My Appearance

Whenever we first get home the neighbor girl is at our heels. The phone rings right away, the doorbell rings, the sliding glass door has a familiar knock bestowed on it. We are being watched.

Like I have said before, I enjoy my neighbor. She is a very kind and generous woman. She knows everything. She always has advice to give. And she always has a million stories to tell or opinions to relate. She remembers things. She notices things. I think I may have mentioned that she knows everything.

Whenever we run into each other (which is rare lately since she started this job that demands most of her time) she always has some sort of insult for me. I mean, I am not easily insulted at all, it just strikes me as funny that she is lucky that I moved in next door because your average lady would not find the humor in such silly comments! For example:

Last summer I went over to her house to bring something back to her. A plate, maybe. The light outside was just perfect enough for her to notice something on my face. A hair, I think. Without telling me, she picked at my cheek, mid conversation.
"Oh!" she laughed. "It is attached!" she exclaimed, meaning the abnormally long white hair hanging from my cheek. I told her to go ahead and get it if she wanted, I didn't care.

She works for a spa/salon type place where they do microderm abrasions (don't know how to spell that) and inject botox. She has stood there many times since telling me how things work, how she tediously has had to "zap" people's unwanted varicose veins, laser off unwanted hair, etc. Mid conversation she said to me, "You have these lines--" and she pointed to the lines around her mouth, as if to tell me for the first time I need help there.
"Yep," I said, not flinching.
"They could help with that," she dared to continue.
They are from smiling, I thought but said instead, "It's genetic."
She smiled at me like you poor thing, and continued whatever it was she was saying. Botox or something.

She continued at one time to talk about freckles and how she is so thankful that she got hers lasered off. "They would even take those freckles off your face!" she added. She proceeded to point at all the flaws and freckles, unwanted sort of moles on my skin and claimed that all those unwanted things would be taken off if I wanted. "I like my freckles," I said with a smile.
"That's nice," she would say sweetly and continue.

A couple of weeks ago she came to Dear Sir and I while we were doing the gardening. She wanted to borrow the WD-40. I was wearing my ultra cool red sunglasses at the time. I love those things. I gave her the liquid lubricant and put the glasses on my head as she started to talk to me in the shade of the trees. "By the way," she said, "are those sunglasses {the Girl's}?"
"What?" I asked.
"The sunglasses. Are they your daughter's?"
"Nope, they are mine," I said.
"Interesting," she said as she turned to walk off with my WD-40.
I gave a hearty laugh and then mulched the trees.

The slight little insults have become so frequent that Dear Sir tends to say whenever I come in from talking to her, "what'd she say this time?"We both have a laugh about it. Certainly it keeps me less vain!

Oh how about when she saw my hair for the first time when I got it colored my natural color. She said, "Oh, you went darker!" with a fake, kindly smile.
"Yep," I said, "I like it."
"That's nice," she said, meaning, she didn't like it. The look on her face certainly showed it!

Calories and Carnivals

Yesterday Dear Sir and I piled the kids in the VW and went to the small town about 20 minutes away. The man heard there was a carnival and so we decided that we would attempt to go. I almost fell over when he suggested it. Really, it was quite an out of the ordinary thing. Usually when we are in crowded places I have to talk Dear Sir down to his happy place because he can't mentally handle it. Going somewhere like Six Flags or Disneyland is simply out of the question under usual circumstances. The man is petrified of camping, so he avoids the man at church during "camp time" so he can save himself the embarrassment of explaining that he hates camping, yes he is a bit like Frasier Krane, and his wife is a close second to Lilith at times. Why on earth do you want to urinate outside, put worms on a hook and fish in murky lake water, dig around in dirt, put up a tent, sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag, etc? All the man can think about is fleas, ticks, bears, animals, skunk spray, mosquitoes, germs, icky camp bathrooms, latrines, poison ivy, sweating, backaches, camp food (heaven forbid), and you get the picture. The Girl constantly mentions camping and we constantly dread hearing about it.

