Updating

I need to get a new book on tape from the library. It is not sane to listen to the same book on tape three or four times in a row, just to avoid crappy radio stations. It's just not.

My brother's bike is very uncomfortable. I think I'm going to resort to buying a new bike, however wasteful it is. I think my free money should be here soon, and surprisingly I haven't spent it all yet. I've wanted a bike for a few years, so that's on the list. I've also got a bridesmaid's dress to pay for, and I've got my eye on a camera. It is brown and came recommended.

Tuesdays suck for me because therapy at my first house is over before noon and my second house starts after five. That leaves a lot of free time in the middle wherein I can't seem to get anything done. Unless you count surfing the Internet and playing Lego Star Wars. Today was especially terrible because when I drove the forty-five minutes to get to house number two, I was told they were cancelling therapy. Thanks, dude. You just wasted my evening. Not to mention my money. I will get paid for the travel time, but it doesn't exactly even out. He owes me two dollars.

I sent off a surprise present last week and it was received today. I like sending people stuff.

I almost forgot! On the drive to the house-that-wasn't, I got a call from T's mom (see yesterday's post) about Mr. Farmer. Apparently Mr. Farmer has had a talking to by more than a few people about the proper way to treat strangers, which warms my heart a little. I hope this is the end of it. Mom asked if I was too traumatized to go with them on their Chicago trip. I told her I would probably be fine, just as long as she was sure Mr. Farmer wasn't invited.

Yesterday was my third anniversary. The day started with an early morning truck backing into the driver's side of my parked car (both doors are damaged) and ended with my getting reamed by Mr. Farmer. (And not in the sexy way.) Even if there had been a canoe involved, I'm not sure it could have gotten worse.

Pink

I have been reading In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson, and I am falling into a serious crush with the author's style. He has, according to the book, spent half of his life in the United States, and half in England. This explains his lovely accent* and also the lovely british terms and phrases he uses.

*I also really enjoy a book on tape read by the author. Gives another dimension to the story telling, especially in a work like this, nonfiction.

I am very happy to discover that he's written many other books. At least two of these are books that I've thought many times should be written. Seeing now that they not only have been, and by someone whose style and wonderful sense of humor I very much enjoy tickles me pink. I'm thrilled.

Someone remind me to buy these books: A Short History of Nearly Everything, and The Mother Tongue. Thanks.

From What to Expect When You're Expecting*:

Cunnilingus is safe throughout pregnancy, as long as your mate takes care not to BLOW AIR INTO your vagina. [emphasis mine]

Please tell me this alarms you as much as it does me. Luckily for me, no one has ever needed this instruction (with child or not) and I hope that you ladies never have to resort to telling a guy you are not a balloon, either.

PS: I am not pregnant. I can't help but pick up this book when I see it lying around. It's so fascinating and alarming! Full of things I never wanted to know and yet want to be prepared for, should they ever happen to me!

Pain

We are teaching the numbers from eleven to twenty at A's house. The method that seems to work best with him is a standard "show a card, ask 'What number?'" approach. Today I was on number seven of ten when instead of answering or ignoring me A said, "What number?" He has many communication issues, and uses echolalia, but... I swear, I'm not being paranoid - he said it in exactly the voice I would use if some crazy lady would not stop saying the same two words to me over and over and over and over again... this totally taunting voice... and I couldn't help laughing. He joined me, and then I couldn't stop, which adds fuel to my theory that he said it that way on purpose. I wouldn't put it past him. I mean, I doubt it, but... these kids are amazing. You just never know with them.

-

In other work news, today I was bouncing on a giant exercise ball and A tackled me laughing and flipped us over backwards into a bookcase. Luckily I broke our fall with my skull. Youch.

-

I finished that book I was listening to in the car, The Lion's Game? I think? (My lazy is showing again.) Anyway, it wasn't as bad as Along Came a Spider, during which I nearly pulled over to void my stomach at least ten times. That's the number of times the main character Alex Cross says, "Finally, something inside of me snapped!" and then gets all verbally up in somebody's face. Or punches a dude. Really, it was terrible. I was on tape eight when I realized I'd rather not have anything more to do with it, but there was only one tape remaining, so I went with it. At the end of chapter EIGHTY-SEVEN, a character said, "The end."

