War and Peace

For the past three weeks I've been reading War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Last night I finished. It was hard to put down and I'm a fast reader, but 1358 pages take awhile.

As much as I love reading, the thought of writing book reviews makes me cringe. I will report, though, that a fair amount of time was spent deciding which translation of the book to read. I finally chose Briggs' owing to my inability to read French*, and was overall pleased except for two glaring distractions: the British slang of the Russian soldiers, and the speech impediment given to Denisov.

I look forward to reading at least one more translation. Even after 1358 pages, I wasn't ready for it to end.

*Yes, it was written in Russian but it includes French dialogue, which some translations retain.

Fifth Grade

This morning our fifth grader began her official tour of duty. So far, so good. There were friends in her class, the lunch was edible and, best of all, her new teacher gave each student gifts: a silly band, a mechanical pencil, a bookmark, and a juice box. What more could a girl want?

I'm reminded of my own fifth grade teacher a few (many) years ago who absolutely did not lavish gifts on our class. She had already taught way too long to be pleasant. She wasn't nurturing, she didn't appreciate humor, and she was married to the principal.

I'm happy Cambryn is excited about her teacher. I'm happy she gets so excited over a silly band, mechanical pencil, bookmark and juice box! Thanks, Mrs. Marlin. We should all be so lucky.

Driver's License

I went to get my driver's license renewed last week. I waited in line, I checked the organ donor box, I updated my "weight" to something I could honestly weigh if I just wouldn't eat, I waited some more, and then I took my turn in the chair, faced the camera and tried not to blink.

The camera flashed. My eyes stayed open (quite an accomplishment, if you've never taken my picture). And then the entire system crashed.

Yeah, entire. I didn't just break the camera, I broke the whole state-driver's-license computer system.

The tag agent politely assured me again and again that this had never happened before, which consoled me none whatsoever. Thank God I had fixed my hair and worn some makeup or else the whole building might have blown up.

I waited 15 long minutes while workers flipped switches and pushed buttons and cursed until the system recovered. Then we had to start all over again. Organ donor, check. The weight I would love to be, check. Eyes open for the flash, check. Scattered applause from everyone in line behind me as I was handed my license, check. Don't have to do that again for another four years, CHECK.

Me, Myself and I at Fifty

If life begins at forty, I'm now ten years old.

Namaste

Don't you just hate it when you have to pause your yoga workout to open a jar of pickles for someone?

Maybe it's just me.

Thanks for Reminding Me

I forgot I had a blog.