I wrote a book one time. They say the process is akin to having a baby in that it’s a long time in coming, and after it appears, it takes on a life of its own. It’s true. Now mine has its own Facebook page. If you’ve read or want to read the book, you might go over there and ‘like’ it and see the bits and pieces that appear there.
My sister and I moved into a flat in town last Sat. This country mouse is getting used to waking up to sirens on the road and in the parking lot, and walking to school while the town is waking up. Actually, it’s not as loud and bustling as it could be and I’ve yet to meet any of our neighbors in the stairwell. (There are either 8 flights of 9 steps or 9 flights of 8 steps; I can’t remember, but Nate knows because he counted, probably when he was carrying up our boxes.)
The mom of my little boy student just now gave me a fresh ginger root. I don’t know why she did, but I’m grateful.
Our new flat has its walls covered with shelves of 4,000 English books. Yes, for real. I can’t believe it either.
Scarves are autumns’ compensations for needing to pack up summers’ sandals.
There are blogs and books with flamboyant, gushy lingo. They talk about yummy lighting and amazing food and stylish decorations. This one doesn’t, and does it seem that I care? This post was to be 7 quick takes, but it’s going to be 6.