Brenda Wineapple, White Heat: The Friendship of Emily Dickinson & Thomas Wentworth Higginson, pp. 238-40.

The irrepressible Mrs. Todd had set her cap for Austin, and Austin had succumbed. It had happened during those heated summer days when the regal Austin Dickinson, his bearing somber and aristocratic, his ice-blue eyes fixed on Mabel, stole away with her from the group picnicking at Sunderland Park. They leaned on the old rail fence, gazing out at the far-reaching view, aware of the smell of new-mown grass and each other close by... on an indolent September evening they fell into each other's arms--or crossed the Rubicon, as Austin martially called their declaration of love. (Consummation came later.) Mabel blazed with self-congratulatory pleasure: "to think that out of all the splendid & noble women he has known, he would pick me out--only half his age--as the mostly truly congenial friend he ever had!" Soon the couple were stealing away, wildly exhilarated (yet another of Mabel's phrases) by those dreamy walks back to the Todds' boardinghouse or out on the river road above South Deerfield in the Dickinson carriage. When apart, they resorted to pen and paper... It would take another year of intense verbal foreplay before Mabel and Austin consummated their affair, and when they did, they chose the dining room, windows shut, blinds closed, of the ancestral Homestead.

***
Oh for Pete's sake. I rarely mark a library book but felt sufficiently motivated to fish out a pencil and make a brief annotation. I scribbled a light wavy line under "windows shut" and penciled, "Dec. 13 - in Amherst!"

***
It's one thing for hoi-polloi commenters on a facebook page to feel compelled to express their tedious moralistic disapproval of an unusual and fascinating love affair that began and ended well over 100 years ago, which lasted for some 13 years until indeed Death did them part, when Austin died. I don't expect much from the rabble - one reason I don't sign up to comment there - how quickly I'd be branded (as I instantly was). But it's another when an ostensibly serious biographer loads her language to heap scorn on the affair. I can be glad, I suppose, that she didn't choose as the main focus of her study the affair between Mabel Loomis Todd and Austin Dickinson, if such would be her take.

But come on that last loaded line of the excerpt - yeah, they did it in the dining room, blinds drawn. (I must say - in my day there are occasions I have done just the same. And hope to again, I might add.) Good thing the windows were sensibly shut that December day, or else the affair might have ended much, much sooner if one or both had succumbed to pneumonia. As I said - for pete's sake.

So, if there are delays in publication - that might all well be to the good in the end so that some hypothetical retired physician (in Gordon's case) or mad housewife (in Wineapple's) doesn't come after one after the fact. What's the rush? Get it done right. I should take my own advice. I'm constantly tweaking my posts after I've published them - bad habit. In my case it's akin (I humor myself to think) to a French seamstress making tiny finishing adjustments, a nip here, a stitch there - they're tweaks. But sometimes the stakes are very high and it's much better to make sure that all is at it should be, completely properly done, every word and punctuation mark precisely as intended, the thing coming as close to the intended ideal as such endeavors can be.

***
Thus it was that I spent the afternoon slicing a boxful of mixed peppers while listening to audio commentaries to the final episodes of Season 3 of Mad Men. I am reluctant to let that series - that season, that is - go, the storylines and characterizations and everything were so powerful and great. So even though a new whatever number season of True Blood is on tap (unopened red Netflix envelope sitting on the kitchen table) - I just wasn't quite ready to switch horses. So I sliced and diced and listened to Matthew Weiner (series creator), sexy man of few words Jon Hamm, dapper John Slattery and charming Christina Hendricks, et al, etc., and when they were done I sat some more, slicing and dicing, packing unpickled peppers into plastic pots (containers actually) and listened to KZE and was so delighted when David Gray came on, wailing Sail Away.

I also ladeled chilled homemade chicken stock into some 16 containers - seriously, I made like two gallons. Am also employing sports psychology methods to visualize my making caponata tomorrow. I've never made it, and I've reread the recipe a few times, trying to familiarize myself with the course. I tend to avoid recipes that have you use every pot and pan you own -

In a deep 12-inch skillet, combine the onions, 1/4 cup of the oil...

Meanwhile, in another 12-inch skillet, heat 1/4 cup of the oil..."

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, combine the sugar and vinegar...

In a medium saucepan, bring 1 quart of water to a boil... blanche olives.

Darling - seriously, do you think I'm going to blanche olives? Uh - no. I may rinse them though - I agree they can be too aggressive straight out of the brine.

Oh this cookbook writer is funny.

... blanche olives for 2 minutes. Taste an olive: If it is still very salty, repeat the blanching.

That won't be happening, but here's what will with all the time saved - very, very many kisses all over you darling delightful you, until I get them just right, just the way you like, to your satisfaction.