I read the post while I was in our home office. The nearest book, strictly speaking, was a catalog from Japanese plumbing fixture company Toto. Page 123 features a serene looking vessel, whose function was not immediately apparent. (Turns out it was a bidet. A Gorgeous bidet. Why are the Japanese so concerned with making bodily functions luxurious? There’s probably some grant money out there, just waiting for me to study this cultural phenomena. But I digress…)
The next nearest book was not my book. It was “Your Favorite Seuss”, a compilation of Dr. Seuss stories that my 4 year-old is completely enamored of right now. The entry on page 123 was a part of “The Cat in The Hat”:
“And he said to us,
‘Why do you sit there like that?’
‘I know it is wet
And the sun is not sunny.
But we can have
Lots of good fun that is funny!'”
That cat is speaking to me today.
But the nearest book that actually belonged to me was “Love, Again” by Doris Lessing. I haven’t read it yet; I just received it as a gift the other day. Here’s what Doris had to say:
“On Friday, the music arrived, in the shape of a counter-tenor and three girls and the musicians. The instruments were a guitar, a flute, a lute, a shawm, and a viola – the vielle of other times. The play, which without the music had been ‘too much’, ‘over the top’, ‘pastiche’, and ‘a weepy’ – this last was Bill, when thoughtfully passing Kleenex to Molly – changed, distancing itself from tears.”
(I’m not ashamed to admit I had to look 2 of those words up.)
Doris Lessing is downright inspiring. I hadn’t heard of her before she won the Nobel Prize last year. I think I like her.
I will not be tagging anyone. I don’t actually know enough people with blogs to keep an effective chain going. Sorry. What can I say, once a wallflower….