Sick Daze

cold

Not me. My kids. Two of them are wandering around the house in various states of moan. Nobody is vomiting–this is what luck feels like. They ache, they leak, they cough, and they remind me of sweet, listless zombies. Poor dears.

The house feels small and tight, not because of sick zombie children but because of snow banks. Look out the kitchen window at the front yard and you need to crane your neck slightly to see over the mound of snow to the street. Look out the back and you’ll be confronted by a porch full of the white stuff (we really should shovel that off) that renders the back yard invisible. We are being slowly buried. There are tunnels that lead us to the driveway, and we discovered last weekend that we could exit via Barno’s bedroom window and jump off the porch roof if we need to escape (or just for fun, as you do on a Saturday afternoon) but downstairs it does feel like we’re animals in holes, waiting for a spring that might not come.

And it’s cold. I went for a run yesterday, out of desperation, and oh, it was bitter.

Apparently, the Grand Canyon is in Arizona. We are thinking of going there for April vacation, which is a mere six weeks away. We are not the kind of people who plan well. But at least now I know what state we’re aiming for.

Is it warm in Arizona in April? Will we be able to stand outside without hunching our shoulders and wincing? Will there be T-shirts and sandals? A desire for salads? Will I have to pull my hair back so the wind can find my neck? Because to hell with scenic vistas and educational sightseeing. I just want to feel not cold for a couple of days.

I think I’ll make a chicken pie. It’s been a while since I made a chicken pie. The older I get, the less I like to cook. But chicken pie–that’s a perfect meal for the cold tonight. And I know at least one kid likes it.

Stay warm, dear ones.

 

Book Woes

snow

I’m reading a very terrible book. It’s a review book, so I can’t tell you what it is or who wrote it. I can’t even warn you not to waste your time! Not yet, anyway. But please know, I am suffering for the sake of readers everywhere. I am taking on the unpleasant task of slogging through these burdensome pages so that you don’t have to! Rejoice!

What kills me especially is that I have a stack of books, lovely hardcovers, that I got for Christmas, and the heartbroken looks on their pristine spines is nearly too much to take. “It’s not you!” I want to reassure them. “It’s me! I have to meet this deadline and earn my fifty bucks so I can buy more of you!” Not that they aren’t enough to keep me reading for a month, maybe two, but there’s always room for more. Poor new books. They’re just going to have to wait another couple days.

My book addiction waxes and wanes. I’m always reading, but I go long periods of time, we’re talking years, without buying. I have libraries, bookseller friends, review copies, and a life’s worth of previous purchases to keep me in words long after I’m dead. Some people do drugs, I do books.

But this time of year is tricky. After all that holiday shopping, I’m in the buying mode. My credit card just slides so easily out of my wallet. And T has ensemble rehearsal in Hanover every Saturday this month, and what does one do to while away the time while one waits for one’s child to be done with rehearsal? Why, one heads to the bookstore right down the street.

And these writers, these lovely writers, keep writing more books! If they would just pause for a year, I could catch up.

I know, I know, these are not real problems. Some people can’t read at all. Some people can’t afford food, never mind books. I should read my terrible book and be grateful I have eyes. Sigh. Fine.

But let me tell you, as soon as I’m done, as soon as I’ve written 225 words about the terribleness of this book, I am going to read five really good books in a row. So there.