Swamped

OK, it's pretty near official.......I am starting to feel swamped.  Oh, I know, I always seem to feel that way.  Too much to do and not nearly enough time to get it done in.  Or, just plain lack of total know-how on how to get it done.

Not talking about work, although that is a small piece of the swamp I'm mired in. I manage to get work taken care of.  After all, I need my job......and I enjoy it.

 No, it's the stuff of daily living.  I feel like I just can't handle it all any more. I feel like my psyche is wanting to skid to a dead stop, throw up its hands, and say, "I surrender."  But I can't do that. It's not like I constantly work at it.......no, I spend a good bit of time each day staring at piles of stuff to be done, both literal and figurative piles.  It seems impossible to make a start, and the piles just get bigger, of course.

And don't many people feel just that way?  Like life keeps throwing curve balls just when things seem almost on an even keel, like the details just keep adding up?  (I'm mixing metaphors with the best of them!)

How do you combat the numbness?  How do you fight that feeling of helplessness, like you just can't keep your head above water any longer?  Is it age starting to defeat me?  Is it simply that I've crossed the 60-year barrier and I'm just plain tired?

More, at another time.......too much to do to continue at the moment. And I can't stop now.

Who Knows Where the Time Goes

I am a little tired of people asking me if I am “enjoying my retirement.”  I know they mean well.  I would love to answer, simply, “Yes, of course!”  But frankly, retirement feels pretty much like working.

I know we should have planned for how we were going to live out our retirement.  We thought we had more time to think about things, to pull everything together into a neat, workable package.  But it didn’t work out that way for us.  Health issues got in our way, and we both retired sooner than we had planned.  Believe me when I tell you, when that happens, retirement bites you….. back (I decided not to use the familiar idiom, as my language has been pretty “clean” all my life, but you can read between the lines.)

Every time I see one of those ubiquitous commercials about “diversifying your portfolio,”  I could scream.  Most people in our immediate experience don’t  have “portfolios.”  They are doing well if their paychecks stretch from month to month.  I know there are folks out there who have done a better job of managing resources.  They have been careful about what some would call “frivolous” spending.  They have managed to put aside a nest egg.

But I am afraid, in our family, the enjoyment of life’s simple pleasures has eaten away at our resources.  Going to movies, listening to music, and reading books and magazines all cost money.  Eating out, not necessarily at expensive establishments, has further chipped away at our money.  Food at home has been of a good quality……lots of fruit and veggies and whole grains coupled with lean meats and seafood  takes a financial toll.  But hey, I’m Cajun and Bob just appreciates good food.  No bologna and white bread for us.  Call us weak, and we have to admit, yes, we have been a bit self-indulgent in some ways.

But we never, ever took our family on a “vacation.”  We never made the pilgrimage to Disney World.  We watched other families go…..to the mountains, to the beach, overseas…..and felt a bit of awe that they could afford it all.  Our children apparently grew up none the worse for missing out on such excursions.  They traveled to Disney World with the school band, or took a trip to the Huntsville Space Center with the gifted group.  Our two eldest lived with us in Elkhart, Indiana for two weeks in two summers, and got to visit places like Shipshewana and Goshen.  That counts, I guess, as a kind of “vacation.”  We were taking seminary classes, so it didn’t really feel that recreational on our end.

Bob retired because of long-term side effects of a Whipple procedure.  When they removed his pancreas and parts of other things and requilted his digestive system, there were physical results that don’t show up until years later.  Since no one expects patients like Bob to still be around years later, no one really knows what to do with these side effects. So, he quit teaching several years before he intended.

Without blaming any specific people, I have to say that the stress of teaching in an environment dominated by testing paranoia finally took its toll on my body and mind.  I, too, retired several years earlier than planned.  Only a few weeks after retiring, I landed in the hospital with a serious bout of ischemic cholitis.  I was very, very ill, and finally had the explanation for the constant sickness that made me miss so much school that final semester. 

My part-time work at The Meridian Star is mostly enjoyable……mostly, I say, because it is still, after all, work.  It helps to pay for our health insurance, which takes more than half of my retirement check each month.  It is a great blessing, but I don’t really consider myself “retired” yet.  God has been gracious in placing me in a work environment where I feel appreciated and valued, and where my skill set is useful.  I came into this job knowing zilch about it, really, and my colleagues have helped me all along the way to get the job done.  We’ve even had some fun doing it.

I’m not sure where all this rambling is headed.  I keep feeling proddings to write about life, about growing old, about what is lost and what is gained from living.  I am not sure what to do with these proddings, but I thought I’d let my fingers follow my thoughts and see where they led today……

Don't like this new look.....

I haven't been here in quite a while......a lot has been going down.
To start with, after having two really fantastic days with the NIE book sale and participation in the Downtown Art Crawl, I had to go into the hospital with another ischemic cholitis attack.  My really sweet colleagues at work plus two outside volunteers conducted the last day of the book sale for me, a kindness I can never repay.

I was in danger of having a piece of my colon taken out, but the docs felt I could continue to try to heal naturally.  If I have another attack within the next 6 months, though, they'll go in and do that.  To tell you the truth, when I saw the colonoscopy pictures of the ulcerated portion, I kind of wanted them to go in and yank it out now.....I am fearful of a perforated bowel, which would be a life-threatening event.  But everyone seems confident that we an handle this without surgery. 

To complicate matters, I fell on my left side in the hospital room bathroom, on the hard tile floor.  My arm and hip just felt kind of banged up, and I assured everyone I was okay. When I got home, I pretty much did nothing for about a week, thanks to my patient and loving hubby.  But when I got back to work a  week later, my lft shoulder and arm began to get worse.  My range of motion was limited and there was a lot of pain.  Anderson's set me up with Dr. Durgin, and I'm doing PT for six weeks. 