So, we tried to find the carnival. We went up and down the road it was "supposed" to be on but it was not there. Eventually we went to the Dairy Queen in the town (we tried to find IT before and couldn't---at least this time we did) and got some ice cream. Actually, Dear Sir wanted to ask someone "just in passing" where in tarnation was that carnival, really? The Dairy Queen guy said, "Sorry, it was only Saturday and Sunday." Of course, of course. The day Dear Sir wants to face his fear he gets out of it.

I got a Buster Bar (my favorite) and ate the thing, relishing every bite. I was a complete idiot and looked at the calorie label on the plastic wrapper. My heart almost stopped. Dear Sir noticed I was about to have a panic attack and said, "Rachel, give me a break. Enjoy something for once in your life! I don't want to hear it!" Then I think he said some thing about Paris Hilton or being "one of those people" and I quit. I tried my best in the car later to justify consuming that many calories. I mean, I am not a twig and I am not a *total* health freak, but trust me, when it takes a person four years of strenuous exercise and dieting to get thirty pounds off, it messes with your mind, baby.

I noticed Dear Sir ate a "medium" Oreo Blizzard. When he finished he said, "I am going to skip dinner."

Can I throw up my hands? And no, I didn't skip dinner.

So, we did not get to the carnival, we drove around in search of it for a good bit before hitting the DQ, and then we went home.

If we can get to a carnival, maybe next year the man will come to me and say, "I think we should go camping this year." That is when I will put a stop to this and say, "We are going to Six Flags and you will go on a roller coaster. We will also go to Disneyland and you will hug Goofy." But truly, hell will freeze over when he comes to me wanting to go camping. Camping is a thing chock full of Dear Sir's Room 101's and it is just not happening. I guess I will have to take the kids to Hershey Park or some place like that on my own. Anyone wanna come with?


Pickin' on Stuff

We all went to a strawberry patch today. Probably at the worst time in the day because it was so stinking hot, but it was great. To just be more on the warm side I wore black and kept my hair down. How's that for getting the sweat dripping down my face as I stoop to gather berries?

The Oldest could not keep quiet during the whole ordeal. "This one is marvelous!" "Beautiful!" "You will never believe this one!" "Gorgeous!" "Juicy!" "Simply Splendid!" I tell you, the exclamations never ended, the boy was about as chipper as he could be. And all in his Mickey Mouse voice. He stood back and admired every single strawberry until I just gave up and ignored him. Let the sweat drip down my nose as I hunted through the plants.

Eraser Eater was on a mission. Typically that boy is the laziest child you will ever meet, often lying down on the floor saying he can't get up, but golly, he was on it today. He was a strawberry picking fool. I did pretty well and he nearly got as much as me and the Oldest combined. Of course, if the Oldest hadn't stroked each strawberry, gave them names and talked about them all until his tongue dried up, we would have really gotten somewhere.

The Girl was next to useless as far as picking went. She was with her cousin and when these two girls get together they form some pink, powdery power team of prissiness. It is kind of refreshing at times when I need someone to find something like a bottle of ketchup on the door of the fridge, for these prissy feminine minis can find it, you just call it out. Boys, on the other hand, don't know the nose on their faces and can find pretty much SQUAT. That is why the allergy pill loss really got to me. I CAN FIND ANYTHING. When I could not find them I freaked out. How can I not find this? I say over and over. The thing is, a boy misplaced it and there you have it, he couldn't even remember where he put it. And it was in an odd place, like, on top of the cabinets in the kitchen so the Girl could not get to them. I don't know what got me on to that. Oh yes, prissiness....girls....yes, yes. Uselessness....I remember. See, I forget stuff too.

