Wahoo! Wednesday

There's an awful lot to be grateful for, today. Really, that's true every day but some days it's just more apparent than others, isn't it? Here's my list of things I feel like saying "Wahoo!" about, today:

1. The internet, the great equalizer - I've been thinking about this a lot, lately. If not for the internet - blogs, listservs, email - I would have missed out on meeting some terrific, fascinating, thought-provoking, like-minded people merely because they're not in my age range or, you know, on my side of the world, etc. I'm so truly grateful for all the wonderful people I've met thanks to the internet. I don't mean the winged guy above left.

2. Bird song - The sun is out and I've been outside potting some more flowers. The sound of the birds singing was just magical. It was a joy to listen to them while I was spilling dirt all over the patio. I didn't say I was a tidy person. Okay, here's where the photo comes in. The bird photo at left was not taken here - I snapped him in Alaska, last year. I just thought he was cute and I wanted to throw in a bird photo.

3. Bathtubs and running water - Because I got really sweaty and filthy potting the plants. I did get some of the dirt into the planters. Just thought you'd like to know.

4. A reasonable teenager - This is not something to take lightly: I have an even-tempered, well-mannered teenage son, just a really nice kid. I cannot even begin to tell you how immensely grateful I am to be his mother. I've been thinking about how much I appreciate my youngster, today, because the youngest son's claim to rebellion is his hair. He has this huge mop of mildly wavy auburn hair and he likes to grow it out longish, sleep on it wet and then not comb it, so that he kind of looks like he's stuck his finger in a light socket. He thinks it's funny and on an ordinary day he can't be persuaded to do anything to settle the hair down. But, today he had a music festival to go to and I thought he needed to be a little more presentable. So, last night I told him I needed to cut his hair and he should do his best to comb it into tidiness, today. He said, "Okay." Do you know how cool that is? He made a funny comment with a little squeal about all that beautiful hair on the floor, after I trimmed him up, but this morning he got up and combed his hair. Yes! The band director even thanked him. I just love that kid. I was going to paste a photo of him, here, but I seem to be having a little trouble with Picasa. Well, at least you got to see a cute bird.

5. Electricity - Because I've been thinking about The Sex Lives of Cannibals (review below), I'm particularly happy that I can switch on a light (even if it blows out at 5:00 in the morning, while I'm stumbling across the floor to answer the phone), refrigerate and zap food (I'm not much of a cook), and . . . probably most important . . . turn on the air conditioner!!!

Recently walked in my door:
Don't Kiss Them Goodbye by Allison Dubois and
The Secret Lives of People in Love by Simon Van Booy (short stories; an advanced reader - I read the first story, this afternoon, and it was a sweet, smile-inducing story).

Two of the best things I've read this week:
Kookiejar's post on Thin Mints versus Grasshoppers
Bellezza's post on why Sometimes Empty is Good

Totally forgot to mention: My list of books read, this year, was getting too long so I've moved it from my sidebar to a separate blog. So, now there's a link instead of a list in my sidebar. Ignore the photos, if you go there. I took photos of some of the Firefly actors off the TV, yesterday, and wanted to see what they'd look like if posted small enough that you couldn't see the pixels as easily.

Happy Wednesday!

The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost

Like many air travelers, I am aware that airplanes fly aided by capricious fairies and invisible strings. Typically, this causes me some concern.

Onward to the power station, which was a diesel generator in a small tin warehouse capable of meeting the electricity needs of, optimistically, three average Americans, provided that they didn't use a refrigerator and a hair dryer concurrently. We waited patiently for the clerk, who was lying prone atop the counter, to arise from his slumber. He lay there like an offering until a chorus of throat clearing elicited unembarrassed consciousness.

It was in the Marshall Islands where scientists finally discovered what, in fact, constitutes a coral atoll. . . . [Proving Darwin's theory] was incidental, however, to the purpose of the drilling. Enewetak was being canvassed as a sight for testing the hydrogen bomb and the drilling indicated that the atoll was suitable for obliteration. Shortly after dawn on November 1, 1952, a bomb called Mike was detonated, and an island, a home, an ecosystem was blown up, irradiated, and poisoned, leading many to wonder what is the point of having Nevada.

It often happened that we were asked to sing. The I-Kiribati are unself-conscious about singing. This is because they have the voices of angels. When I sing, however, small children begin to cry, dogs whimper, and rats scurry to the water and drown themselves. Sylvia, who is ravishingly beautiful, possesses a formidable intellect, and whose very existence illuminates my life, sings like a distressed cow. Entire villages scatter into the bush when we sing together. I tried to explain this to Tawita, but she was having none of it. "You must sing. Do not be shy."
And so we did . . . .The theater troupe drowned themselves in the lagoon before we could finish. Actually, they didn't do that. Rather, they drowned in tears of laughter. It began with a snicker that turned into a titter which led to guffaws and soon the group was convulsing in hysterical laughter.
"Stop!" Tawita cried. "That was very bad."
"Yes," I said. "We are aware of that."
"You must never sing again," she said.
"That is how we prefer it."

J. Maarten Troost was a 26-year-old, bored and not particularly thrilled with his working life, when his girlfriend, Sylvia, asked him if he'd like to move to a remote equatorial South Pacific atoll named Tarawa in the Republic of Kiribati, also known as the Gilbert Islands. One of 33 small tiny islands spread over an ocean expanse the size of the United States, the entire Kiribati landmass is around the size of Baltimore.

On Tarawa, Sylvia would work for the Foundation for the Peoples of the South Pacific (FSP) and Maarten would basically hang out, maybe help out a little, write a novel and sell some articles or edit to make pocket money. The idea of moving to the other side of the planet and leaving everything behind sounded hopelessly romantic and Maarten agreed, assuming he would be moving to an island paradise. Instead, he found himself in a home with dangerous water and sporadic electricity on an atoll where subsistence living meant frequent deprivation, the diet mostly fish. Islanders battled hunger, intestinal parasites, poor health care, a disinterested government bureaucracy, disease, poverty, and almost constant drought.

A swim to cool off in the Pacific on the first day revealed an even worse problem for Maarten: the natives used the reef behind their house to defecate. At low tide, the stench of the polluted ocean was horrific, the heat constantly stifling. There was nowhere to throw out trash, most of which came from outside the island on unreliable boats, so it was tossed in the ocean or piled around the atoll. Sylvia's predecessor in the FSP said, "I just can't take it, anymore." She was ominously thin and pinched. And, yet, the natives of Tarawa were a surprisingly laid-back and happy people.

