So...not much really to say. It's chilly here this morning and, as much as I like cooler weather and am glad to have spring linger, I have to say it could be just a touch warmer. I think it was 62 degrees (Fahrenheit) in the house this morning and that makes it sort of hard to get out from under the warm covers.
Poor ole Rachel seems to have inherited her father's sleep problems, though his didn't start until later in life. She's having a lot of trouble sleeping. No fun when you have to get up for an 8 am class every morning. Of course, as Mother, I am convinced that it is something I did or didn't do that is causing this. Sigh.
And yay! We have a three-day weekend coming up. I hope to get to the yarn shop. Mr. Pointy Sticks hopes to sleep. (See previous paragraph.)
Though none of them are really grabbing my attention, I thought I'd at least throw the three titles I'm working on on the list over there.
First off, there's The Name of the Wind. This is supposed to be a great fantasy...and it does seems pretty well written. But when the story is the tale of a mysterious young man's fight against terrible evil, it sort of takes some of the punch out of the story of the young man's early years to have that story narrated by that same man in later years. I mean, we know he lives long enough to tell the tale. I am assuming, perhaps incorrectly, that sometime before the book ends we will catch up to the time of the tale-telling and then move forward into uncertainty. But meanwhile...sort of lacks any great narrative tension. (Oy. I see there's a sequel out...or soon to be out (I didn't check the date)....so it's going to be one of those...)
Then there's Robert Wilson's The Blind Man of Seville. I like Wilson's books set in Africa a lot. This one, set (obviously) in Spain, seems to have less humor. I am slowly getting into it. I read another chapter or two last night during dinner and it's picking up a little.
Finally, Driving With Dead People, a memoir. Narrator has requisite dysfunctional childhood, a best friend who is the daughter of the town's funeral director...it's okay so far.
But really...nothing's thrilling me. Maybe I need to start book number four.
Edited....because The Daughter reminds me that I have a collection of Flannery O'Connor stories next to my chair and I sip on those from time to time. All these years I would have sworn that I had read "A Good Man Is Hard To Find." But I read it a week or so ago and nope, I would have remembered it...