As I drove down a road today I saw a disheveled, barefoot woman in pajamas. I had to drive by slow because she was walking in the middle of the road. More like wobbling in the middle of the road. As I drove by her I looked at her face and she had a maniacal sort of expression so I thought better of trying to help her out. I had kids in the car. What was the deal with that? Maybe she was mentally impaired? Maybe she had been trapped in some sick man's basement for years and just escaped so she was sensitive to the light? Now I feel really bad I didn't get her.

I realized I am dogging men like crazy on this post. Sorry men. I do love you. I just feel liberated for some reason. Wanna arm wrestle?


A Place Where Bugs Fly

Yesterday we went to the National Zoo, just me and the crazies with my sister in law and her two children. We stayed the night at her temporary apartment so we could get up early enough to head on out and get parking at the metro. When the Girl woke up she was a total grump and had a runny nose and was not happy. I could not get her to eat, I could not get her to do anything. Eraser Eater soon pranced out of the room wheezing and said, "I need my inhaler. Do you have it?" Of course, I whipped out my purse and did not have it. I switched purses at some point this week and discovered what an idiot I am. So what do I do? I took him into the bathroom, blasted the shower on hot and left him in there with the doors closed. "BREATHE!" I said, over and over.

I was fit to be tied at this point. At least my sister in law's kids were well. Good grief, it was pulling teeth. The Oldest had not even gotten up yet, so I went to get him up just hoping that he was well enough (who knows at this point) to help me. He was lying flat on his face. I smacked his rear end a few times and said, "Time to get up!" He jumped out of bed, all chipper and said, "I am up! I am up! Just let me get my glasses on!"
"I need your help today," I said.
"I can help, I can help," chirped Mickey Mouse. He literally screamed when he saw that his Aunt was making cinnamon rolls and there I was, about to choke him. To add insult to injury, his legs were pulsating with poison ivy rash still and I was feebly rubbing ointment on them while he dined on a few rolls. The Girl sat in a chair and sulked, sniffing. Eraser Eater had left the bathroom, still wheezing.
"I have another solution for you," I said to the eraser eating freak.
He complied as I pushed his head into a sink, blasted the hot water, and made a tent with a towel over both the sink and his head. I stood there and instructed him to take deep breaths for a few minutes.

I then went to the Girl to get her to eat two bites of a Nutrigrain bar, but she fought me tooth and nail. Granted, I gave her Benadryl and she lacked adequate sleep the night before, but I was about to have her head. Eraser Eater ate a few rolls himself once he could breathe a little, and then whined about not having socks to wear. It went on like this for what seemed like an eternity, but it was only a matter of ten minutes. We did get out the door to the Zoo and finally got there and stayed for maybe four hours. We did have fun, and the kids forgot their ailments and just begged for water and snacks the whole time. We probably walked at least eight miles total.

The one scene I remember most was when we went to the invertebrates room. As you guys right well know, my Oldest is afraid of bugs, mainly flying ones. He is ridiculously afraid. We got through the whole exoskeleton room of various forms of sea life and land life, and then upon exiting, we had to get out by walking through what was called a "pollenarium" (I think). Eraser Eater had pulled me over to look at a scorpion while everyone else was headed to this place. Apparently when I got there The Oldest was standing at the entrance saying, "I am NOT going in there." Eraser Eater ran on through with the rest and I stood there trying to think of what he was saying to me. I had lacked an adequate amount of water, I could not calculate simple sums at this point, and I lacked just regular sense. It was slow, in other words. I looked at the sign again. "Pollenarium" it said. Huh. I looked through the doors. Oh yes. A wealth of butterflies, dragonflies, bees, you name it, were flying around in there, hovering over an abundance of flowering trees, bushes, flowering plants, etc. The Oldest's shoulders went up to his ears in utter fear and he stood at the entrance. "I can't go in there!"

I took him out the way we came and met the others outside the building.

On the long way home The Oldest was rubbing coins together in his hand in the passenger's seat.
"Quit doing that," I said sternly.
"Quit what?" He continued to take the quarters, put them on either side of a rusty penny, and say, "Look, {Eraser Eater} I have a coin sandwich!" He acted like he was going to put it in his mouth.