Maarten and Sylvia settled in and adjusted to the rhythms of the island, learning the local customs and becoming friends with a unique and often hilarious cast of characters. The Sex Lives of Cannibals is Maarten Troost's memoir of their two years on Tarawa, in addition to descriptions of the much-overlooked history of the island (who has heard of the bloody WWII Battle of Tarawa where over 1000 U.S. Marines died?), and the tangled mess of "aid" and abuse from other countries. The book could easily have been a sad and whiny diatribe about the plight of islanders, but Maarten Troost has a terrific sense of humor and a willingness to explore and adapt. And, the result is a delightful, informative read with laugh-out-loud moments.

I acquired a copy of The Sex Lives of Cannibals because of the many positive reviews I'd read and I was not disappointed. Troost balanced the elements well: the stories describing their experiences, the history, the traditions of the people and the contrast between life on an equatorial atoll, where people sleep during the worst heat of the day, with the constant energy, tension and consumption of life in the U.S. A fascinating, eye-opening read. I'm anxiously awaiting a copy of Troost's second book, Getting Stoned with Savages. The one and only disappointment in The Sex Lives of Cannibals: no photographs. Darn. I couldn't find any on the internet, either, although there are a few scattered photos of Troost at writing events.

5/5

Coming up: Wahoo! Wednesday (Wow, already?)

Is it still raining? Only occasionally. How's your weather?

Funniest thing the eldest kiddo did over Easter weekend: Loaded up on food and necessities at his father's expense and then left the paper towels in Mom's trunk.

Most recent violation for which the youngster got after-school detention: Sleeping in English. Oops. I have to tell you, I really enjoy it when he gets in trouble for reading his novels and forgetting that he's in school. It's better than punishment for an untucked shirt.

Worst moment, this morning: When the alarm clock went off at 5:00 a.m. (youngster had to get to school early to catch a bus for the music festival), the phone rang, and the overhead lightbulb blew as I staggered to the phone with the alarm blaring in hand. But, you have to admit that it sounds pretty funny in the retelling.

Back later!

Rainy days are not my best days

I finished The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific by J. Maarten Troost, yesterday, and have been just sitting here staring at the computer, unable to write a word. This is unusual for me and I think I can just chalk it up to the fact that I don't handle rainy days well. I love the cool and the rain - it's really very pleasant outside - but rainy days make me moody because of an inner-ear fluid imbalance that's not worth talking about. Anyway, not meaning to bore anyone to death, I'll keep this short and hope to get a review of the Troost book up by tomorrow. I'm going to read and watch more Firefly. Hope everyone has a lovely day.

20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill

It seems to me the quality that separates the popular from the unpopular--the one and only quality that Eddie Prior and Cameron Hodges had in common--is a strong sense of self. Eddie knew who he was. He accepted himself. His failings ceased to trouble him. Every word he spoke was a thoughtless, pure expression of his true personality. Whereas I had no clear picture of myself, and was always looking to others, watching them intently, both hoping and fearing that I would catch some clear sign of who they saw when they looked at me.
--from Voluntary Committal

. . . "If creatures like Happy were allowed to run wild, they'd make the whole world look that way. He doesn't want to live somewhere else. Turds and mud--that's Happy's idea of a total garden spot."

I STRONGLY disagree

Arthur wrote me, but time has not softened my opinions on this matter. It is my belief that, as a rule, creatures of Happy's ilk--I am thinking here of canines and men both--more often run free than live caged, and it is in fact a world of mud and feces they desire, a world with no Art in it, or anyone like him, a place where there is no talk of books or God or the worlds beyond this world, a place where the only communication is the hysterical barking of starving and hate-filled dogs.
--from Pop Art

There's been a bit of buzz about Joe Hill's first novel, Heart-Shaped Box, in the blogging world. Or, I should probably say his first published novel, as I'm sure he wrote at least a few before selling. Being the kind of person who often avoids doing what everyone else is doing--for no particular reason but wanting to be different, I suppose--I opted to order his first book from a small press in England, instead, to dip my feet into the waves created by the sudden exposure of Joe Hill as Stephen King's son. Plus, I'm strongly influenced by covers and the first version of Heart-Shaped Box that I remember seeing was kind of ugly; now, that there's a different cover pictured at Amazon and I'm glad, for the author's sake. The cover of 20th Century Ghosts is gorgeous, the quality of the paper high, the comfort of the book in hand perfect.

20th Century Ghosts is an anthology of short stories and they are wildly disparate--some literary, some magical, two with ghosts, at least one so scary I had to set the book down for a few days. While there were a few that left me with the feeling, "What was the point of that?", the vast majority were engrossing and it was the moments of truth, the powerfully straightforward language, the absolute believability of his characters and the stunning creativity that set Hill's writing apart. There is seldom a feeling of stepping outside the pages--that "Oops, he lost me," moment when the reader realizes s/he has lost the ability to suspend disbelief. In fact, I kept having to remind myself, "It's not real; it's just fiction." That is a pretty strong recommendation, in and of itself.

Why are his characters so believable? I had to stop myself several times to ask that. They're flawed, quirky, self-doubting . . . real. What was it that made that first story, Best New Horror, so utterly terrifying that I had to put the book down for several days to recover my senses? That same sense of reality. The feeling that the characters were so real they could walk off the pages and, if they did so, they'd do something really, really nasty to the reader.

A few of the stories, in brief (without giving away any spoilers):

Best New Horror - The editor of a horror anthology discovers that reality can be more terrifying than fiction.

20th Century Ghost - One of a handful of people who spotted the ghost of a young girl who died in the theater wonders what will become of her once the theater shuts its doors permanently.

Pop Art - A young boy recalls his childhood best friend, an boy named Arthur Roth, who lived in fear of sharp objects and was bullied in school because he just happened to be inflatable.

The Cape - A magical story about a no-account young man whose life looks up when he finds the childhood cape that may have saved his life.

The Black Phone - Every mother's worst nightmare and an homage to Jack Finney. A young boy becomes the latest victim of a local kidnapper/murderer but an old phone with severed wires, which occasionally rings, may hold the key to his salvation.

About 3 or 4 of the stories left me flat, but of the 14 stories in 20th Century Ghosts, most are exceptional and all are written with unusual skill. I was particularly enamored of the two stories with ghosts in them and those with magical twists. Pop Art is just flat amazing. How anyone can create a character filled with air and make him believable is beyond me. It's worth the price of the book just for that single story.