Then the narrator said, "Epilogue:" and I died. The end.

Books

Whale Season: A Novel, by N.M. Keloy: Somehow, miracle of miracles, I stumbled across this book (on tape) at the library today. I have a feeling (bolstered by a review on Amazon comparing Keloy's humor to Terry Pratchett's and Christopher Moore's) I will love it.

-

UGH, interruption. Mom is filing my taxes (thank you, Mom) and gah, I wish I knew what I was supposed to be doing in this regard. I am single? But married? I withheld as single, because back when B was working from home as an independant whatever, we were ill-prepared when tax time came and it was terrifying, so I like to tell the government to withhold as much as they possibly can. At times, I have told them to take EXTRA money. I am scared of taxes. I repeat, UGH. I don't like not knowing what I am doing.

-

So I do like to be alone, but when I'm alone I end up doing strange things. Today I went to the library and checked out seven books. I will not read seven books in a month. But I can't help myself from checking them out if they look appealing. Sometimes I just like to look through them for an hour or two.

Seven books. Where do I start to read seven books?

Two of my recent borrows are books on feeding birds (makes me feel about seventy), one on yoga, one on reflexology and acupressure (cousin Michelle's speciality, my thought is there might be something useful for the kids I work with), on book on gardening (A Blessing of Toads), and two novels. Jitterbug Perfume is Tom Robbins, which should be nice. I enjoy his style. The other was one I picked up while walking the shelves, it's called All We Know of Heaven and should be interesting. Different.

Random, Day 24

Today I woke up at 6:00AM to my dog pitter-pattering (remind me to clip his toenails, would you?) on the kitchen floor of the Lake House, whining all the way. I was upstairs and he was barricaded in the down, and he didn't like that. I went downstairs to try to lull him to sleep, laying on the pull-out couch with my brother for 15 minutes before realizing, "Hey, you should just take my bed upstairs. Dur." And off he went. He didn't pitter-patter, though. He clips his toenails regularly.

I called Todd to get Lee Ann's number and, just like on the first time I called, he reversed two of the first three digits. It created a large deja-vu sensation, but I dialed the way he told me anyway, because it's in my nature to think I'm wrong before anyone else is, only to get the same message I'd gotten that first time -- this number has been disconnected. Unlike the first time, I didn't panic, instead calling back, reversing those two digits, and Lee Ann answered right away. Silly me, I should trust myself.

I just finished reading "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim," by David Sedaris, and I'm in complete agreement with all of the reviews (which I also read, which I never read), he is incredibly poignant and also a comic genius. I am in love.

I am still wondering about the wedding VCR, but I'm leaning toward shipping it to Bruce. I would still like a copy of the video, and he's got the equipment to burn it onto DVD.

I drove Robby as far as Sheboygan, about half-way between here and Milwaukee. We met Tony, ate at Perkins (for the second time in one day) and then went to Target, where Robby dashed around like a madman in a panic to find some deals he was too lazy to catch yesterday. I left feeling unfulfilled. I have an embarrassing crush on Tony, who does not play for my team. Or the opposite team? Something. He's not in my league, in any case. I am in awe of him. Too bad for my vagina.

Huck is finally dressed in his new 'outfit', the collar and leash I bought him last time I went to Target. I'm not sure it fits him entirely, but it's definitely very adorable. We'll see how I like it as the week wears on, maybe I'll buy him a different set and keep these aside for my next dog. Can't you just imagine me picking out a dog on the basis of whether it will be the right size and color to fit this collar? I can. Luckily, I forgive myself for things like this.

Day 2

Last night, I tried signing up for NaBloPoMo, and I think the ads on the page were messing with me. It just didn't work. I'm hoping to give it another shot today, I'll keep my fingers crossed.

I haven't blogged in so long that it's going to take a little while for me to get back into the swing of things. Another problem is that many of the things going on in my life are feeling more personal than usual, or more painful. I'm not used to serious blogging, I've always been more of a superficial blogger. I could continue along that path, but it would feel like I was ignoring the serious things that are going on right now. It's going to be a little touch-and-go.