I wearily grabbed his wrist and said, " Quit. That is disgusting."

"What is disgusting?" He waved the coins around my head and laughed. "You don't want coins floating around your head?" The fact that my own kid was torturing me with one of my own Room 101's had me ready to give him a good Charlie Brown sock. And I mean a sock in the face.

"Ok. Let's play fair," I said. "We can always turn around and take a little trip in the pollinarium."

He let out a humbled, small, unintelligible cry and put his coins in his pocket. Satisfied Mickey Mouse had deflated, I drove on and almost fell asleep at the wheel, no joke.


Wacked Out and Firm

When at the airport last week I brought along a nice biography. My aunt was in line behind me (she is very well read, being a playwright and all). I set my book down on the little podium and handed my e-ticket to the security lady. I walked on.

As I stood in line, my Aunt approached me saying, "I think you forgot something," and handed me my book. "I figured that if anyone was going to carry around a biography of Thomas Hardy, it would be you." She gave a little chuckle, "Now don't lose that."

She keeps calling me a writer. I had a good laugh whenever she would say that. She also kept saying that because we are writers that we feel things "more deeply than others." My aunt is the meaning of drama in the form of a person (and I suppose she would be, being a playwright). She told me it was nice to meet my friend Laura and I said to her, "She is a good friend, much like your friend Linda." Her eyes lit up. "You know, Linda who was on the Johnny Carson show with you."

She nodded agreement without missing a beat and said, "Yes, yes. We are very famous, very famous."

She carries a cane. She accused me of having my sights on it because it was from Mt. Vernon. She said that Mt. Vernon's gift shop is a place where you can not leave without buying half the store. You can go crazy and buy an Indian tepee kit, a Revolutionary War flute, George Washington dolls, muskets, tea sets, Civil War dice, peace pipes, Confederate hats, and of course, canes.

But on another note I am losing my mind. The boys are supposed to be practice testing and it is just not going the too wonderful. They can not shut their mouths and work. I keep yelling some and I wonder if the real cause of it is that I have a monstrous pile of ironing to do in my closet and it is intimidating. Since coming back I have been behind ridiculously with laundering. I finally finished washing all the clothes and putting them away, but the ironing keeps piling up. Dear Sir needs to stop wearing shirts.

So since Eraser Eater is crippled I am going to keep him out of gym today and just allow the Girl and The Oldest to traipse around and get red. He seems to be doing much better, but really it is folly to even think of allowing him to run around with other crazy kids. I remember when we were in the ER and the nurse put the brace on his neck he said, "Oh! Dis is nice! I don't have to hold my head up!" Ever since he has been milking the special treatment for all it is worth and talking like a baby on top of it. He even wet his undies this morning.

Anyone who thinks that once your children get to a certain age you don't have to deal with secretions anymore, you are kidding yourself. It was only last night that I had the Girl go #2 and she called me up to wipe her rear like she always does. Since her bowel problems have been real true problems over the years, I feel chained to the sound of her voice when it says, "Mom! I went!" The size of that bad boy was unbelievable. How she produced such a mammoth piece of waste and did not split in half, I have no idea. She did not even cry, which is a miracle. She gave me a sour face instead.
"That pupper is not going to go down," I said in low tones. I imagined pumping that stupid porcelain bowl for at least a half hour. Maybe it would take all night. Even with the power plunger. That sucker would need the snake.

"It will clog?! What can you do?!"

I went downstairs and grabbed a spatula that I knew I would never use again. It was nice and firm and did the trick. I dipped the spatula in the toilet and sawed that thing in half.

"You had hamburgers!" I laughed.

Actually, that is scary, because does beef really break down? Let's just not talk about it....