4.5/5

Now that I've read 20th Century Ghosts, I'd like to move on to Heart-Shaped Box. However, I know without a shadow of doubt that it will, as my mother used to say, "scare the peawaddin' out of me". When I locate a copy, I'll read it during the daylight hours.

I hope everyone who celebrates Easter enjoyed the holiday. We had a lovely dinner and then I crashed for about 4 hours and awakened feeling much better, migraine gone and mood improved. I'm sure my entire family is wishing the mood improvement had taken place earlier.

Hope to finish tonight: The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost.

Just purchased, crossing fingers I don't kill it:

Happy Easter!

Book winner!!!

For the Buy a Friend a Book drawing (see Tuesday post), I opted to actually write on little pieces of paper and find a neutral observer to draw a name out of a hat - a real hat - rather than a computerized random generator, like I used for my last drawing . . . because only four people signed up. Pretty good odds, eh? And, certainly not worth computerizing. Youngest kiddo volunteered to reach into this hat:


and pulled out this name (it says "Amanda"):

So, Amanda is the winner of The Moon on a Stick. Congratulations, Amanda!

This will be a very short post. I finished up Joe Hill's 20th-Century Ghosts, last night, and hope to post a review very soon. But my head is splitting and I think I'll crash for a while. More later, I hope. Here's where we went, this morning:

Hope everyone is having a great weekend!

Day Tripping

Hubby is painting our hallway dove gray with white trim. This is a huge job because, although our house is small, there are a bunch of doors off the hallway and the old paint job is a very hard-to-cover eggshell-like shade (which has probably yellowed over the years; it's quite ugly). For some reason, most paints we've tried in this house have just flaked right off the doors and trim. So, this time the dedicated DIY spouse is taking the doors off and sanding them before putting a layer of Kilz on everything. Huge job, just huge and he's doing it all himself. He took the day off to work on the first layer of gray.

And, I was in the way. I've been in the way quite a bit, during this particular home improvement because I'm not good at working in small spaces. So he kicked me out, today. Fun! I ran to the Big City (Jackson) and roamed around Target and my favorite garden center. I haven't found a corner where I can grow a hibiscus, yet (two attempts, two failures), but look at this! Who wouldn't love to have this kind of beauty outside their home? I think I'll try again, soon.


Apparently, people don't normally carry their cameras into Target; I got a few funny looks. It was kind of fun. I loved this little display:



It made me think . . . You know a 3-dog night? When it's so cold you need 3 dogs to keep you warm? This display had me thinking sometimes we have a 3-Buddha day. When it's 3 times as difficult finding tranquility. Which is probably a totally goofy thought but it leads, of course, to an update on the reading.

I'm back to The Tibetan Art of Positive Thinking, reading about focusing positive thoughts and meditating to get rid of a negative thought track, an idea which appeals to me greatly. Having the spouse home messed up the time I planned to use to meditate, but I spent a few minutes alone and just being quiet to get a good start on the day. Author Christopher Hansard talks about times his teacher and he have used focused positive thoughts to stop a violent person, nearby. Hmm. I tried focusing my thoughts to get a left-lane hog to move on the highway, but it didn't work and it made my head hurt. Anyway, he says, "Don't do that, except in special situations." Okay, sorry, sorry.

I dipped into Start Late, Finish Rich - probably about 50 pages worth; I'm still far from completing the book, which is nutty because it's a quick read, but there you have it. The most recent tidbit I've picked up from it is his concept for investing: your life should be exciting; your investments should be boring. He has a little pie chart describing how to split your investments and I like this part of the book very much. It's slightly dull reading, but I like the concept.

Also added to my current reads is The Sex Lives of Cannibals, a travel memoir which is at times horrifying (the living conditions on a remote island) and consistently funny. The author, J. Maarten Troost, has a great sense of humor and the pages are flying. I am loving this book.

We watched an episode of Firefly (an entire series on DVD, checked out from the library), last night, and thoroughly enjoyed it. It's quite cliche, but we're easily entertained - all three of us love sci-fi and this series (which I assume was short-lived, as the case says "The Complete Series") has plenty of action and humor. Unfortunately, the kiddo likes watching episode after episode on his computer and has absconded with the entire set. So, I guess I'll need to do some laundry in order to watch a bit during the daylight hours. Folding time is my only TV time - we have no cable or satellite service and I wiggle a pair of bunny ears to watch my one weekly show: House, M.D. We don't eat hamburger, either. Huh. Weirdos.

Sending positive thoughts to one and all.

Wahoo! Wednesday

Oh, boy! I just love it when I'm doing Wahoo! Wednesdays as a regular feature of my blog because it makes me stop and think, "Wow, this is really worth celebrating," or laughing about, or whatever.

Things that make me want to say, "Wahoo!", today:

1. A cool front!!! Wahoo! I was so excited to wake up and find that it was actually cold enough to wear a jacket outside. A jacket, people! It was in the upper 50's Fahrenheit (that's winter weather for us) and I was energized. I went to a local garden center to grab some top soil and a few plants - without sweating!!!! - and then planted some flowers and swept most of the porch and walk . . . swept till a coughing fit stopped me. My thoughts, as I stood there coughing, even had a positive spin. The nice thing about coughing is that it makes you appreciate breathing in and out. It does, doesn't it? I took my camera to the garden center. Cool! I found a reason to be happy that the clerks have no idea you're there!!


2. I'm happy to have my kitty home! Sunshine had to go for a check-up yesterday, which meant a night at the vet's. She still has a bit of an infection, but she's really perked up in the past few days. After we pulled into the driveway, I opened her carrier. Here's my girl, just before she hopped out:

Miss Sunshine climbed into the backseat and I walked around the car to let her out, "Home, Madame." Then, she had some salad (aka weeds), zipped inside and - what else? (she is feline after all) - had a nap.

3. I'm grateful for people who do things that are so ridiculous they make me laugh. Today, while sitting in line on the school parking lot, I watched as a woman walked to her parked car, patted herself down, pulled out her keys, got in her car, cranked it up, moved the car forward six inches (I am so not kidding!), turned the car off, got out and walked away. I don't think she heard me snorting back there in line. By then, I'd run down my camera battery, so I give you:

4. "When I grow up, I want to be a beautiful butterfly."


