I went to the library today, to pick up my reserve book, Ha'penny, and to check out a better copy of Exodus, and I totally fell off the wagon. I got To Say Nothing of the Dog, about which I know next to nothing, but which I'd like to read. Also, Kris is reading it, so I thought we could read along together.
I got Till We Have Faces, which struck me on a whim once while I was roaming the shelves, and which Becky extols. I got Giraffe, which I've been interested in since, again, Kris read it. That's about it, but they're all long hardcovers, so that's like 30 pounds of books. And now that I've broken the seal, I think I'm going to get some kids' books at the school library tomorrow. I'm thinking maybe Caddie Woodlawn, which won the Newbery Award in the '60s, and then maybe Princess Academy, which I'd never heard of but shelved the other day.
I'm not ready for any more A Series of Unfortunate Events books right now; they're not as depressing as they sound, but they're not exactly upbeat, either. And it frustrates me how nobody ever listens to the kids complain that Count Olaf really is after them. But it still reassures me that the school library has them all--easy access.
But oh, it felt so good to stride purposefully through the library and snag things off the shelves. It was so satisfying. I imagine this is what skiing is like for people who, you know, ski. The wind in your face, gravity pulling you, the thrill of being acted on by forces greater than you. Swish!