Down the street from me, they tore up the road to put in a new culvert this morning. I didn't hear a word about it until Lisa picked me up to go to Clintonville, and then the workerman seemed really put upon that we were driving through. Well, fella, if you're going to tear up a dead-end road, you might want to give the people who live at the end a little notice before you remove their only way out. I'm just sayin'.

I'm almost done with the "His Dark Materials" trilogy of books, and I will be letting you know what I think of them at the end. Although, right now? Go read them, and then we can dish. I like them.

Update on the Cow (and Other Things)

Me: Howdy, neighbor!

Him: Good morning! How are you?

Me: Good. Say, I have a question for you...

Him: Shoot.

Me: What do you make of the cow?

Him: ...[Looks at me like I might be crazy]... Hmmm, what cow?

Me: ...

Cow: mmmMOOOOOOO!

Does that cow have timing, or does that cow have timing?

(We decided that what the neighbor makes of the cow is that I should call the person in charge of neighborhood cows. I called yesterday morning, the fella said he'd send someone down, and as of tonight, there is still a cow. I can tell from the mmmMOOOOOOO!ing.)

In other news, I partially ran over the kitten with my office chair today. He cried, I panicked. I couldn't find anything overtly wrong with him and he didn't flinch when I prodded him all over, so I assumed he was fine. I monkeyed around online, took the dog outside, got a glass of wine, etc. Then realized I hadn't seen the kitten in a while. Called for him all over the house (Stiiiiinky, Stiiiiiiiiiiiiiinky! STINKY!!!) to no avail. Kept calling and searching for 15 minutes or more before losing all of my shit. Kept picturing poor kitten hiding in a closet somewhere dying from internal injuries from desk chair, too weak to meow a response. Wanted to call Bruce, but he's working and can do very very little from 750 miles away. Called best friend instead, and best friend talked me down. Three minutes after hanging up with her, I found him in the bottom drawer of my desk, sleeping. I called her back to tell her he hadn't died of internal smooshing and heard her boyfriend in the background, feigning great distress and generally mocking me. Now I'm not sure what to do. I understand on a fundamental level why it was very funny for me to be freaking out, because it was highly unlikely that the kitten would be dying in a closet, but at the same time? It wasn't very funny to me. Also, I feel like he could have waited until she hung up to make fun of me. Am I wrong?

I've been reading another book by one of my very favorite authors, Anna Maxted. When we were camping, I read Behaving Like Adults, and it was possibly the best novel I've read in a long time. (Except for Goodbye, Lemon, by Adam Davies, another one of my very favorite authors.) After finishing the Anna Maxted, I came home and borrowed another one straight away from the library. Halfway through Being Committed, I found the most amusing passage about an old song, one that echos my own feelings:

Oh, Susanna, don't you cry for me,
I'm off to Alabama with a banjo on my knee!

I heard the tune on one of Jude's plastic toys and recalled the words out of nowhere. And wondered why Susanna would waste her time moping after a man who was so plainly a conceited idiot--moseying off to Alabama with a banjo, daring to imagine her distraught?! She was probably glad to see the back of him--him, his silly banjo, and his unrealistic view of job opportunities in the music business. Susanna--I imagined her demure and blond, in a checked pinafore, baby blue and white--was probably too well brought up to tell him she loathed his banjo playing and him.

Lonesome

I almost had a bonfire tonight.  Then I realized that I can't picture sitting around a bonfire by myself.  (First of all:  painful to attempt that.)

I miss my B.  I want that house he's looking at, the one with the giant yard, where Huck could run free while we had a bonfire and talked.  Where I could grow an enormous garden, or maybe have the same amount of vegetables, spread out so that I'm not growing a jungle.  Maybe we could get a goat?  Probably not a goat.  I think it's just the knowlege that we could have a goat that I like about that place.  You think that if they allow a goat, they'd allow chickens, right?  Maybe a couple of chickens.  (Whenever I think about my desire for chickens, I think of this bookwhich, by the way, is a very good book.)