Isn't it great to be alive?

Happy Wednesday from Bookfool

Things I Forgot, Good Book Karma, Weird Shelf Coincidences, etc.

I completely forgot to mention that The Moon on a Stick (see review, below) was my 12th TBR read, so I'm officially finished with the TBR Challenge (although, I still plan to work harder at reading the books that have been around my house, longer). Yippee! It was also the first book I've completed from my Spring Thing challenge list, so I'm just happy all under about that. It was a pretty fun, light book but not one I'll want to read a second time, so I'm going to offer it up for grabs for Buy a Friend a Book Week, even though I bought it a long time ago. Just leave me a message in the comment section of this post if you're interested and I'll draw a name on Saturday. I'll ship it anywhere in the world because it just wants a good home.

Here's something interesting we noticed at Faulkner's estate. See this nifty bookshelf?

I believe that shelf was in Jill Faulkner's bedroom. My husband had drifted off when I saw it and snapped a photo to record it. Later, we met up and he said, "Hey, did you see that shelf in the bedroom upstairs?" and we laughed about how stunned we both were to see a shelf like the one in our own home. If you enlarge this, please just remember that we have more dust in humid environments. It's not just that I suck at housewifing. Here's ours:

Besides the fact that this little piece of furniture is embarrassing evidence of conspicuous consumption, it also happens to have been built by my grandfather. It was tucked off to the side of my grandmother's staircase in her Nebraska basement and I happened across it after her funeral. The books that were on the shelf were actually what initially caught my eye, but I thought the bookshelf was beautiful. My father, who died unexpectedly the following year, told me Grandpa built it and asked if I'd like to buy it from the estate (because the will was outdated, everything had to be sold - really, quite a mess). I said, "Oh, wow, definitely." The greedy cousins and other relatives who had been ransacking her house had totally overlooked this little shelf and it was because of my love of books that I found it. See the painting of tulips on top, behind a candle on the left? My grandmother painted that. Those are my two treasures from their home. I'm working on trying to update the contents of this shelving unit. The bottom shelf contains a good portion of the Usborne Books I acquired (I sold Usborne Books in order to earn discounts), when I was homeschooling the eldest.


Another thing I didn't entirely forget but was too tired to mention last night . . . Yesterday was the beginning of the 30-Day Organizational Challenge. I'm not going to post a "before" photo because it's embarrassing enough admitting I have that many books crammed on Grandpa's shelf. Geez, you should see our bedroom. No, no, you shouldn't! Anyway, the objective is to choose one room or space (a closet is fine) to transform, organize and make into a useful space in a creative manner. I can always use a good kick in the pants when it comes to cleaning and organizing and I've chosen our bedroom. It is a mess, trust me. Wish me luck, strength, etc. Mostly strength to part with things we no longer need. I'm clingy, unfortunately.

Coming up: A Wahoo! Wednesday post

The Moon on a Stick by Valerie-Anne Baglietto

Being left this way was like being knocked off a known trajectory into an unknown one. But as Amy loaded a few bags and plastic storage crates into her car, recalling thankfully that the Espace, at least, was registered in her name, she realized that no path from cradle to grave could ever be truly prepared for. There was usually something just around the bend, on its way to hit you. As if you were a hedgehog and life was just one long road to cross.

Elspeth stared defiantly into the creamy liquid in her glass, where the ice was already starting to melt. In the depths of her mind, a memory stirred. Something about God not being everywhere at once, which was why he created mothers. Except she had always upheld that God was omnipotent, so this had never made sense. Strangely, however, she was now starting to see a grain of truth in it. Maybe loving, caring mothers were a good reflection of what God was really like.

Amy Croft thinks she's settled down for life. She and her partner, Nick, have three adorable boys under the age of four and have been together for 14 years. They still haven't gotten around to marrying, but Nick is slow to settle on a date and Amy has made plenty of excuses, if only to ease her own mind. She has the engagement ring, the partner and the kids, already. He works for his parents' company and she stays home. All seems in order.

But, then Nick's best friend Paul drops a bombshell. Nick has called from the airport to say he's married someone else and is leaving the country. With Paul as go-between, Amy is forced to leave their lovely apartment and move into her mother and teenage sister's small cottage. Suddenly, Amy realizes what she has been missing all along and must start all over to find the absent ingredients in her life.

This is my second read by Valerie-Anne Baglietto and I only vaguely remember the first enough to know I really enjoyed it. The pages flew; I liked Amy and most of the people in her life. The book probably fits better under the classification "women's fiction" (which I abhor) than "chick lit" or "romance", but it's partly a relationship story, primarily the tale of one woman's discovery that she can stand on her own two feet without a male to prop her up. The fact that Amy eventually finds love doesn't ruin the story; it just makes The Moon on a Stick more of a feel-good novel.

There were a few minor "reality check" moments that made this novel less than superb. The writing is fluid, so it was a quick read for 392 pages. But, now and then, some small incident would interrupt that comfy suspension of disbelief. One such occasion occurred when Amy was searching for a new home for her little family and two-year-old Mikey noted that, "There's no room for daddy to play on his 'puter when he comes back from holiday." Unless she has little baby geniuses--and there's no indication that Mikey is closer to three than two--I find it unlikely that he'd not only speak such a complete sentence but also manage to reason out that a room is small enough to be potentially unable to contain a specific item. Children are ego-centric and tend not to think of others, although some have a greater spacial understanding than others. Similar quotes by her three-year-old made me think that either the author was childless or forgetful.

Still, I enjoyed the book and tried to ignore the moments that my sense of reality was jarred. The Moon on a Stick was definitely a nice break from some heavier reads. I have no idea what the title relates to.

3.5/5

Also finished: In the Cut by Susannah Moore (I could find no image online). I picked up In the Cut and began to read it, yesterday, because I was in the mood for something short with atmosphere. The movie didn't appeal to me at all; it appeared too violent and frightening. While I had totally misjudged the story based on the movie clips viewed, I was definitely correct about the tension level. In the Cut is the story of a woman who teaches English. She has lived in 14 countries, as the daughter of a diplomat, and is quietly self-confident. When she walks in on a couple and later finds out that the woman was brutally murdered, she keeps the information to herself and gets involved in a dangerous relationship with a cop who might be a murderer. At the same time, she begins to question herself and those around her, finding herself frightened of a student who follows her home to ask for advice and a friend who sometimes watches her from his window.

