Mildly Side-Tracked, But Happily So

I relish the summer. But not unconditionally. I could certainly do without the ever-existent summer heat. I could happily forgo the humid climate. And I don't find much pleasure in the fact that the outdoors denote sweat. Every time. Without fail.

And yet, this sweltering atmosphere encourages a side-trackment that is unique to the summer months. Or perhaps, it is simply that the absence of school, and deadlines, and hours specifically allotted to a specific task promote radical flexibility. I'm partial to the first option - it sounds more philosophical, but because of that very fact the second one is probably the more accurate suggestion.

And so, though I have moderately diverted from my intentioned summer plans {drawing, cooking, poetry, story-writing} which I had created with great detail and arranged with such care during Biology 2401 in the spring - that class was tryingly dry - I find myself doing one thing consistently everyday. Several times everyday. Reading.

To myself. To mom. To Griff. To myself again. And some days I'm read to {Dr. Suess anyone?} by a budding bibliomaniac - ok, so he is only 7 years old.

And yet, I'm digressing...side-trackment becomes quite a habit, I find.

To myself I'm reading . . .
Be the People - review coming. Seriously.
Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts has literally sent my mind reeling. Oh, the winsome beauty that can be born into being by the scratch of the pen. It's been said that a picture is worth a thousand words - with Ann it seems the opposite is true.
Uncompromising by Hannah Farver - it arrived via USPS during the lunch hour. I'm nearly finished. Not with lunch, with the book, that is. It will certainly be reviewed. And if any of my girl-friends have birthdays coming up, that's what they're getting. It's that good. Honest.

To Mom I'm reading . . .
Death in the Clouds, by Agatha Christie. It's predictably perplexing. Intriguing all the same. We have a hunch that the American actor was the one who purchased the South American blowpipe and arranged the fatal aeroplane flight. But, knowing Christie, and, knowing my mom and myself, the murderer is probably the unassuming banana-eating mystery writer, Mr. Clancy. Oh, well.

To Griff I'm reading . . .
Cruel as the Grave. I'm a fan-favorite of the author, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte {E.D.E.N.} Southworth. She was Harriet Beecher Stowe's contemporary, becoming one of the most-read authors of the late 19th century. I personally view her as the Mother of Soap Operas or Chick-Lit, with some gothic undertones thrown in. Murder, romance, politics, disgraced nobility, estranged wives, heroic youths are Mrs. Southworth's pet elements. But she pulls it off gracefully, and always with a nod to the Gospel message.

And in between this, the little boy-budding-reader may let me hear a few pages of the Cat in the Hat. But usually not without some tears on his part. But, I digress.