This is pretty much a stream-of-consciousness post, and my consciousness is being interrupted by the fireworks, so I'll leave you to your day.  Carry on, and all that.  

Food for Birds

My grandpas on either side were avid birdfeeders. On my Dad's side, Grandpa Roy would sit for hours at the big picture window in the kitchen, cursing the squirrels and formulating new methods for keeping the bigger more aggressive birds from his precious songbirds. He kept feeders for all kinds of birds, from the cardinals and jays to the smaller finches. He had feeders for orioles and hummingbirds, and kept houses around the yard for them to use for their nests.

Grandpa Del kept a smaller station, feeding an equally wide assortment of birds. His phillosophy was a little more live-and-let-live, and he read up on his birds, knowing the nesting habits and calls of most of the varieties in our neck of the woods. He had an encyclopedia in his head, and would gladly share all that information with me, if I cared to listen. I did, even though I was young and my patience was short. Grandpa Del had a stutter. To make himself better-understood, he'd often talk slowly and carefully, but his words held much wisdom. I was older when we lost Grandpa Del, and so my memories of him are more vivid. I wish I had these kinds of memories of Grandpa Roy, but I treasure the ones I do keep, and hold them close to me.

For a few weeks, I've been feeding my neighborhood birds. I love seeing their little habits and I'm amazed at how much I remember from my talks with my grandpas. I've been reading up on them, too. My Dad knows that, and last weekend when we were at Grandma's house, he showed me some homemade feeders Grandpa Roy had built. He told me to take one home, maybe fix it up. He told me Grandpa would be so proud. He choked up a bit.

Part of me fought not to fix up the feeder. I thought that every time I looked at it, I'd be reminded of how it was built by Grandpa, and how special that would make it. I realized, though, that I'd be remembering that however it looked. By cleaning it up and painting it a bit, it would be that much more attractive to the neighborhood. Grandpa would be all the more proud of it.

I'm painting it blue. As I paint, I think about how the brush that stained it red was held by Grandpa Roy. I think about the knawed-on bottom and how rough it is to paint, and think about him cursing the squirrels that did it. It makes me mist up a little bit.

New Book

What Do You Do All Day?

I know a book is going to be good when it starts off with a quote. Let me clarify: when it starts out with a quote I immediately love. Like this one:

"Samantha looked around the playground in amazement. Her mother had been right. She really was the smartest and prettiest" - Sloane Tanen

Book Lust

I have book lust!

So what better place to look for help than Book Lust for answers? Or perhaps the sequel, More Book Lust. What could possibly be better than Lust? How about More Lust?

Sounds perfect to me. In the meantime, I've started reading one of the two books I've bought for Bruce for the last two major holidays. Namely, Lisey's Story. It's drawing me in, but then again, I'm an incurable Stephen-King-aholic, so that's to be expected.

Catching Up

Robby
OMG
YOU'RE THERE
?

sarah
omg*
yeah
how are you?

Robby
thank god
okay
so this song leaves me breathless

did you listen to my myspace song

sarah
not yet
hold your horses
don't tell me where you put them, though

Robby
hahahah
crank it

and search dreamgirls
and then listen to "i love you i do"

Robby
this woman
who sang both songs
lost to kelly clarkson on american idol
she got 4th

sarah
what's her name?

Robby
but now she's in a movie with beyonce, and beyonce played the lead
and she is getting no recognition
jennifer hudson

sarah
she's good, but there's something about her voice that hits a spot inside my ear that goes directly into the spot on my brain that hears screachy things. I can tell she's a good singer, but I just can't listen for too long, you know?


[Here's one of the songs we're talking about.]
______
*Note: If speaking the omg aloud to yourself, it's meant to have the dryest of dry tones. Hence the lack of exclaimation.

Lisa clued me into the fact that you can check out magazines from the local library. (Shh, don't tell anybody, but she was checking out some magazines that typically girls aren't allowed to be seen looking at, no I'm not talking about porn, you girls know what kinds I mean, right? You can't at them when you're single, but it only makes sense to look at them when you're single. You know what I mean.) So now I've been going back once a week or so for some magazines. I have to catch up on my Martha Stewart magazine. And also my Hobby Farming magazine. What? I could maybe start a hobby farm. In my rental house. I have a big garage, ok?

