Back from a Short Blogging Vacation

I'm still not feeling especially inspired, but what the heck.  I did finish that book, A Spot of Bother.  I have to warn you, if you've decided to take my advice on reading it, that within the book is contained a scene involving scissors and lots of blood. I am a bit squeamish and it was hard to get through that part, otherwise though, it was a lovely read.  I am now trying to get through Colin Powell's autobiography.  It's not grabbing me in quite the same way.  And he wrote it in the mid nineties so it doesn't cover the Bush years.
We also got the Netflix.  You can get stuff through your Wii. So Molly now knows all about Hannah Montana and Spongebob Squarepants.  I've been watching a lot of the British comedy, As Time Goes By.  And Monk, but I have to wait for the DVDs to come in the mail to watch that. 
I got lots of things done over the long weekend, but I've still got lots left to go.  I'll get right on that. Tallyhoe!

Reading

I used to read a lot when I was young.  It helped me escape my boring, depressing life.  I'll not dwell on how I spent my youth. (I stick my tongue out in disgust.) I've read lots of books, some I would be proud to list, others I would not be proud for anyone to know about. That first year after Molly was born I spent a lot of time reading, until I figured out how to knit. After I finished that last Harry Potter novel, fiction just didn't do it for me anymore. I've been reading a lot of articles and such ever since the economy went all to hell, and I realized that I did actually need to pay more attention to what was going on in the world.  

Now, Molly has started back to school and I find that I have about twenty minutes of free time five times a week while I wait for her to get out of school. Hmm, I thought. Maybe I can catch up on my reading. So, I picked up a book that Mike had laying around and now I've actually gotten sucked into it. Of course, it takes place in London, and everyone knows what an Anglophobe I am. Wait. I mean Anglophile. Whatever. Anyway, it's called A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon.  I would like to share this lovely passage from the novel with you.

   With blinding clarity he realized that everyone was frolicking in a summer meadow surrounded by a dark and impenetrable forest, waiting for that grim day on which they were dragged into the dark beyond the trees and individually butchered. 
    How in God's name had he not noticed this before? And how did others not notice? Why did one not find them curled on the pavement howling? How did they saunter through their days unaware of this indigestible fact? And how, once the truth dawned, was it possible to forget?


 I'm still only on page 119, and have quite a ways to go still, but I highly recommend it.  I think I may have just been re-introduced to my first true love.  Fiction.  :0)

And I hope that my quoting the book is legal, because I'm really blatantly giving it free publicity, albeit to a very small audience. :) Smiley face, smiley face, smiley face!