Brace Yourself

Last night we took the kids to Awana as usual and when we got back the Awana leaders were waiting for us saying, "You are {Eraser Eater's} mom, right?" They had him back in some office icing the back of his neck. "He hasn't moved," a stern Awana leader said, with her arms crossed. "We tried to get a hold of you, but..."
"We weren't home and we don't have a cell phone..." I trailed off. I looked at Eraser Eater. He looked like the shuffling lame guy on the Usual Suspects. He had his red Awana vest on and he just looked forward, neck sort of craned down, shoulders uneven. It looked bad.

"I am so sorry," I said.

The lady looked at me with her arms crossed like I had trespassed against her. She was extremely condescending. She was acting like I had stayed out past curfew. She wanted to punish me.

"I would take him to the hospital," one of them urged.

He looked like he could go. But it's hard to tell with Eraser Eater. The boy is so pain tolerant. And I don't mean he can fall on the ground and go without coming up to me crying. I mean, he can break an arm or two, come at me whimpering a little as the arm is dangling at his side as he is trying desperately to hold it up with the other hand. I am the one who is a mess. He will sit there on the floor, arm completely useless, limp and distorted and beg me not to cry so much.

I really wish Dear Sir had been in that room to see him. The side of his neck was all jutted out, or at least it looked like it or maybe it was the way he was carrying his pain, but he could not move his head to one side period. Apparently he fell and then got up and then the pain jolted him into a paralyzed state.

"He's been like this for AN HOUR," the stern woman said with her arms crossed.

Ok, so do I have to hear it again? Must you torture me with my apparent inability to be a prompt and loving mother? Is it a crime to not have a cell phone? I mean, what did anyone do before we had them?

So I took my Eraser-eating-freak to the hospital. Actually, Dear Sir and the crew and I took him. He was talking on the way, glad he was going because he just could not think of how he would sleep. "I could sleep sitting, I guess," he offered.

Dear Sir wanted to take him home because he knew what it was because he had the same thing happen once. I was worried because I don't like messing around with any sort of neck injury---I don't care if it is muscle or bone or disc or what. So for my own comfort I took him back (and the hospital was very quick with getting him back there) and we got X-ray's done and sat in a room and watched Animal Planet. The boy loves Animal Planet. They had him in a neck brace and he looked like a native African woman with the neck rings. They had him hobbling around at first but then just put him in a wheel chair to get him from room to room.

Of course he has what Dear Sir said he had, but they gave him some strong meds when we were discharged and even a prescription to boot. They said something about whiplash and torticolis. When we finally got out of there Dear Sir, the Girl, and the Oldest were reading magazines and it was almost eleven at night. Dear Sir was already tired. The Girl wheeled around, all poison ivy faced, and smiled.

Eraser Eater dragged himself out of the hospital just like the lame Usual Suspects guy. "My pain isn't so bad now," he mumbled to the ground. (He was still unable to move his head)

"They gave you medicine," I said, "it makes your brain think that you aren't in pain."

Good grief, I hope he is in pain. I went through a lot of trouble for him to come out feeling fine. Gee whiz.

Now the train cars of guilt are rushing by, and I can't wait to see the last one with the platform on it so I can safely hurry over the tracks with the horn blowing softly in the distance.


Back Home

I had a hard, but incredible past chunk of days. I won't elaborate because to me it is too personal and I do not like to splay my life out there---I need to write it all in an actual journal or something. I know that prayers were answered and God is faithful.

I got off the plane in D.C. to see Dear Sir with the kids---they ran to me and greeted me. The man was wearing his old man golfer's hat and I had a laugh. Eraser Eater and the Oldest were talking to each other, but said hello and hugged me. The Girl beamed with happiness and squeezed me as hard as she could. She held my hand and insisted that she drag my carry-on luggage.

Dear Sir told me that her ear was itchy and yesterday he had to go to the store and get some Calamine lotion to treat it. I took a peek at her ear. "Crap!" I said.
"What?!" The Girl said (Dear Sir waltzed over to the bathroom).
"You have poison ivy rash."
I knew this because my sister in law called me during my trip and told me her daughter had a rash all over her face and it was not going away. I told her to take her to the doctor because I thought it was poison ivy. She did, and what do you know, the next day she calls me during my trip and says that I was right, she got into some poison ivy. The poor girl has it all over.