In the Cut is a book that makes you think and is intelligently written but just flat sordid. The entire novel is heavily, rudely se*ual and offensive. Worst of all was the sense that cops, in general, are bad people. My overwhelming feeling, as I read the book, was: "What a waste of talent and skill." Susannah Moore can write; but, In the Cut would have been a good one to lock up in the file cabinet and label a practice manuscript. It's nasty, sinister, and in the end, horrifying. Not my thing. I can't recommend it at all and am somewhat stunned that I finished the book.

Just started: Of the Farm by John Updike.

Wouldn't be caught dead in:

These shoes. They are popular amongst the swim-club parenting crowd and I've heard they're extremely comfortable (as well as waterproof). I'd rather wear flip-flops and get blisters between my toes.

Just getting ready to: Take the sweet little fur beast for a recheck. She was due last week, but I didn't want to take the chance that she might end up stuck in a cage all weekend.

Off to search for the cat carrier. Happy Tuesday!

Estella, A Pile of Books, a Movie and an Old Photograph

First things first . . . for those who can't get enough talk about books, the April issue of Estella's Revenge Ezine has been posted. You can reach the main page, here. My review of The Broken Shore, tada; and my article on our recent visit to Oxford, Mississippi, where we ate melt-in-your-mouth catfish and played with a totally cool dog on Faulkner's estate, voila. Congratulations to Andi and Heather on another great issue!

And, wahoo!, another photo of a pile of books . . . some recent acquisitions, a few of which I neglected the last time I stacked up books and asked them to smile:


Top to bottom:
An advanced reader of Rises the Night by Colleen Gleason (stay tuned; I'll be giving away a copy of the official release at the end of May)
Cakes and Ale by Somerset Maugham
Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov
The Tender Bar by J. R. Moehringer
In the Cut by Susanna Moore
Appointment in Samarra by John O'Hara (a total impulse purchase, but I still had one remaining gift card for Border's when we dropped in, yesterday)
Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear
Beginner's Luck by Laura Pedersen
The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman
How Full is Your Bucket? by Rath and Clifton
Don't Look Down by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer
Judgment Day by Joe Lee
Sudden Sea by R. A. Scotti

Most of this pile came from Paperback Swap. I love Paperback Swap. The advanced reader copy of Rises the Night is one obvious exception; Colleen asked me if I'd be willing to review her latest and I'm still wondering if she could hear me jumping up and down. Well, of course I will. I loved The Rest Falls Away. You can see my review, here.

Joe Lee, author of Judgment Day, is my friend John Floyd's publisher (you can read about John, here) and we'd chatted by email when I bought a copy of John's book, Rainbow's End . . . getting tired of links, yet? Just one more! Here's my review of Rainbow's End. When my little family walked into Border's, I was surprised to see Joe sitting at a table, surrounded by his own books; I never made it to a single one of John's signings and I still feel awful about that. Anyway, I love reading a new author so, what the heck. Joe signed a book for me and I bought it. He also told me a great story about a woman who was apparently so terrified that Joe was going to chase her down and attempt to sell her something that she ran right into the 4-foot Harry Potter sign, sent it flying about 5 feet and nearly overbalanced. Gotta love it.

I told friends on one of my book lists I would try to scan a copy of one of my favorite photos of the kids taken during a time when the eldest was still significantly bigger than the youngest. Instead, I figured, what the heck - just whip out the camera and take a picture of the picture. I used to do that all the time. It's a little battered from 14 years of being stuck to the fridge, but I just love this photo because it's such a happy shot of both boys:


Movie time: We watched the latest Bond movie, Casino Royale, this afternoon, while folding laundry. I'm not a big James Bond fan because, while I love action (particularly when exercising on the Nordic Track - a good action flick gets the old heart pumping and makes time fly), Bond movies tend to have at least one really nasty, cruel character and some annoying violence, which just isn't my cup of tea. Casino Royale is no exception, but I enjoyed it, if only because I thought Daniel Craig was so believable as a character who is suave one minute and dodging bullets the next. Whew, boy, that man can run! The only thing I really missed was the levity of the typical "gadget man". Those moments with Desmond Llewelyn (Q) and John Cleese (R) touting their latest inventions have always been among my favorites.

Reading wise: I hope to finish The Moon on a Stick, tonight and have a review posted by tomorrow night. This has been a terribly slow reading weekend, for me. I think it's about time to turn off the computer and curl up with the book.

Bookfool in search of a cushy chair

Ten Books I Couldn't Live Without

Kailana has a really great meme going: Ten Books I Couldn't Live Without. For some reason, I just couldn't keep it down to ten when I first started mulling that concept. Then, I had trouble thinking in terms of things I couldn't live without. I'm a little on the zen side; part of me has this vague notion that I could live happily in a monk-like empty space with just a pillow and a rotating supply of books (that part is completely wacko). Turning the idea on its side to come up with favorites that I love so much I've either read them repeatedly or find myself mentioning them repeatedly was a wee bit easier; don't ask me why. I started out with just five and then walked around thinking about others all evening, so if you've been here already and find yourself blinking . . . it's not all in your head; I've altered the post.

Ten Books I Couldn't Live Without:

1. Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier - I still recall the oh-my-gosh, heart-pounding moment when everything became clear in Rebecca. Not a single one of the other Daphne DuMaurier books I've read has lived up to the suspense and surprise level of Rebecca, but a few of them have been pretty enjoyable reads.



2. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak - By far the best book I read in 2006, I was captured from page 1 and have still not stopped thinking about it - I actually envy anyone picking it up to read for the first time. While reading, I could hardly even bear to stop long enough to take notes on favorite quotes or eat. I didn't sleep till I reached the end.


3. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas - I have no idea when I discovered this book but it's among the rare few that I've read several times. I just flipped through my old copy, this afternoon, looking for a favorite moment. No luck finding that favorite little bit of dialogue, but I ended up reading about 40 pages. It's a rare book that is so wonderful you can pick it up and flip to any page - absolutely any page of this book grabs me - and find yourself completely sucked in. Of course, I've read it enough to know the characters pretty well.


