We had some major thunderstorms move through here this afternoon...just as we were driving home from work, which made the commute both slow and impressive, what with all the lightning zapping around. And of course, the electrickery was off when we got home. It goes out at the drop of a hat on our side of the street. Meanwhile, neighbors on the other side of the street (Hi, Maureen!) are merrily cooking dinner and watching tv and cruising the Internet. So Mr. Pointy Sticks and I went out to dinner. Still dark when we got home, but just as it was beginning to get too dark to read in the house, power was restored. Hurrah.
And now I can't remember what I was going to write about....I'd swear I had something in mind.
My brother and his sweetie are out in Seattle for a week. Lucky them. My brother said they will be going to that Japanese bookstore whose name I always screw up. And he's going to check for Japanese knitting books for me. I told him to concentrate on stitch pattern books rather than sweater patterns, so we'll see what he comes up with.
Surely that wasn't what I was going to write about. Oh well, if it comes to me, I'll be back.
I read The House at Riverton, and now I sort of resent the time I spent reading it. It wasn't a bad book, per se. Just...all been done before. Sort of leaves a used taste in your mouth.
Now I've started Jim Crace's The Pesthouse, which is, so far, good. And I read, as a sort of amuse bouche before starting it, Lois Lowry's The Willoughbys, which was amusing and would be perfect for the cynical child in your life. Filled with despicable parents, an odious nanny who turns out to be not so odious after all, a foundling, a runaway...lots of good stuff and a quick and amusing read. It's written with a snarkiness that is amusing and seems less heavy-handed than the snarkiness of the Unfortunate Events books, which never grabbed me. I think The Willoughbys has less of a smug, aren't I being clever sort of tone.