Thanksgiving Day is approaching, to me, at the speed of light. Bloody hell...next week already! This year I am taking it easy and having it catered. All I have to do is pick it up the night before from Mimi's Cafe
and heat it up. So yay for that!
So first I want to say that November 11, 2007 was Hubby and my 12th year wedding anniversary. I love you very much and I can't believe we've put up with each other for so long! We did celebrate the anniversary by going on vacation to Vermont last month, so the actual celebration day was pretty low key. We went to Panera w/ the kids for lunch. Luckily (for who you can guess) there was a Lowe's Hardware store conveniently located next door. I zipped in and did my "ohhoneyweneedtoredothekidsbathroomletsjustpickupsomestuff" spiel, and we picked out new tile, paint and such. Hubby was "persuaded" to redo the kids bathroom this week, ripping out the old carpeting and lino and retiling and repainting the whole shebang a cool sea blue
And completely off the subject, but makes for interesting reading
, "Is Raising Kids a Fool's Game?" "Child rearing is fast becoming a sucker's game. Though the psychic rewards remain, the economic returns to individual parents have largely disappeared, while the cost of parenthood is soaring."
Switching subjects again, here's an interesting confession: I started reading romances back in high school and have been a devoted fan ever since. I think it greatly influenced my view of relationships. The man of my dreams would be a strong hero with a sensitive side, to be there and we would have be the perfect couple. Of course every guy I had a crush on was the perfect guy, noble, ideal, could do no wrong, but when it turned out they weren't, I was like...I don't get it...and then later...oh you mean sex can be done in other ways besides the missionary position described in my beloved romances? But I digress. Suffice to say that after 20 some odd years of reading romances, I AM NOW READY TO MOVE ONTO THE MYSTERY SECTION OF THE BOOKSTORE. This seriously is huge for me. So I did it. I found a book of the mystery genre and I BOUGHT IT AND AM READING IT. AND HERE IT IS:In The Woods
has gotten good reviews and Tana French is an Irish writer (another thing in its favor for me). Publisher's Weekly
notes: "Irish author French expertly walks the line between police procedural and psychological thriller in her debut. When Katy Devlin, a 12-year-old girl from Knocknaree, a Dublin suburb, is found murdered at a local archeological dig, Det. Rob Ryan and his partner, Cassie Maddox, must probe deep into the victim's troubled family history. There are chilling similarities between the Devlin murder and the disappearance 20 years before of two children from the same neighborhood who were Ryan's best friends. Only Maddox knows Ryan was involved in the 1984 case. The plot climaxes with a taut interrogation by Maddox of a potential suspect, and the reader is floored by the eventual identity and motives of the killer. A distracting political subplot involves a pending motorway in Knocknaree, but Ryan and Maddox are empathetic and flawed heroes, whose partnership and friendship elevate the narrative beyond a gory tale of murdered children and repressed childhood trauma."
Here is an excerpt:
Picture a summer stolen whole from some coming-of-age film set in small-town 1950s. This is non of Ireland's subtle seasons mixed for a connoisseu's palate, watercolor nuances within a pinch-sized range of cloud and soft rain; this is ummer full-throated and extravagant in a hot pure silkscreen blue. This summer explodes on your tongue tasting of chewed blades of long grass, your own clean sweat, Marie biscuits with butter squirting through the holes and shaken bottles of red lemonade picknicked in tree houses. It tingles on your skin with BMX wind in your face, ladybug feet up your arm; it packs every breath full of mown grass and billlowing wash lines; it chimes and fountains with birdcalls, bees, leaves and football-bounces and skipping chants, One! two! three! This summer will never end. It starts every day with a shower of Mr. Whippy notes and your best friend's knock at the door, finishes it with long slow twilight and mothers silhouetted in doorways calling you to come in, through the bats shrilling among the black lace trees. This is Everysummer decked in all its best glory...
Move closer, follow the three children scrambling over the thin membrane of brick and mortar that holds the wood back from the semi-ds...
...These children will not be coming of age, this or any other summer. this August will not ask them to find hidden reserves of strength and courage as the confront the complexity of the adult world and come away sadder and wiser and bonded for life. This summer has other requirements for them.