But my Girl just has it all over her ear. The night of the box car derby race the kids stayed over at my sister in law's house and I am certain that is how she got it. The oils from the ivy plant transferred from my niece's face to the pillow and on to my daughter's ear. How bizarre.

So I spent some of yesterday taking her to the doctor and of course, the doctor told me that I was completely correct, the only explanation was that the Girl slept on a pillow and the oil got on her ear. Totally possible. Thankfully, Dear Sir was prompt and when he saw she had a rash on her ear (while I was still gone) he quickly went out and got her some lotion for itch and and was a completely competent and thorough father.

When I stepped inside my door (oh was it wonderful to be home!) the house was in great order and gleaming. Dear Sir had set flowers on the table and a card for Mother's Day. He also left me two grand bars of dark chocolate (my favorite) and The Oldest gave me an index card of his feelings. We had a wonderful remaining evening---I had a glass of my juice while Dear Sir grilled us dinner. We sat outside and enjoyed our battlefield. So, that was Sunday, yesterday Dear Sir was sure he took the day off from work to devote his time to helping me adjust and recover from the trip, and he left for work this morning sad that he did not have more days to offer me, but was grateful that he had the ones he did.

I can not tell you how grateful I am to my husband---he ironed, organized the boy's room, cleared any clutter, did yard work, made meals, cleaned, fixed things, and the real test was how the kids were when I got home. They were completely satisfied and happy. My husband took great care of them and you could see it on their faces. He spent a good deal of time with them too.

I realize this is boring, sorry. I am just so thankful today. God has given me all I need.

See you tomorrow, as usual. All of you blogger friends, I am glad to be back and in the works again, and have read your recent entries, I just have not commented. K? It was refreshing last night to sit on my bed and read about your lives again.


Me Break, Me Meme

I'm sorry but I am going to have to take a break. #1 I have no blogging material for the next few days, and #2 I will be out of town later this week. I hate to leave my home, but I have pressing matters that almost require me to be in the Northwest.

Please pray for me if you think of it. Here, in the meantime, is a meme that Leslee tagged me for:

7 Random facts/habits about R (I will then have to "tag" seven people in turn):

1. When I ate fruit my favorites were oranges and mangoes.

2. I used to be able to run 8 miles without stopping a few times a week (then I would scale down and only run five miles other days) but now I have gotten so behind that I only run about 3-4 miles maybe five days a week. But who cares. I can't think of anything interesting right now!

3. I passed out once from someone pressing my heart. I fell on the floor and thought that I was on the floor at a McDonald's with people looking at me. I opened my eyes and saw the people who did it to me laughing their sides off.

4. Umm, I have a habit of playing my guitar without the pick and use my thumb instead. It is a bad, bad, habit, but my guitarist friend says that it is not so bad. I don't know what to believe now.

5. In junior high I was a huge Star Trek: The Next Generation fan. I was in love with Wil Wheaton. What was I thinking?

6. In California once I played with a friend barefoot right by the freeway off-ramp. Smart. I was probably six. I cut my foot multiple times on an old rusty grate and some strangers pulled up and asked me if my friend and I wanted a ride home. Stupidly enough we took the ride home and got home. I was in deep trouble.

7. I write music and sing. I don't talk about it much here though...I used to think I would have a recording contract by now and am resigned to the fact that I must live my life to the fullest as it is and be content with where God has me because I am His.

I will now tag Allrighthere, SprinklerBandit, Graybandit, Lyssa, the Woman, Shealy, and Nat.