4. A Far Cry From Kensington by Muriel Spark - Whenever I think of Muriel Spark, I think of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, first. Oddly, I've never gotten around to reading that particular Sparks book, but the movie has stuck with me. A Far Cry From Kensington - a wickedly clever story - is actually the only Spark book I've enjoyed. I happened across my copy when we had a salvage store in town and the remains of a bookstore disaster arrived. When the stock first made it to the store, everything was 60% off retail price and there were rows and rows of books. I spent hours and hours walking around, perusing spines while my little one was in preschool. The books were in no particular order - really, quite chaotic - and as the book stock shrank, the discounts rose. During the final days, when the salvage store stock was down to just a few shelves, the price went to 90% off retail, then 10 cents per book and then . . . oh, my gosh . . . $1.00 per bag. That particular sale was the origin of a good portion of my personal library and I discovered some terrific authors and titles (including Paul Auster) in the process. A Far Cry From Kensington was one of my favorites. Unfortunately, publishers have never quite figured out how to give it an adequate cover. Pink? What are they thinking?


5. Desiree by Annemarie Selinko is another book that has gone through a number of hopelessly awful cover incarnations. And, yet, the book just keeps coming back. My first copy wasn't really mine; I stole it from my mother when I left for college so that I could read it a second, and then a third and fourth time. Every time I came across another copy I'd buy it and pass the extra on to a friend. Eventually, I found a copy with a pretty interesting slipcover in a dusty English bookstore with crooked floors; and, I did ask my mother if she wanted her original back. She just shrugged. So, I sent it to my childhood best friend. Desiree is historical fiction, the story of Napoleon's alleged first love, whom he jilted to marry Josephine. Marlon Brando played Napoleon in the movie version (which I didn't actually know existed until after the fourth reading). I kind of hated the movie.

6. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - Love it, love it, love it. It's witty and fun and how could you not go nuts about Mr. Darcy?

7. The Hitchhikers Trilogy by Douglas Adams - I think people either love this series or hate it. I thought Douglas Adams was a genius. Funny thing about the first time I read the series (at my then-boyfriend's suggestion); in the middle of reading the second book, my boyfriend loaned it to a guy in his office. Ummmm, I was reading that, babe. And, no, whatshisname never gave it back, but I did buy my own.

8. The Return by Daoma Winston - This is a slightly off-beat choice, but it's one of those books that I've gone back to, many times. I think it was my mom's. Poor Mom; when I left, it was like I'd planted magnets in all the good books and took a giant horseshoe magnet . . . so they followed me.

9. The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas - excitement, adventure, swashbuckling action, political intrigue . . . cool.

10. My Antonia by Willa Cather, or The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton . . . or anything at all by P.G. Wodehouse, or . . . oh, gosh, it's so hard to narrow down.

In other news . . .

I blew it on the meditation - completely forgot that I needed to read exactly what I was supposed to do in time to begin meditating on a Thursday morning, as recommended. Okay, I can wait a week. I'm already pretty mellow, anyway, so it's no big deal to me. It's very possible that meditating will simply turn me into a happy, pillowy little pudding that jiggles and grins when you poke it. But, we'll find that out next week.

Flowers!! I've got them! Now, if the pollen level will just drop a bit, I'll go out and have fun playing in the dirt. If you look at a pollen map for today in the U.S., you'll see us in the "extremely high" zone, a big red, evil-looking blob. And, trust me, that pollen is every bit as menacing as it looks for those of us who have to carry Epi-pens for completely mysterious reasons (hence, the occasional reference to my desire to move to a "frozen wasteland").

I've been online way too much, today, thanks to Les's mention of radio.blog.com, which is just loads of fun. I haven't entirely figured out how to sort songs into favorite playlists, but I have a sneaking suspicion I'll waste plenty more time figuring it out, next week.

Thinking about: The plague of the plastic shopping bag. Since I began seeking out hawks to photograph, I've noticed that there are far more plastic bags than hawks visibly flapping around in the trees. Is this a plague specifically limited to the U.S. or just our area? I can't say. It doesn't seem like we're living in an area where people are keen on recycling. My entire family is, in fact, kind of unusual for our disinterest in super-sized anything and everything. If I ever buy an SUV, just kick me.

Listening to: Layla by Eric Clapton. Oh, yeah. They've got me pegged on this radio.blog.club thing.

Wahoo Wednesday Returns

I used to do Wahoo! Wednesday posts all the time, and then I think I went through a week or two (or ten) of blues and let it slide, eventually forgetting the concept completely. But, with people like Jennifer discussing the concept of not complaining (with particular focus on quiet as a virtue) and a book called The Tibetan Art of Positive Thinking in the current-reading pile, I've been thinking about how good it is to focus on the positive. So, with that in mind, I'm returning to an attempt to post about things that I think are worth saying "Wahoo!" about, right now.

1. Purple with green. I just love those two colors, together, in any shade. My son and I were driving away from the library when I spotted the wisteria, at left, on one of the brick posts of The Great Hope Manor on Cherry Street and parked nearby to snap a few photographs. The youngster is remarkably patient for a 15-year-old guy. Incidentally, you can buy Great Hope Manor if you've got roughly $2.9 million lying around.

2. Surprising moments - like suddenly finding the perfect spot where wisteria is hanging over bricks, seeing a wild turkey running beside your car, discovering a new little corner that you've never noticed in the town where you live, finding an interesting use of words in a book (like "banquet of madness", mentioned in the review below). Kiddo and I were just leaving a parking lot when two birds flew overhead. I paused the car because the sight was unusual . . . they weren't the same size or type of birds, but why were they together? As they came closer, my son and I realized that what we were looking at was a crow chasing a hawk and the crow took a little nip at the poor hawk's tail feathers before they disappeared into the trees. It was truly an awesome, unexpected moment.

3. A great musical moment with a total stranger (and he didn't even know). Earlier this week, the three of us were eating out in a fast-food restaurant when a terrific song began playing on the store's speakers. I looked off to the side and saw a fellow shimmying with his shoulders. "That makes two of us that want to get up and dance," I told my husband. We memorized the chorus and I looked up the song, "Respect Yourself", when we returned home. Joe Cocker sang a version of it, but the one we heard was by The Staple Singers. Never heard of them in my life, but what a terrific piece of music. Which makes me grateful for . . .

4. Music clips on the internet. It is so freaking wonderful to be able to look up an album or a song and listen to a little bit, find the artist, check out a singer that friends are raving about. After figuring out who sang the version of "Respect Yourself" that we'd listened to, I decided to check out John Mayer. Les and Andi discussed him recently and I'd seen him in St*r Magazine (which I did not subscribe to; more about that, another time) but never had heard his music. Oh, wow. Oh, wow, oh wow. I've gotta get some of that fellow's music.