I had a large hatred for my library last week when all week long, they just decided they were going to have special, "Sunny won't be able to go," hours. Bastards. Who gets to decide they're only going to be open until three for an entire week, just because they want to? The library, that's who. And the post office could probably also do that. Or a doctor. They're all bastards.

Also, do you know what I got from work for Christmas? I'll show you. Sometime. But first, I want to tell you. From my boss, I got a freaking GIFT BASKET from Bath and Body Works. And not one of the tiny ones, either. Actually, I got one of those from her too. But the one I'm talking about is one of those giant gift baskets, one that includes not only the lotion and the body wash, but it's got the bubble bath and the candle, too! And a bath poof! I needed a bath poof! So badly that it was one of the presents I wrapped up for myself back when I was a little (ok, a lot) afraid I wasn't going to get anything for Christmas, and thought I'd wrap up a few small things (you know, from the dollar store), just so I'd have something to open. (Those fears were completely unwarranted, and Bruce got me some fantastic presents. Lots of people did. I had no reason to feel preemptively sorry for myself like that. Silly Sunny!) What flavor, you ask? Cherry Blossom! Which I had never smelt at the store, but I can tell you now that it's really nice smelling! (I can tell you that now because it's all I've been bathing in ever since I got it.)

And! She got me one of those little tiny gift baskets, too. As if you didn't already know. It was some jasmine-scented thing that's supposed to make someone horny. At least I think that's what it said. I think she talked to Bruce, and that one was his suggestion.

I'm not even to the best part yet. Guess what else she got me? She bought me and the other girl at work MP3 players.

For serious.

Yeah.

I know.

I said that too.

So! I'm really getting into the idea of walking for more exercise, and so I borrowed some Terry Pratchett books on CD from the library, with the intent of copying them onto my computer and then listening to them while I walk, in two hour segments. Good idea, huh?

I'm also looking forward to walking with Huck, because the poor little Pooper hasn't had much experience walking on a leash, and there's no time like the present to teach him. You know, before he's a poor old Pooper.

My, What Authentic Floor Coverings!

My mom came over today to take a look at the new house. We made indian tacos and baked apples and talked about how festive we're feeling this holiday season. We also played a half of a game of cribbage. It's funny - I sometimes get the feeling that Mom forgets that I'm an adult, and can do things like follow a recipe without instruction. She's not terrible about it, but I wonder if it would be the same if I had kids of my own. When she was my age, I was four years old. I guess your kids growing up is a hard thing to get used to for most parents.

Here's a picture of the baked apples. Don't they look appealing? It's not my sort of thing - too many things going on - but they look great. Beautiful, I mean. And my house smells great.

Here's a picture of the needles and yarn I bought from knitpicks.

Huck and I took a walk through the swamp to the lake this afternoon. There's a path to follow, and it looks like it's been well-used, but it goes right through the marsh for about a half mile. It was very pretty, and the deer skull we came across was interesting, but I think I would have enjoyed it more had I not just finished It and my heart had not been palpatating in terror.

Finished: It

I love Stephen King's LONG books. Reading a LONG book really helps with the feeling of despair I get when I'm nearing the end of a book I love.

I read Knitting Without Tears today, and in it she mentioned having the same pains when finishing a knitted garment - she falls in love with it and doesn't want it to end. So she draws out the finishing process.

That's exactly what I did with my book. The last hundred pages took me as long as the previous three hundred. I drew it out, but it's over now. Time to move on.

Books I Never Knew Were Books:

Or:  What to buy on Amazon when you have a free gift certificate.  

Or Rather:  What to Buy When Your Husband Gets a Free Gift Certificate From Amazon and Lets You Share the Profits:  A Users Guide.

Or:  Books You Never Realized Were Actual Books, Because if You Had, You'd Have Read Them by Now.

Or:  I Didn't Actually Get These Books, I Found Them After Buying the First Two Discworld Novels by Terry Pratchett.

