September 30th, 2003


I'm making a list of all the places I want to see during my stay in the Lakes. Peter finds my list-making highly entertaining, and asked yesterday if I needed a list to keep track of all my lists? I prefer to think of myself as well-organized, but I can see that someone like Peter might view this papertrail as...lacking spontaneity.

I can't help it. I like surprises in small doses--the unexpected gift, sunshine when you're expecting rain, realizing it's Saturday when the alarm goes off. I don't like not knowing what to expect from people. I don't like feeling foolish, and I often feel foolish around Peter--like I'm playing a game and I don't know the rules. Even if I did know the rules, I don't believe that he would play by them!

We've had dinner together every night this week, except tonight. I never know if he's going to ask or not. Tonight I couldn't take the suspense of waiting for him to say something; I told him when we stopped for our tea that I had plans. He gave me the oddest look--did that thing with one eyebrow, reminding me of Leslie Howard in The Scarlet Pimpernel.

(Speaking of which, that has to be one of the most romantic film moments, when Sir Percy walks into the room and addresses Marguerite and her friends with a deep bow: "Ladies, your servant, Madam, your slave.")

Anyway, now I have the evening to myself, and I am wondering if I made a mistake. And not just because there is nothing to eat in the house. At home I would have opened a can of Campbell's vegetable beef soup, added one of those little tins of roast beef and eaten it with warm, buttered French bread. It's a good night for home cooking--the weather has turned chilly and the skies are ominous. A good night to curl up in front of the fireplace and read.

I found a copy of Betty Alexandra Toole's Ada: The Enchantress of Numbers. I find Byron's acknowledged daughter to be a fascinating mix of contradictions. Despite Lady Bryon's efforts to protect herself and her child with mathematics and science, Ada inherited both her father's passion and his creativity. Had she not died so young, there's no telling where that combination of intellect and imagination might have taken her--and us. I'm a little familiar with her work on the "Analytical Machine," but I had no idea that she had also designed a flying machine when she was thirteen. She was quite beautiful too.

(And I believe I read somewhere that she had a gambling addiction, so perhaps Lady MacBeth--er Lady Byron's fears were not completely unfounded.)






So I'm spending tonight with Ada--and tomorrow I am going grocery shopping!