And, I also have to get off the computer because the husband is making cute little coughs, occasionally saying, "Same paragraph, same page, two hours." Funny guy. I need sleep, anyway. A good night's sleep is definitely something worth saying "Wahoo!" about.

The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima

Shinji rose to his feet. He was ashamed of himself for the way he had been squatting on the deck until now, practically cowering. The wind came attacking out of the black reaches of the night, striking him full in the body, but to Shinji, accustomed to rough weather in a small fishing-boat, the heaving deck on which his feet were firmly planted was nothing but a stretch of earth that was frankly a bit out of sorts.
He stood listening.
The typhoon was directly above the boy's gallant head. It was as right for Shinji to be invited to a seat at this banquet of madness as to a quiet and natural afternoon nap.

I love the words "banquet of madness". The Sound of Waves is the love story of Shinji, a young fisherman whose income helps support his widowed mother and younger brother Hiroshi, and Hatsue, the daughter of the wealthiest man on their tiny island, Uta-jima.

***Warning: Possible spoiler. Skip this paragraph if you plan to read it, soon. ***

Shinji's fishing income is crucial because his father's death during the last war left the family impoverished; but, he's hard-working, happy, and pleased that his income allows his mother to spend a little less time diving for abalone. Hatsue is a young girl who was adopted out and has returned to the small island village after the death of her only brother, ostensibly as a replacement child. When Shinji first sees Hatsue, he's so overwhelmed by her beauty that he catches himself rudely staring at her and leaves, embarrassed. When Hatsue and Shinji eventually meet and speak, though, their affection is mutual. And when the rich and arrogant Yasuo, whom everyone believes to be Hatsue's suitor, helps spread a vicious rumor about them Shinji and Hatsue must endure both the cruel gossip and her father's enforced separation.

***End possible spoiler warning***

I don't know where I've seen the name "Mishima" discussed in the bloggy world, but it was because of seeing the name mentioned at various blogs that I looked specifically for a Mishima book when we stopped at Border's, brandishing one of those gift cards that are known to burn holes in the pockets of bibliophiles. It was way the heck up there on the top shelf; thank goodness for tall family members. I am so pleased that I found this book and grateful to whoever it is, out there, who mentioned Yukio Mishima! The Sound of Waves is a sweet, gentle romance. The writing alone is worth savoring, but I was particularly thrilled with the innocence of the two characters, the comradeship, easy forgiveness and kindness of the people on Shinji and Hatsue's tiny island home. It's just a lovely, lovely story; even while reading the book, I found myself repeatedly thinking, "I will want to read this one over and over, again."

5/5 - Highly recommended

Coming up . . . a return to Wahoo Wednesdays, an early blogging feature that I sort of forgot I used to do. I like thinking about positive things.

Random Thoughts from the Bathtub Ranch

I'm not actually writing from the Bathtub Ranch, but the idea of sitting in an old bathtub (preferably claw-foot) on a pile of pillows with a laptop on my knees, legs flopping over the side seems like the height of coolness to me. Which only goes to show you just how desperate a person can become, I suppose. I took this photo west of Oxford, MS, as we left town after our trip to visit Rowan Oak, last weekend. I'd been hankering to photograph it for a couple years, but this was the first time the spouse was the one in the driver's seat and both willing and able to pull onto the narrow shoulder. The timing is seldom right; it's a busy road and the shoulder is puny. I had about 5 seconds to snap before he said, "I've got to move," but I thought the photos turned out pretty well.

Reading-wise:

I'm about 75% finished with The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima and absolutely loving it. Hubby wants my help sticking blue tape along the edges of the hallway wall in preparation for painting trim, but I should finish Mishima tonight and hope to have a review up, tomorrow.

The Tibetan Art of Positive Thinking has been briefly set aside because the author recommends beginning a 28-day cycle of meditation on a particular Thursday in order to end up on a Wednesday. I had to look at the calendar to see if that was really going to work and, sure enough, it is. The concept of waiting till a specific day to meditate briefly gave me giggle fits, but I love positive thinking and I'll give it a whirl. Why not?

Joe Hill's 20th-Century Ghosts is short stories; and, with short-story collections I have a tendency to read one story then set a book aside to let my brain finish playing with the characters and situation for a time before proceeding to the next, so it's going slowly but still progressing. Writing a review will require a lot of thought, but I can tell you that the man (son of Stephen King) has a knack for scaring the crap out of you. If that floats your boat, great. In general, I dodge horror but ghost stories are an exception. So, it's not surprising that my favorite story thus far was exactly that - a ghost in a theater. I loved it; it's still haunting me. Pun intended.

Start Late, Finish Rich has some excellent suggestions. My favorite concept is looking at everything you spend money on, for a time, to see where your "latte money" is going. By "latte money", the author means those little piddly expenditures that add up significantly - like a daily cup of latte. He does some tricky math and I don't always agree with him - seems like, at times, he's deliberately attacking other "save up fast" authors. But, I think with this type of book, you have to use your head and just give and take the principles that work for you as an individual. I stalled on it to finish up some fiction reads but it would be a quick read if I focused.

Writing-wise:

A character and situation have recently come to me, so I've been taking notes. Apart from two years of NaNoWriMo ( which I "won" - meaning succeeded at reaching 50,000 words - both years), I haven't done much fiction writing in quite a while. So, it's exciting to have a very specific and well-defined character suddenly tackling me; I missed that.

I hear the sound of tape ripping. Better go.

May the tape of your life be lengthy and multi-colored,
Bookfool, waiting to meditate

The Broken Shore by Peter Temple

This one's an Advanced Reader's Copy that I'm reviewing for Estella's Revenge, so I'm not going to post the full review on my blog. Instead, I'll post a link when the next issue of Estella becomes available, in April. However, I'll say a few things:

1. It's an Australian crime novel.
2. Peter Temple is an award-winning author in Australia, but his first American issue was released, says Peter in an interview I located online, "to the sound of one hand clapping." Not an auspicious beginning, but not unusual from what I can tell. Australian books seem to have a hard time kicking open the door to America and sneaking in.
3. The slated release date in the U.S. is June of 2007.
4. Don't let the lousy reception of that first book fool you.

For the uninitiated, there's a glossary of Australian terms in the back, which I can tell you I definitely appreciated. Somewhere around here, I have a dictionary of Australian slang but this particular glossary is focused on the terms used within the book.

Happy Monday!

