And, yeah, I bought a Game of Thrones t-shirt from HBO. I am SUCH a goober.

Not precisely doom, but definitely family.

But I am taking a boatload of books with me, the husband that needs to rest like nobody’s business, the wonderful son, and an urgent desire not to get all gloomy and eat too much pie.

(Yes, pie is a trope this week).

So anyhoo, I am doing okay, but wiped out by prep the past few days. I owe the Picky Vegetarian a call (hi!), and will get to that once I stop running.

Have a great holiday, if you celebrate, and please join me again next week for our regularly scheduled bout of neuroses, hawt furriners and the occasional rant.

Today is Friday, so I am at the Riskies, quoting text and talking veggies. You know, the usual.

For a second, her mind seized on the crazy thought that this could be Douglas coming home. That the letter informing her of his death had been a mistake, and he was finally coming back to her.

Until she saw that the man at the door was at least six inches taller than Douglas had been, with short-cropped dark blond hair rather than the chestnut brown that Douglas had kept long out of vanity. The man, however, was dressed similarly to the way Douglas was the last time she’d seen him–a uniform of indeterminate color, clearly dusty from travel.

So we haven’t done it in awhile, but last night, the Super-Smart Lawyer (you know, the one I made go to The International with me. Yes, she is still speaking to me. Yes, she does love me, why do you ask?) came over for dinner and a movie.

She brought this lovely Moscato d’Asti, so fizzy and sorta sweet, but not, and it was delish. Sometimes she brings dessert, too, but we are both dealing with excess winter avoirdupois, so she did not. Anyhoo.

Based on Netflix randomly saying, “hey, Megan, you’re a freak for anything British, and pre-20th century, howz about you check out this here movie?” I looked at Firelight, and it looked good, so I took a flyer.

It was really, really good!

Firelight is set in 1838 England, a dark, edgy, not standard romance featuring–I’d say landed gentry, the guy bred sheep and lived on an estate–and a poverty-stricken woman. They strike a deal for her to bear him a child because his wife is in a 10+ year coma.

But, you know, they see each other when the child is about six and, you know, romantic mayhem ensues.

It had a lot of unexpected twists and turns, and that’s saying a lot, I think, given that I am likely featured somewhere in Netflix’s archive as ‘that batty subscriber who never met a British film or actor she didn’t like’ (amongst others of you, you know who you are).

The romance gave me that deep, heart-rending poignancy that I feel in watching North & South, Persuasion and Pride And Prejudice. And I keep thinking about it, and how much I liked it.

It starred Sophie Marceau, who was in that execrable version of Anna Karenina with Sean Bean, and Stephen Dillane, who was also in AK, but not in the same version.

(Myretta, aka the Delightful Phone Friend, told me I’d like it, and she was right. Although I do wonder if she trusts my taste anymore because I said I liked the version of Jane Eyre with Ciaran Hinds. AND the MacFadyen/Knightley P&P.)

Tomorrow, I’ll be going Asian with Farewell, My Concubine. Can you tell the Knicks are at home this week, hence keeping the attention of the Knicks Season Subscriber Husband?

Derek Jarman’s Caravaggio, with a young, delish Sean Bean, arrives on Thursday.

So, yeah, I’m definitely on the upswing. Not sure when I can watch it, however. A problem for another day.

Like a lot of you, I am away for the Thanksgiving holiday–but, through the magic of the internet, I am posting at the Risky Regencies on Friday.

Eye candy (with a special ‘hey’ to the Faux Critique Partner, who’s on wicked deadline):

I might not be posting again until Monday. Don’t miss me too much.

Megan

And also because I had the Caravaggio movie next on my Netflix queue, and they skipped right over it to my next choice! But — but I wanted to see Sean, not a Japanese love triangle film, at least not right yet.

I am piqued.

Oh, my lord, I found this picture when I was searching for some eye candy for the Risky post:

Da-rool.

The Wise Writing Friend, who also goes by the name the Faux Critique Partner, has just sent me her ms. to read. Yay!

And, since she asked so nice and all:

Yeah, yeah, late posting over there.

Writing is going awesome, synopsis not so much.