I brought this book with me to my little mini vacation on Chincoteague Island this past weekend and I could only allow myself about an hour of the whole time to read it. I mean, I guess I could have read it in the car on the way there (it lamely took us eight hours when "the other way" would have only taken us 4) but I get sick if I don't look out the window. I have raised my children to read books in the car so that they do not suffer this plight. Am I the only one?
Still on the book thing: I wanted to read the book but would not let myself. This is odd. I feel like books are mini vacations themselves. It is not really sensible for me to have a vacation from my vacation. It is a bit redundant. If I sat there and read a book the whole time I was on the beach I would not enjoy the beach! I would enjoy the book! Again, am I the only one?
So do you know what I did while my husband sat and read Folk on the Fringe to his utter delight? I made big holes in the sand and sweat myself silly like a kid. I think my oldest and I made two of the biggest holes in the sand that beach saw that week. I'd remember that more than I would remember a book.