Spring Reading Thing Challenge

Katrina at Callapidder Days is hosting a spring reading challenge called the Spring Reading Thing. It runs from March 21 - June 21, so I'm a bit late posting; it took me a few days to decide what I wanted to read. Isn't her button unbearably cute? I love the flexibility of this challenge and have chosen four books, each for different reasons.

1. The Moon on a Stick by Valerie-Anne Baglietto - A book that has been tucked away in a cabinet for at least a year.
2. The 10-Minute Life Coach by Fiona Harrold - Read halfway, last year, and abandoned it (not deliberately; I just became preoccupied).
3. Laughter in the Dark by Vladimir Nabokov - Read 64 pages, put it down somewhere and it disappeared for months.
4. The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost - to see what all the fuss is about.

This may be the only new challenge I join; I haven't decided quite yet. Several other challenges appeal to me, but I think limiting the number of challenges I participate in works a little better for me.

Chocolat by Joanne Harris

March has brought an end to the rain. The sky is raw now, a screeching blue between fast-moving clouds, and a sharpening wind has risen during the night, gusting in corners, rattling windows. The church bells ring wildly as if they too have caught a little of this sudden change. The weathervane turn-turns against the wheeling sky, its rusty voice rising shrilly.

Chocolat tells the story of Vianne Rocher and her daughter Anouk. A single mother and a drifter, Vianne arrives in Lansquanet-sous-Tannes during a carnival, drawn by the wind. She and her daughter open a chocolate shop in a former bakery and take up residence in the rooms above. Across from the chocolate shop, La Praline, is the village church, and Vianne's tempting shop angers the the local priest, Reynaud. How dare she tempt the villagers during the season of Lent? When Vianne decides to hold a chocolate carnival on Easter Sunday, Reynaud decides he must do his best to run her out of town. But, Vianne's shop and her touch of magic coax many of the locals to give in to happiness and their newfound strength may be too much for the father to fight.

I couldn't find an image of decent size, so I plunked my copy of Chocolat on our ugly old couch (we keep moving it closer and closer to our front door in the hope, I think, that one of us will suddenly invite a charity to haul it off) and photographed it. I just love that cover; I'd like to dive right into the photograph and walk the streets of France.

The book, though? Hmm, I don't know. This is another one I had mixed feelings about. Beautiful prose, achingly detailed descriptions that sometimes made me salivate (the candy, not the thought of Johnny Depp as Roux - okay, kidding), spirited and three-dimensional characters . . . there's a lot to love about Chocolat. I love Armande, the carefree woman about to turn 80 who chooses to defy her uptight daughter by wearing a bright red, silk slip and secretly meeting her grandson, Luc, in the shop. Guillaume is another lovely character, whose spirit rises with the help of Vianne and Armande after the loss of his beloved pet. Every character is believable and resonates, in some way, with a touch of familiarity; they're utterly believable.

What did I not like? Again, I'm not certain, but I'd say it might have to do with a feeling of negativity pulsing through the book - that toward organized religion. Vianne is a witch and this is reflected in the sachets she posts on the door frames, the way she forks her fingers to ward off evil. She's a good person and the priest is basically evil; he's the leader of a church for all the wrong reasons, justifies his actions regardless of how terrible they are and turns his personal vendetta into a church issue. There are plenty of pompous, self-righteous church leaders, no doubt; but it just seemed to me that the story was, in part, a castigation of Christianity and that didn't set well with me. They were both fighting their own personal demons; that I liked. The lengthy descriptions of various candies also were a bit tiresome. I'm impatient with an overload of detail, at least at this point in my life; that hasn't always been true.

I actually enjoyed the movie a bit more than the book, in many ways, as I thought the movie had a slightly lighter touch and more of a humorous spin. And, of course, it had Johnny Depp. I could only imagine him while reading the book and I had to keep mentally changing his hair color; red just doesn't suit him, in my mind. I can't remember if his hair is red in the movie, as it is in the book.

Since I liked the characters so much and thought Harris's prose was lovely, I feel compelled to give it an above-average rating and I will definitely read this author, again.

3.5/5

This is my 11th TBR book. So far, I've read the following from my stacks, this year:

The Nazi Officer's Wife - Elizabeth Hahn Beer
Summer of My German Soldier - Bette Greene
God is an Englishman - R. F. Delderfield (also a chunkster)
The Red Badge of Courage - Stephen Crane
The African Queen - C. S. Forester
The Captain and The Enemy - Graham Greene
Firehouse - David Halberstam
Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass - Lewis Carroll
First Light - Geoffrey Wellum
Stormbreaker - Anthony Horowitz
and, of course, Chocolat - Joanne Harris

11 down, 1 to go! Hope everyone's having a lovely weekend!

Bookfool, off for a nice soak in the tub

Good grief!! More books? Are you kidding?

My mother would have a cow if she saw what I brought home, this week. All but two of these books came from our library's perpetual sale and I paid $3.00 total, for those. The two which arrived in the mail, via Paperback Swap, are The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale and The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana by Umberto Eco. Not pictured is The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman, which arrived yesterday. The Goose Girl and The Mysterious Flame, etc. were placed on my wish list after reading positive reviews at favorite blogs; and, in both cases I had to stop myself from buying them outright. Book cravings, that's what they are. You hear about a fantastic book that swept someone away and you desire it like a dessert, the smell wafting from a restaurant door. Well, at least that's true of me. Can anyone relate?

If I was this weak around sweet stuff, I'd weigh 400 pounds. It may be time to go on a book diet.

Oopsy

Upon waking up (extremely late, with what my old boss used to refer to as a "screaming headache"), I discovered that I somehow managed to not enable comments on my Thinking Blogger post. Thanks to Les and Wendy for drawing that to my attention.

I love this photo from Walter S. Arnold's website. It expresses that "yikes" feeling so well, doesn't it? Many thanks to Walter (the sculptor) for granting permission to use this photo.

Coming up when I can focus, again:

*A review of Chocolat
*New challenge lists

I've been attempting to change my sidebar challenge buttons and links, but I think maybe it's not a great idea to attempt to make HTML changes with a migraine pounding away, so I'll quit for now. However, I hope to join in on the Spring Reading Thing and the Nonfiction Five and I can't remember what else. And, I need to put up a link to Estella's Revenge but my brain can't wrap around how to put up a button that actually links to a place. Later, later. Have a great day, everyone. I'm off to close my eyes.

Bookfool in agony