Sorting the apples

I spent part of yesterday sorting out my apples, going through them for those that are unblemished and unbruised and will keep well, and taking out the rotten ones and the ones that I will cook up for putting in the freezer as pulp or sauce. The red ones are Red delicious, the yellows are from the tree next door so I don't know what they are. They've all now been washed and dried and packed away or processed, except for some I'll make into sauce to have with pork chops.

Reading a lot lately, because the cold weather doesn't encourage me to go out, only for brisk and brief walks around the neighbourhood. I'm enjoying the Robert Dessaix' "What days are for". It's one of those books that is hard to classify, biographical but more about the musings of a person than about the events of his life. Robert Dessaix, an Australian author, was forced to look at his life when he suffered a heart attack. What and who had he loved during his life? What were the experiences that meant most to him? This is one of those books that had me saying "Aha! So I'm not the only one who thinks this". It reminded me of May Sarton's "Plant dreaming deep" with its philosophical and gentle approach to life and its conundrums and happenings.

After my DVD foray into the lives of the Plantagenets (The White Queen) I've continued the story with Alison Weir's "Elizabeth of York". Elizabeth was the daughter of Edward IV, the wife of Henry the VII and the mother of Henry VIII. Her marriage to Henry Tudor (Henry VII) brought to an end the interminable Wars of the Roses, uniting both strands of the royal blood in one union. Elizabeth's claim to the throne was stronger than Henry's, (which was marginal but enforced with arms and treachery), but of course she could never rule, as she was a woman. She had to be content with being daughter, wife and mother of kings, and she seems to have been so. Her early life was one of turmoil, so I think she may have felt some relief to be safely married and at least queen consort if not queen regnant. The early Tudors are something of a fallow field for historical fiction writers, considering how many tomes have been written about Henry and his six wives and many mistresses. I once read a biography of Henry VII, who started off OK, but became increasingly paranoid and miserly as he grew older, terrified that someone would knock the crown from his head as he had done to Richard III, and knowing his claim was tenuous. He had an army of secret police who spied on all his subjects, from his courtiers to the Thames bargemen who ferried people up and down the river. Everyone in the kingdom was relieved when he finally died and Henry VIII took his place.

More snow down south but none here yet. "They" keep forecasting it, but I think it's just a "worst-case scenario" so that no one will accuse the met service of not sounding the alarm. Monday tomorrow; it would be great to spend the day at home, snow bound.