I'm going to a Hugo House event tonight, and am wishing that I had told you about it earlier! I meant to do that yesterday, but the day just got away from me. I was doing laundry and watching Batman Begins (so much better than I thought it would be, but then, I didn't expect much... I am glad that Maggie Gyllenhaal has replaced Katie Holmes for the next one though) and you know how you can get lost in laundry. Anyway, I'll be giving you more notice for these events in the future. Like how in November we all need to go see Brian read at Cheap Wine and Poetry because I said so.
Right now I'm getting my keyboard stained with raspberry juice - it's Farmers Market day on Queen Anne Hill and my fingers are always pink those days. Seriously I can hardly put down the berries long enough to write the next sentence. I always get a crepe there too, even though me trying to eat a crepe while I walk around is a little ridiculous. But don't we all go to the Farmers Market in order to feel a little French, with our sandals and string bags, admiring the pretty carrot tops fluffing out of bags like leafy green boas and the boys selling produce who look they might have had their hands in the actual dirt at some point in the last week. At least, it's a nice fantasy.
Now I'm torn - a nap? Read the book I'm supposed to be 60 pages into? I've got a new book club. A book club of two, the Barista Book Club. In case you didn't know it, Andy is a big reader. I gave him Tim Winton's excellent book, the Turning, a while back and was extra pleased when he actually read it. How often does that happen, that you recommend a book to someone and they read it? Anyway, I bullied him into letting me read a book with him, and guess what he chose? You never will. He chose Man's Search for Meaning, by Viktor Frankl. I love that kid. Smart, good-looking and sweet as raspberries from the Farmers Market.
Yeah, I better go read.