Thirty-five years ago I read The Name of the Rose, at that time the book was a literary sensation and Umberto Eco's name joined the pantheon of writers of renown and distinction. Much later I read The Island of the Day Before and thrilled to its exotic appeal, his exquisite use of language and intrigue and mysterious aura in yet another complex plot. I've had Foucault's Pendulum in our personal library for many years and meant to read it, but never did. Now I am. But I was so tired last night, the night before and the night before that I barely budged through the first few pages before nodding off.

Last night I dreamed I was at a clinic and a nurse was administering an inoculation. Oops, she said, the needle broke. And the end of it disappeared through my epidermis and just kept being absorbed. The nurse attempted without success to grasp the slowly disappearing needle. Tweezers, I gasped, and looked about, opening one of the drawers of our bathroom vanity and offering her the tweezers. No use, I glanced at my upper arm, and it looked smooth, no sight of a broken needle, but there was the feeling of pain, not much, but there.

Actually I was not very upset. The nurse seemed somewhat amused by the incident. Assuring me it was nothing. It happened all the time, she said. Other health professionals also in the room seemed absorbed in other things; no one was interested in that little drama. But I was worried about what my husband might say or feel when I informed him, once I joined him in the adjoining waiting room. And then I woke up.

To an overcast day, the last of the warm Indian Summer days that a high pressure system kept hovering over us to our unalloyed delight. The temperature hovered at 17C all day, but it seemed much warmer because it was so humid. It had rained during the night and the outdoors was steeped deep in moisture. We had decided, since my husband had a few early afternoon appointments to get out earlier with Jackie and Jillie. So we could enjoy a leisurely walk and not be concerned about getting back in time for him to make off for his appointments.

We all wore rainjackets. It's always much cooler in the forest than elsewhere and we were comfortable with the rainjackets, uncertain whether the rain would pick up or just continue lazily in its light pattern of almost mistlike dimensions. It felt good, truth be told, the cool misty rain blown by the wind against our faces. And it certainly didn't bother Jackie and Jillie.

A dusky atmosphere prevailed in the ravine as we traipsed through the forest trails. There was no pick-up in the rain, so we just continued swerving off one trail to link up with another, a long, restful and refreshing circuit. Squirrels were out in full numbers, still collecting cones. One grey squirrel in particular seemed fascinated by our presence, interested in what we were doing, watching us. Jackie and Jillie failed to notice the fluffy little creature, he kept so still, halfway up a tree trunk. Their eyes are usually fixed to the ground, or fixated on what's before them.

Later in the afternoon I was looking through albums of old photographs, long pre-dating digital cameras. Many of the photographs, decades old, recalling adventures we once enjoyed abroad, had actually faded. The coloured ones, not so much the older black-and-white photos. 

By then, most of the clouds had cleared out, and the sun appeared. And just as I was about to have a look at what was happening on line, just as late afternoon dusk began to settle in, my eye was caught by the spectacle of the setting sun turning streaks of grey clouds into an intense pastel pink, I stepped out onto the deck to snap a few photographs. When I stepped back into the house everything became dark. In the immediate area the electricity went off. 

The dinner I'd meant to prepare wouldn't grace our evening table set for dinner, after all. We ended up eating 'light' as it were. Some fresh vegetables, a canned-salmon salad -- my husband's specialty, which he always claims I enjoy because for a change someone else is preparing food -- and tea. My husband boiled water in the dark, on the deck, using a side burner of our natural gas-powered barbecue. Likely the very last time it will be put to use this year. And we thought we had reached that point two months back....