March book summary at last

Dad's situation is the same. We are hanging in.

I've done 5 loads of laundry today, and went to the library for a return and a pick up, and cleaned the kitchen at least partially. (How did I not clean up anything this week? And not notice? Was I subconsciously expecting elves to come in and take care of it or something?)

I vacuumed the rug in the living room that really shows that a long-haired cat lives here now. I talked to my mother, my brother, a friend ... and circulation services for the local paper, who were inquiring if I planned to pay the bill they sent. I've had weeks go by without this much time on the phone, not that I'm complaining (except about the paper; I'll pay the damn bill, stop sending the paper until I do if you want to, just leave me alone).

I watched a parade of Little Leaguers go by: fire truck, police car, lone bagpiper (really), and lots of little kids and their families headed to the ball field. That was unexpected.

I've been meaning to get to it for some time, and yet here it is the 18th of the month and I'm only just getting to my monthly book summary. Whatever have I been doing instead? Ha.

The most interesting thing I noticed about the numbers of books I read in March this year is that it's exactly the same as March of last year. Total 10, 5 new, 5 re-reads, 5 from the library. What are the odds of that happening? Pretty small, I would imagine.

Some of the books I read:


This was my favorite of the month. I've liked Jan Burke since Goodnight, Irene came out lo, these many moons ago (really, how well do you remember what you read in 1993?), but this book was impressive in a whole different way. Throwing a little supernatural into the well-written, well-plotted mix is one way to my heart.


Need was ... interesting. Well written. But somehow, it was so believably "of this world" to me that when the supernatural came in, it was jarring. I enjoyed reading it, but there was an odd aftertaste.


I'm very fond of Jacqueline Winspear and her Maisie Dobbs novels, and this was quite good. It's somewhat harshly realistic about post-war life in England, but never feels voyeuristic or crass. I think I'd like Maisie; I wonder if she'd like me?


My biggest question about this one was, why did he wait so long to write it? A detailed, "I was there and this is what I saw" account of the making of "Life of Brian" released 30 years later? Why?

That aside, if you're a big fan of Monty Python, and liked (or loved) "Life of Brian", this behind-the-scenes stuff is very enjoyable. I just still wonder about the lapse.

Other than these, I re-read a few of Charlaine Harris' Sookie books, and Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers, and These Happy Golden Years by Laura Ingalls Wilder. A shrink would have a field day, don't you think?