which_chick | (no subject)

Andersonville is ticking along nicely. It's reading something like the George R. R. Martin books. He'll do a bit of Character A and then go off and hang out with Character B and so forth, only the PoV changes aren't marked by chapters like with GRRM's stuff. Anyway. So that's how the book is going. I'm not making headway with the books on loan from Not Our Real because Victorian-era romantic mystery novels don't hold a candle to the immense misery that was the South in 1864, well into the hard part of losing the War of Northern Aggression. (While I was born and bred north of the Mason-Dixon line, my grandma is a native of Savannah, Georgia, born in 1912. Her people called the thing "the War of Northern Aggression".) Anyway. A hundred and sixty pages into the book, the South has got the stockade finished and is importing prisoners to fill it up. Lots of prisoners.

Johnny, it's downhill from here.

I've been given some Northern Prisoners to root for, nice ones and plug-ugly ones (like in Gangs of New York). I don't want to get too attached to them, though, in case they die on me.

Still haven't mown the grass.

I'm thinking I should try cooking down the green grapes into... syrup? I've got to do *something* with them. They're in the fridge, but I don't have forever to figure out what I'm going to do about them. Ignoring them until they shrivel and get all scary is the coward's way out.