Can't believe it's been so long since my last post. Will have to try to make up for my laziness. Well, not laziness. Just been too busy. Now that the leftovers are in the ice box and I'm too wired from running full tilt boogie to sleep, I can take a break and do some writing. This is a good place to start.
So, Jimmie Johnson (who gives a male child the name of 'Jimmie'?) has taken his fourth Cup title in a row, a new record. Give the guy (and especially his crew chief, Chad Knaus) major kudos, and then figure out how to beat him. Let's see hard, hard racing next year, not this cruising around making points to get into the Chase, the only ten races that really count.
The Christmas rush isn't going to be such a rush, if retailers are correct in their predictions. About time. Let's cut out all this uber-gift giving mania. As a child with a November birthday, I remember hoarding every birthday cash gift so I could buy gifts for Christmas. Never bought myself a present. It was the whole idea of giving that I loved. No gift was very expensive, because I didn't have the means, but each was lovingly chosen, and I'd augment them with something homemade. If I'm not making a Christmas gift, it just isn't Christmas for me. I was bereft when my children outgrew their American Girl dolls, and I wasn't stitching up doll dresses on Christmas eve.
I'm re-reading Tony Hillerman and catching up on some James Lee Burke I missed. How I'll miss Tony Hillerman. And Kate Duffy, who really cared about books and their authors.
Now, it's back to work. The house is quiet, everyone will sleep late, and the book is half-done.