, than I have in Nova Scotia. Instead of giving me directions, people would frequently walk me to stages; an older man helped me jump a fence with the water jug (I was pretty good at jumping fences by then, but I had stupidly worn a silk skirt); people offered me their extra chairs and tarps to sit on, the people in the shops are so friendly and interested in everything and full of stories and conversation: I've never been to a place such as this.

Anyway, the house -- acres of land, wildflowers nodding everywhere, forest growing up to one side, all gnarly and shadowy and cool; high ceilings and bright little rooms and a fireplace, creaking wooden floors, and there’s a shed and a bunkhouse (Timmy’s elected to sleep there) and I don’t even remember, over thirty acres of land?, and an outdoor shower, which is glorious, and a lake and a dock and trees trees trees and wildflowers, hills, hollows. My bedroom is technically a sort of office, but it’s got a fold-up futon sort of thing that’s a sofa by day and folds down into a bed by night, and there’s a desk for my laptop which is very useful, and a lovely window edged in creamy linen curtains and a pink-flowered yellow valance.  I've been reading and romping (and watching BSG -- OMG THE END OF SEASON TWO WHAT OMG WHAT WHAT WHAT OH SHOW), watching films with the family, going for walks and hikes -- lovely pictures from woods and waterfall I shall show you all upon my return! little fairy mushrooms and strange trees -- visting the very fascinating Alexander Graham Bell Museum -- he lived in this town for quite some time, and he's much more interesting than just The Inventor Of The Telephone. The holiday's been doing my poor story some good, too: Mr Caruthers has revealed some key pieces of his Sordid Past which solve a great deal of puzzles, and I am quite excited about them. (Poor Mr Caruthers, what a wretched life I've given him.) Still have some things to figure out, but The Things I Figured Out close most of the gaps in the story and give hints towards most of the ones that are left.

Dear me, I've been typing on and on and on and there's still so much to tell! But there's still a lot to happen. And I think I'd like a pastry.

I. So, lady_moriel and I were on the phone until twelve-thirty last night, which was basically The Best Thing Ever, except I woke my mum up because I was shut up in my closet for no good reason. (It's kind of cosy in there. Besides, Remus lives there. With his random piles of Time and various newspapers and books he keeps nicking off my shelves, and our vintage Life magazines from the seventies and eighties, and a lot of sandwiches.) Also, we made up the Best ScarletWoman!Ginny Fic Ever, which involves Antarctica and Random Hot Scientists and transfigured penguins and Dead Unimportant People and Molly's Amazing Clock of Eerie Accuracy. (CLOCK: [hand points to SHAGGING RANDOM STRANGER]. MOLLY: Must--go--to--Antarctica!) Also, Sirius uses netspeak specifically to irritate Remus (until he gets bored with typing funnily and finds something else), and we both read the Pony Pals when we were young and were probably vaguely ashamed of it even then. Heeee. AND! We are going to picket for Werewolf Rights!!(P.S.: Il Divo was on instead of Monty Python. AAAACK. *woe* I NEED MY FIX NOW.)

II. I am such a girl. Even without meaning to be, which is, I think, almost worse. Case in point: Saturday, my boots, blouse, and nail varnish all matched. (The varnish, which I found in my closet, is part of my semi-annual attempt to Not Bite Nails. Instead, I peel the stuff off with my teeth.) ERU SAVE ME. (I got really killer red boots for four bucks on Friday, though. The heels sink into the ground when I walk, which feels springy and weird and sort of awesome in a bizarre kind of way. And I got a purple floor-length skirt and something that looks kind of like an English riding jacket.)

III. I'm writing Eagle of the Ninth fanfiction. This is kind of scaring me (not least because I have the utmost reverence for Rosemary Sutcliffe). Is anyone else cool enough to even know what I'm talking about? :D Also, I had to do Wikipedia research for a passing mention in a vignette, wherein I discovered I got something wrong. Ack, historical fanfiction.

IV. L.M. Montgomery is pretty much the literary equivalent of mint and chocolate right now. *fangirls* Yes, I'm on a kick. Even though the first and third Emily books vanished mysteriously from the library two years ago. *cries* Also, I think I might be a Dean Priest fangirl. This is REALLY TERRIFYING.

V. Because I was talking to lady_moriel basically all night and watched a movie with the family last night, my internet usage has been disgustingly patchy. Am still working on comments & things.

VI. DO NOT SCOLD ME ABOUT THE TIME.

VII: It's Christmastime! I am so absolutely enchanted by this; I must dedicate an entry to it soon.

VIII: I STILL HAVE A PRIDE & PREJUDICE MOODTHEME. *squee*

VIIII: Shut up, I am going to bed. Also, I have a sinking feeling that I am getting the Roman numerals wrong.