Remember Me?

After spending 2 days with trashy magazines, I knew I had to have a book! I decided to simply grab a paperback to tide me over until my book order arrived in the mail. The selection at CVS pharmacy was slim to say the least, but Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella seemed the least offensive to me.
I am not really into chick lit, but this was kind of funny and had a nice happy ending. It certainly did the job it was intended to do for me: it killed a little time on the Metro, it made me giggle ...
.... it had a sunflower on the cover.
I don't know!
It's a cheesy Sunday afternoon movie of a book and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it ... but slightly embarrassed to say I did!

Peace by Richard Bausch

I felt cold for the better part of a week. As the city was pelted by a never-ending, almost icy rain, I read Peace by Richard Bausch. I felt wet and cold and miserable due to both. I dragged myself up an Italian mountain with three American soldiers in the winter of 1944. I felt the rain on my face. I felt the snow slide down the back of my neck. I felt as angry as they felt. I felt as fearful as they felt. As guilty, as uncertain, as insane. I did not, however, feel Peace.

Disco Brunch

Sitting in the autumn sun, listening to groovy disco tunes from the seventies and sipping on a bottomless Mimosa with the remains of Ahhhhhh Freak Out! French Toast on my plate, I laughed delightfully with strangers.
Yesterday was one of those delicious little surprises Life serves up occasionally.
A lazy Sunday afternoon in Dupont Circle.
New friends with delightful tales to tell.
Petting dogs and exchanging numbers.
Laughing and feeling warm.
These are the things that make one want to leave the comforts of home and take a bite out of Life.
These are the good times.

The Well and The Mine by Gin Phillips

The Well and The Mine is a well-written, rather anticlimactic, little tale of one mining family in Depression Era Alabama. I enjoyed reading this story which allowed me to fondly reminisce about my own childhood.... jumping in a pile of leaves, swimming in a stream. While I certainly didn’t grow up during the Depression, I can appreciate a simpler, and simultaneously, more difficult time. There is an envious curiosity and innocence to any childhood, and this author’s writing style readily took me there.
The Well and The Mine didn’t change my life or anything, but it was an easy, enjoyable read.

In Cheyenne

In the late eighties, I met my bestest best friend in the whole wide world! We both found ourselves stationed in Cheyenne Wyoming after wonderful, fun-filled, glorious years in Europe. We formed an immediate bond and we began writing songs together. He is an amazing musician and poet and I gladly went along for the ride. Some beautiful pieces of inspiration came from our partnership, and we actually came up with some pretty good songs.
And then there was this!
We decided we should write a boot-scootin’ countrified piece of garbage in honor of our new home: Cheyenne. Enjoy!


In Cheyenne

Male voice:
When I left you in Cheyenne
You were pregnant and afraid
Your teeth were still in braces
And your hair hair was in a braid
Then I went off to Texas
Breakin’ broncos in a show
And you stayed back in Cheyenne
Just a’watchin’ my babies grow

Together:
Ohhhh whoaaaa
Just watchin’ them babies grow
Ohhhh whoaaaa
Just watchin’ ‘em grow ....
..... in Cheyenne

Female voice:
But that was fourteen years ago
The kids are almost grown
Molly done had a baby
And LeRoy’s on his own
I turned twenty eight today
I’m feelin’ old and frail
Molly’s kids are cryin’
And LeRoy’s back in jail

Together:
Ohhhh whoaaaa
Just watchin’ them babies grow
Ohhhh whoaaaa
Just watchin’ ‘em grow ...
... in Cheyenne

Female spoken word:
C’mon Robert Earl
Why did you leave me
What’s there in Texas
That there ain’t in Cheyenne
Them broncos don’t love you
Likes the way I do
C’mon back where you belong ...
.... in Cheyenne



(Give us enough beer and we might even sing it for you!)

The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

When I was nineteen and the whole world spread out before me like a banquet for the starving, I lived in Spain for a couple of years. Spain always seemed old to me, and I absolutely adored that. I was a little punk at the time and wandering the antique streets made me feel old and new synchronously. Each street seemed like a secret passageway to me and I was extremely curious. I liked stumbling into an old theatre, for example, and finding a dance party going on. Or opening the crumbling doors of an abandoned department store and finding Spandau Ballet doing a couple of sets.
Spain, and most of Europe, was a magical place to me, and my memories go far beyond mere fondness. So, I was excited to read The Angel’s game because it takes place in Barcelona’s old quarter and, physically, it is a lovely book. I liked returning to Spain, albeit briefly, and I really liked the look of the book! I liked carrying it around! And, for the first two thirds of the book, I liked reading it.
The author, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, writes well. My copy of the book is dog-eared over and over again with pages filled with clever sentences or descriptions. And I found myself enjoying the twisting turns in plot like those old twisting streets of Spain that I loved so many years ago.
I was giddy with all the literature, poetry, and passion of this story and was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of meeting Lucifer Himself.
Eventually, however, I realized that I was loving the bits and pieces of The Angel’s Game much more than I loved the whole story.
The author describes the hell out of a room or a street, but skims over important events and characters. I found that a little irritating, in all honesty.
I didn’t hate The Angel’s Game, but I really was disappointed with the final third of the book. Sometimes I am sad when I finish a book because I don’t want it to be over. I want to know more .... I’ve become attached. But I was sad when I finished this book because I just didn’t love it as much as I had hoped I would.