Here are some books you should buy.  If you don't want to buy them, that's fine with me, because for the most part, I'm putting them here for my own personal reference.  Should I ever again happen across $75.00 in Amazon gift certificates, this is what I will be buying:

The Princess Bride

The Neverending Story

PS:  My first love-affair quality book was "The Rabbit is Next", and the only description I could find online reads:  "Delightful story of Jenny and her pet rabbit, Bradley who had a hurt ear. A trip to the animal doctor revealed many other pets there needing help-cat; dog, monkey; hamster; turtle, etc. Finally Jenny got to see the doctor who examined and fixed " this very unusual case!" Pages tight; some page wear; some markings on few pages; yellow glossy cover with illustration of girl sitting watching dog, cat, and monkey chasing each other", which is everything I remember about the book.  It appeals to that little girl who still lives inside me, the one who sleeps with all of her stuffed animals, because she doesn't want any of them to feel neglected.

My second love-affair quality book was Charlotte's Web, possibly because my Grandpa had a pig farm and I was very attached to his pigs.

I read The Celery Stalks at Midnight, and remember thinking that there must be more to the story. The Celery Stalks at Midnight was a good story, but it was only now, after happen-stancing across the original: Bunnicula: A Rabbit-Tale of Mystery, that I realized that not only was this book an old-time favorite of mine, but there was more to the story. I haven't thought about it in years. I managed to snag the first book out of my parochial-school library, in between the many biographies of historical figures that were the only other interesting books I found to read. I want this book. Please buy me this book.

What books did you read and love as a youngster? Which books do you wish you would have read? What books do you recommend to other people? I love hearing stories about books, don't be shy!

Beautiful

Daughter, By Nicole Blackman

One day I'll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she's born she'll scream and I'll make sure
she never stops.
I will kiss her before I lay her down
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive.

I'll tell her about the power of water
the seduction of paper
the promise of gasoline
and the hope of blood.

I'll teach her to shave her eyebrows and
mark her skin.
I'll teach her that her body is
her greatest work of art.

I'll tell her to light things on fire
and keep them burning.
I'll teach her that the fire will not consume her,
that she must take it and use it.
I'll tell her to be tri-sexual, to try anything
to sleep with, fight with, pray with anyone,
just as long as she feels something.
I'll help her do her best work when it rains.

I'll tell her to reinvent herself every 28 days.
I'll teach her to develop all her selves,
the courageous ones,
the smart ones,
the dreaming ones,
the fast ones.
I'll teach her that she has an army inside her
that can save her life.

I'll tell her to say Fuck like other people say The
and when people are shocked
to ask them why they so fear a small quartet
of letters.

I'll make sure she always carries a pen
so she can take down the evidence.
If she has no paper, I'll teach her to
write everything down on her tongue
write it on her thighs.
I'll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men.

I'll explain to her that it's better to regret the things
she has done than the things she hasn't.
I'll teach her to write her manifestos
on cocktail napkins.
I'll say she should make men lick her enterprise.
I'll teach her to talk hard.
I'll tell her that her skin is the
most beautiful dress she will ever wear.
I'll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname,
that forced intimacy is san ugly thing.
I'll make her understand that she is worth more
with her clothes on.

I'll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe,
leaving the door open.
I'll teach her to follow the words.
I'll tell her to stand up
and head for the door
after she makes love.

When he asks her to
stay she'll say
she's got to go.
I'll tell her that when she first bleeds
when she is a woman,
to go up to the roof at midnight,
reach her hands up to the sky and scream.

I'll teach her to be whole, to be holy,to be so much that she doesn't even
need me anymore.
I'll tell her to go quickly and never come back.
I will make her stronger than me.
I'll say to her never forget what they did to you and never let them know you remember.

Never forget what they did to you and never let them know you remember.

That One Book...

Do you have one book that you can read over and over again without fail? There are a few Stephen King novels that I don't seem to get tired of (Bag of Bones, Eye of the Dragon, etc.), but the one that stands out the most is one that I read when I was even younger.

