The midwest has some lovely trees. My theory is that they get lots of rain and grow big and tall and stately.
I read The Irregulars by Jennet Conant on the plane back. It’s about Roald Dahl — apparently he was a spy in New York during World War II, working to get the US into the war. It was after he was in a plane crash and unable to fly planes for the RAF. Interesting, but pretty terribly written — you suddenly realize a chapter later that the US has joined the war and it’s never been mentioned, for instance. It gave you both too much information and not enough, and maybe the subject was somehow not that interesting — I think the writer just did not have the knack for taking lots of minutiae and making a consistently compelling story out of it, although actually, it should have been interesting. In any case — one of the things that’s rushed through at the end is Dahl’s 30 year marriage to Patricia Neal (although here we’re well past WWII). Charles Marsh, a sort of patron of Dahl’s, gives Neal some advice early on, when things are not going well. She should let Dahl manage the money, even though it was mostly made by Neal. “Marsh felt that as a successful actress, Neal overshadowed her husband and that she needed to assume a more traditional housewife role. . . . ‘You can’t have the balls in the family. You can make the money, but Roald must handle it.'”
Okay — off to the unveiling of the splendors of my new underground lair. Maybe if I line it with mosses and dried leaves I will like it better.