The Girl has been obsessing over caterpillars this spring. Since it is the first real technical spring we have been in here in our Civil War battlefield, we have seen many things we had not seen before. And that includes the black caterpillars that are very common and make webby nests in the trees. My daughter and her cousin go out in the "woods" and make homes for these creatures out of sticks, rocks, and leaves. They are entertained for hours. I, on the other hand, HATE caterpillars. See this to see why.

So, yesterday it rained and rained. The day previous, my girl had two or three caterpillars in a helmet with plenty of leaves and such for them to enjoy. The next day when it rained I noticed that she still had the helmet outside. The helmet was full of bubbly water, leaves were sort of floating around on top (I could only see it from the sliding glass door) and the girl was a bit concerned.
"Can caterpillars drown?" she asked.

"Yeah, but the ones you put in the helmet must have crawled away before the rain came, don't worry."

The boys got all interested because as is natural, whenever they hear anything about death they are dying to see.

"Shouldn't have put those bubbles in with the caterpillars," Eraser Eater chimed in.

"Yeah, just wasted your bubbles and those cost money! See if Mom buys you any again!" Yelped the Oldest in stern Mickey Mouse fashion.

The girl started to cry and whimper a bit. I said, "Did you put your bubbles in with the caterpillars?"

She nodded with bottom lip turned out.

"Why would you do such a thing?" I asked.

"I wanted to give them a bath. A bubble bath. I thought they would like it." She openly wept now.

I went and got on my sandals to see if the caterpillars escaped so she could feel better. The helmet was full of water and I could see things floating around in it. Upon seeing the death pool head on, I saw two very bloated and stiff caterpillars doing the dead man's float in the pool of the helmet. I don't know what it was, maybe morbid curiosity, but I took a leaf or a stick and took up each caterpillar and threw them across the yard. They were stiff and hard. Vile. I then dumped the helmet out on the side of the deck and clumps of leaves fell out with bubbles and water.

"Yep, you killed 'em."

"Don't say it!" She grabbed at her collar and gave me a tortured look. "But they are in animal heaven!" She pouted.

"Nope, sorry to tell you, animals and bugs do not have souls and you just robbed them of their only chance to live life."

I couldn't believe my own ears as I was saying this malarkey. I mean, it is true, but why was I rubbing it in? I hate caterpillars. Kill them all.

"Don't remind me!" She yelped helplessly. I have her a hug and told her not to do it again. Caterpillars don't need bubble baths.

The Oldest was sure to say at some point that she is a "caterpillar murderess."

The drama never stops, never ends, it just keeps coming. Maybe they shouldn't read Shakespeare.


Book Post

Back when I was asking for book recommendations perhaps a few seasons ago, someone recommended I read Sanctuary by William Faulkner. Actually, it was an anonymous person, but I believe I know who that person was. I think. Anyway, I read the book and found it to be very...interesting. If I were in a literature class I could go crazy discussing the themes, but alas, I am not.

Dear Sir and I went to this local bookstore a couple of weekends ago and almost fainted at the prices. They were a buck a piece for nice hardbacks! I snatched up Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence (I had just finished Lady Chatterly's Lover, or rather my version was called, Sir Thomas and Lady Jane----I can not cleanly and purely tell you what the title means because it is a bit graphic), two Faulkner novels (Sanctuary and A Light in August), and The Possessed by Dostoyevsky. I love that guy.

Since I have some new readers to this blog since I asked last---any book recommendations? I love the Classics the most, but sometimes I will read a modern book if my arm is twisted enough.

I finished last week a book (not a classic) called The Short Day Dying by Peter Hobbs. It was incredible. I mean, the story pretty much had no plot, but the writing was poetic and beautiful, the narration was pure dreary delight. It is very depressing in some ways, but I like depressing. The author made me think. It was really interesting how the serious things of this life, what we dare not say, is so easily spoken by the narrator. --And how to put those feelings into words with life and new meaning. After I read this book I could see what I always saw but never understood: there is beauty in hardship, death, and the slipping away of days.

So, let me know what books you think I should delve into.