Snapshots

Moments of bliss from the past week...

Saturday weather roll the windows down perfect, with a frappaccino in the cupholder, the miseducation of lauryn hill blasting through the car speakers, and a long stretch of highway ahead.

Stimulating conversation at the Steak and Shake at 11:30 pm and nothing to rush away to except sleep.

Having your room bumped up to the preferred guest floor...expecting to walk into a smallish double bed scenario and instead opening the door to a king sized bed, kitchen, sitting room...

Falling asleep and staying asleep until your body is rested enough to wake up all on its own...getting up and making coffee, then taking it back to bed with a book.

Showering, dressing, applying make up....taking sweet, precious time.

Strolling through the mall, catching a movie...the easy life.

Rushing to the front door to see a two year old grin and say "Mama mama mama daddy daddy!" and say, can I have a hug?, and he says 'no.' But hug him anyways and grab the baby who slobbers all over you and you know you're home.

Driving the hour and a half road back to the home address with a small to-go pizza in the front seat, Friends in the DVD player, and the kids asleep in their car seats.

Two days off to play in the sunshine...

and back to work. But work is just fine because I started my three days of business off with a trip to the library...
Yesterday I read Quinlin's Estate, by David Ryan Long (author of faithinfiction.blogspot.com)...it's so suspensful that you cannot help but devour it. Today I have read F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, finally. It left me unsatisfied. I didn't need a happy ending, per se...just all of the characters fully developed. I guess that's one sign of a good book...to keep wondering about the characters after the conclusion of the novel, but it's kind of annoying in my brain where I already have enough voices living. Ha ha.
I've started Tolstoy's War and Peace. So far, so good...
It's pretty overwhelming to attempt to read all of the 'classics'. It's not a small category...and today I read a list of the best 100 novels since 1923, as decided by the Times critics. It is appalling how few of those I have read. So after the Russian authors, we move on to that list. Because even though it is a list based on their opinions, that 100 is obviously comprised of influential works. I wish that I could get snowed in at the library.

And there we are.