Sunday, June 26, 2016

Reading Between the Lines

I opened the door to walk out and get the paper in this godforsaken heat at seven in the morning, and this fellow was staring at me. First of all, it must have taken him all day to get up the gigantic hill in our back yard to our FRONT door. Omg. Poor creature. 

Then, working in the book biz continues (to my utter shock and dismay). At times, my intermittent dealing with the public slowly erodes my faith in the future of humanity. Not that all book lovers are dealing a blow to my sensibility of our plight, but let's say if I have one more seventy year old woman ask me to look up five erotic-romance titles for her while she steadies herself on her walker, well, I think I might just leave the whole entire job behind with utterances of "WTF?!" I cannot make this up. I wish I could. But nope. When I come home and share these stories with DH, he laughs hysterically, shaking his head in disbelief.


On a good note: working around books, I find my personal love of reading has been put to the test as I work with some really brilliant folks who, for probably the same reason I landed in a book store, are there as well: the books. (And maybe not so much the "people".) There are speed readers who devour books like I devour pints of Ben & Jerry's vegan ice cream. I have great conversations about books. It's like having my own personal book club around me forty hours a week. I love it. 

Right now I'm reading: Before The Fall by Noah Hawley. Let's just say I speed read my way through the first hundred pages yesterday. There's a private plane that crashes. Two survivors. The book is written in quick-paced prose with plenty of questions raised as you begin to learn the past of each of the passengers on board--which may or may not lead to who or why or how the plane went down. Keeping me interested, on my toes and will finish it today--well, I'll try. Then there was the book, Dodgers by Bill Beverly. This book became a store Must Read as one of our resident readers one day shared as I was perusing titles: LOTS of buzz about this book. Read it and let me know what YOU think. Hmm. Well, I thought it both gripping and I could not put it down. (Even mailed it to my sister.)  It's about two young brothers East and his brother Ty and two others who are from the "drug-infested" inner-city of LA who are instructed to travel with each other to Wisconsin on a "mission" given to them by a leader of the clan to kill a witness in an upcoming trial. If there is ever a movie made of this book (and I'm sure there will be)--I know exactly who I'd root for to play East. You read this book and see what a Road Trip is really like from the eyes of four young men who navigate the Midwest highways and landscape, but at the same time navigate surviving each other.    
Sometimes I look at Frankie and am so damn happy with her, I want to cry. 
These are Eastern Phoebes who decided to make a nest in our breezeway. 
This bird is part of the flycatcher family of birds. So they seek out areas high and protected, for raising their brood. The birds feed on bugs and insects brought to them by mama bird, who is catching them mid-flight at times and returning to the nest with bugs sometimes as big as her head, it's wonder she can even fly. This behavior is called "hawking" according to the Bird Book. She's a protective mama bird. Though I will say, she's all business with these kids she's raising. One morning we lost one. It broke my heart. But they are very close to flying the coop now. Any day. It's also said that they may "return" the following year to the same nest. 
Our fingers are crossed.
Knitting up a Reverse Psychology shawl, with Vice hombre yarn I got at my LYS. 
The color makes me happy. So did the trip to the yarn store.
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Got a much needed break yesterday as I ran on a trail nearby. I heard the whistle and thought I'd make the crossing. But then approached the tracks only to see the train had arrived. I thought it'd make for a nice screen capture of a happy woman who had to make a hard stop on a three-miler during the morning's ninety-degree temps. I finished the run. But barely.







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