I was going through a stage when I would read a book in a matter of hours. There were a few years in middle school when I would go through two or three books a day. Now, these weren't Dickens or Hemmingway, mind you, because that's never really been my style. I read most of the Sweet Valley High books when I was ten, and then moved on to scarier things - you know, R. L. Stine and then to John Saul and Anne Rice. (Those took me slightly longer, which is what I was looking for - I hate the feeling I get when the book is ending and I won't get to spend anymore time with the characters inside. Since then, I've learned to read a few minutes a day and stretch things out a little.) I was somewhere between R. L. Stine and John Saul when I found L. J. Smith's book, The Initiation.

I can't remember what year it was, but it was the summer time. The third full week in July, the week that my family and our friends go camping by Lake Metonga. We were picking up some last-minute supplies at Kmart, and I ran (as always) to the book section to pick something out. I wanted to take something with me to read. I just knew the fifteen books from the library weren't going to be enough. I don't think I touched those other books for a few days. I read this book, and then I reread it, and then I read it again at least three times. I couldn't wait to find out what would happen in the next book. It was torture, looking for The Captive everywhere my mom would drive me, trying to find it somewhere so that I could keep reading... I finally settled on reading the third book second, because the second was nowhere to be found. Confused? Sorry.

I found these books in a box in my old bedroom on Friday night, and I've read a book a day since then. Well, a book a few hours - I wasn't reading all day long - but I'm finally finished. They're just as good when you're twenty-six as they are when you're twelve.

If you can, find them and read them. It doesn't take very long, and it's worth it.

Reading, Talking, Begging

So, once again I'm begging for some new dish: please fill me in on the great blogs you read on a regular basis, because the ones on my "friends" list of blogs aren't posting nearly often enough (minus you, Jess, and you, Susan) for my liking. I'm not going to say a word about the "best bloggers*" out there, because they've always been too slow for my liking.

Seriously, everyone should start posting more. I miss you all.

*They should probably be named the "most famous" or "more highly read than the others" blogs, but really, that's too many words. I like to be concise.

Did anyone else used to read the "Sweet Dreams" series of teen romance novels? I swear I must have gone through the entire series when I was a wee lass. I hadn't thought about them in ages, until I read a book earlier this summer entitled, "P.S. I Love You". There was a book by that name in that series, and I loved it. It was recently mentioned in a post at Go Fug Yourself, and it brought it all smashing back. I love those girls, not for their scathing reviews of random celebrities, but for their constant references to the exact past I grew up in.

Wow, was this post random or what?

I am a Girl, Part I

Before anyone reads any further into my blog, they should know where I come from. I come from a land of ice and snow, as they say. I also come from a land that really only exists in my own head.

I don't think it will be easy to tell everyone all about my life, and I have a feeling it might take more than one post to get it all out in the open, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

The memories I have of being a child are very few. I remember our yard, when I was three, and loving that we had many trees to play in. Weeping Willows, I learned when I was older. I played in the branches for hours, until my mom would call me into the house or my Grandpa Roy would come to visit. When he came to visit (during my Grandma Mavis' shifts at work), I would squeal and then run into the house for a stack of books. I always wanted to be read to, and he was always delighted to read to me. The higher the stack, the better, according to Grandpa Roy. He read me them all.

When Grandma Mavis retired from the nursing home, Grandpa Roy didn't visit us as often. His readings were fewer, and Mom didn't have two hours a day to devote to my stories, and she bought me some books on tape. Disney, mostly. My favorites were Bambi and The Fox and the Hound. (Now, every time I look at Huck I think, "I'm a Hound Dog!") I listened to them all the time, and read along with the pictures and words.

I remember the first time that reading really "Clicked" with me. I was in the third grade, and we were reading "Socks" by Beverly Cleary. I'm very into animals, and I think I always have been. Mom says that she was always worried about me as a toddler, for fear that I'd wander off and try to make friends with a rabid racoon, or a bear. I believe her. I would still like to make friends with a rabid racoon, or a bear. One could say it's a lifelong dream.

Perhaps you could tell me (on your own blog, unless you don't have one) the start of the story that you think defines you as you. I'd love to read it. If you feel like it, send me the link. You know I'm always interested in that sort of thing.