We did it! We did it!

We found the deleted scenes on the new Harry Potter DVD! No cheating, or checking web sites, or anything!

Only took us another hour tonight, after discovering that they were nowhere to be found during our casual exploration before watching the movie on Sunday. It was actually quite a challenge, until we figured out what we needed to do. I was the brains; my husband clicked buttons. (Remotes defy me; it’s that technology/witch thing again.)

No, I’m not going to give the secret away. Suffice it to say that about half the deleted scenes should have been left in, in my opinion, including the one where Harry actually speaks Hedwig’s name. Then at least it would have been said at least once in the movie.

Watching the film again has reminded me of how much I want Dame Maggie Smith’s wardrobe. Especially that lovely hat with the pheasant feather, and the emerald velvet robes with the triskeles on them!

The bicycle has been road tested.

I am not dead.

I do, however, remember why I stopped cycling as I got older. People who drive cars are self-absorbed and rude. I jammed on my brakes for an idiot who ran a stop sign because he didn’t see another car coming (I didn’t count, apparently); I jammed on my brakes because someone opened a car door in front of me; and I jammed on my brakes because someone pulled away from the curb in front of me. All this from going around the block after I filled the tyres with air. (Twenty-five cents! They charged me twenty-five cents to put air in my tyres!)

My back brakes are working. There are a few whirrs and clicks, and the gears change when they’ve given my gear shift a bit of consideration, and I have to secure the rear reflector properly, but I have a functional bicycle. Hurrah!

Back. Back hurts. Secret weapon not kicking in.

I spent yesterday afternoon cleaning up that 25$ rusty thing that if you squinted and were feeling kind, you could call a bicycle. Three hours. Three hours of applying chrome cleaner with a toothbrush, and scrubbing as hard as I could with a scrubby sponge. Being there as a task is slowly accomplished doesn�t have the same power as seeing it �before� and �after�, as my husband did when he walked in at the end of the day. �Hey!� he said. �That�s terrific! I didn�t think you�d get it that clean!�

Get it that clean? There�s still rust all over it! Okay, so the chain doesn�t flake any more when you touch it, you can see the rims again, and the fenders only have a few dull spots, but it�s still a mess. Just not as much of a mess as before. I wouldn�t be embarrassed to be seen with it in public, now.

I will, however, be embarrassed after coming to a sudden stop if I don�t get the back brake calibrated correctly. Front brake � fine. Back brake � not fine. It’s still stiff, although I’ve tried everything I can remember about brakes. A sudden stop on my head would be bad. Even though I still have a helmet (around somewhere). I�ll walk it over to the gas station down the road this afternoon and fill the tyres to see if they actually hold air. Maybe I�ll try to ride it back. Slowly.

My new Blogger Insider partner, Kate: I love her already.

As usual, today at work was spent spacing out.

Still getting adjusted to my new desk and my new space, but a healthy dose of Star Wars cereal and a cup of chai tea in the morning makes everything all right.

Whee!

Sometimes, heaven is a brisk walk to the not-insane grocery store, a brisk walk back in the warm wind, and a plate of three slices of mill bread (complete with flax seeds and sunflower seeds baked right in) with slices of Jarlsberg cheese.

Mmm.

June already.

When I woke up this morning I made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed to read Sandman: The Dream Hunters, which out of the entire Sandman oeuvre is the only story graphic novel I’d never read. There was nothing in my reserve when I stopped by the comic shop yesterday, and I just happened to see this on the shelf and decided I needed a treat. I am rather partial to foxes, and this is a retelling of a Japanese story about a fox who falls in love with a monk, sacrificing herself by intercepting a malevolent dream sent to kill him. Naturally, it’s not that easy; it never is when you’re in love.

I trust anything written by Neil Gaiman. I was completely unprepared for Yoshitaka Amano�s art. This book was released in hardcover back in the days when I worked in the F/SF bookshop, and the book was shipped sealed. This is a practice I have never understood. People want to look at a book before they buy it to see what�s inside, especially if it�s an illustrated novella like The Dream Hunters. If there are drop cards or loose enclosures necessary to the volume, I can almost understand it, but even then there are other ways. The book being sealed meant I couldn�t flip through it, and I never saw one on the shelves of my friends� collections. I heard rave reviews, but never experienced the illustration for myself apart from the front and back covers.

The reviews are right. Amano has created a dream-like accompaniment for a fable about dreams which enthralls me. It is slightly eerie; very pale, but flowing, and it took me several minutes of poring over the colour plates before I saw even half the multitude of detail (and I know each time I look at it I�ll see different things). It is the perfect accompaniment to Gaiman�s fairy-tale style, which, as usual, is gloriously formal yet personal at the same time. It was a lovely way to begin the day.

I think I�ll go pull out my issues of Stardust now.

Okay, I took three, but only because there was a broken one and I had to put it out of its misery.

Mmmm. Bourbon Cremes. It’s such a crime that you can only get them in the assorted Peek Freans packages now. The thing stopping me from raiding a Peek Freans headquarters and holding someone important hostage is the fact that every couple of years they bring out these Limited Edition boxes.