I can't take NSAID's because of the ischemic condition, and lortab wasn't really doing the job, so I got a steroid shot in my shoulder yesterday.....on MY BIRTHDAY!  Today  there's a huge improvement in my arm and shoulder, but I am so fatigued.  After working only two hours, I felt exhausted.  I know I'm supposed to be resting, but we also need money to pay bill, get food, buy gas, etc.   So.  Here I am, planning a second book sale for early in June.

Nothing I've told you has anything to do with the new blogger format......I have nothing to say about that except I don't like it.  But I'm sure Google thinks it knows what it's doing.

I'll try to write a more upbeat post soon, so hang with me.

All You Single Ladies, and Everyone Else Too

The other day at work, I accidentally overheard a phone conversation in which one of my co-workers was trying to coordinate an intricate dance of chauffering jobs.  After she got off the phone, I asked her who was taking care of her.  She spent the next half hour telling me in intricate detail about her life, dealing with ex's, children, step-children, parents.....etc.  I gladly listened, because I could hear, behind her rather frenzied narrative, her desperation at having to do it all.
Where does she possibly find a way to carve out time from her overly busy day for herself?  Where can she go to find peace? Who can she turn to when she needs caring for......if she ever admits she needs it and tries to ask for it?
There are women all around you who are frantically multi-tasking, juggling home, work, marriage - or divorce - children, elderly parents, and heaven only knows what else. They have either not learned to delegate, or there is no one responsible enough in their life to delegate to.  Day after day, week after week, year after year these women struggle on, with far more plates spinning than the performers we used to watch in awe on old TV variety shows.
Is it any wonder that their plates begin to wobble?  Is it any wonder that doctors' offices are full of women seeking chemical help to enable them to have the focus and calm to keep carrying their loads?
It's easy for an outsider- particularly a man - to say, well, make them do things themselves. Don't enable your children's neglect of taking care of their own stuff. Don't enable your deadbeat husband by throwing up your hands and deciding it's easier to do it yourself than leave things to him, knowing they won't get done.
But women aren't wired like that.  They're wired to be the caretakers, the caregivers.
God blessed me with a man who tries his best to equalize the load. Yet even I carry around everybody's "stuff," worrying over this and that detail.  And my children are all grown!  Thank goodness they are, slowly but surely, insisting on assuming their own responsibilities, realizing they need to liberate me and get on with their lives. Yet, still I worry.
I wish I had the money to buy this co-worker a mini-vacation at a spa. I would like to see her feel pampered and utterly taken care of, her every need met.  But even after a couple of days of quiet, Swedish massages, great restaurant eating, and sinking off to blessed deep sleep on a deep, plush matress, she'd have to return to the treadmill of tension and time-juggling that is her life. And she has so many sisters.
I know men have a hard load to carry, too.  So many men feel they have to always be the strong one, but they are full of tension and pain and need  caring for as well.  Most of them would die rather than admit need.

How sad we all are. We medicate ourselves so we can keep going, doing too much, far more than we were built to handle at one time. We try to appear invincible, capable. It's in control. No worries, it'll all get taken care of. Somehow. I think God watches us and sadly shakes His head. He has a lot to teach us about living differently, if only we would stop a while and make a place in our day to be quiet and listen.

Art in the Park #1

Quitman's first annual Art in the Park was a huge success, from all indications.  I know Bob and I had a good time and sold more pottery than we dreamed. God really blessed us.  With Bobby and Jessica's help, we had a nice set-up with a canopy, and Bob had his wheel set up.  It was fun to watch folks watch him throw.....especially little kids.

 The opening group was the Quitman High School show choir and chorus, and they did a great job.  I got to hug several students I miss from last year.
We got to see some folks we hadn't seen in years, people who played important roles in our lives.


One example: Martha Hamrick, who was Emma's preschool teacher at the Quitman First Methodist pre-school.  She has fond memories of Emma, and we talked a good while. Another example: Rose Longwitz, DeeDee's and Bobb's choral teacher at Quitman High School.  And those are just two of the dozens of folks we got to reconnect with.

The weather was perfect......Mrs. Holloman, one of the main event coordinators, couldn't have possibly called up a more beautiful day. Earlier in the week, there were weather predictions of 50% chance of rain, but the only clouds in the sky were welcome ones that blocked the sun and brought occasional wisps of coolness.
The food vendors had delicious goodies......one church group from near Butler, Al, had delicious BBQ pork skins made fresh.  The Kettle Corn man was there, and I finally tasted some of that sweet-salty popcorn. I saw several funnel cake vendors, but I found the will to resist!  (Kinda wish I hadn't.)
I never got to walk around and see what the other vendors had for offer......that's my only regret.  Next year I'll make it a point to get around and see other booths.  We were pretty busy at ours, though, so I'm not complaining.
What a lovely way to introduce the community to the new Mary Carter Park in the center of the town.  I hope the powers that be can find other events to host there, because it's really a pleasant venue.
Special kudos to the Mount Hebron Baptist Church worship drama group......they performed very well, and were an excellent way to bring the event to its close. Talented young people who love the Lord treated the crowd to several small skits and some lovely singing with worship dance and pantomime.
If you missed out on going, you missed out on lots of fun and smiling faces. 

Red Clover Joy

On my way to work this morning, I saw the red clover peeping out all along the highway in patches here and there.  It's a small thing, so trivial, but the first sighting of red clover makes my heart sing!
I remember clearly, the first spring after we had moved to Mississippi, the first time I saw red clover.  I grew up with totally white clover, the kind little girls make "daisy chains" with.  At school recess, we would gather in the yard and pick and string up piles of white clover.  The scent of it; oh, such memories that brings back, of warm, humid days and green grass stains on skirts.
I did not know clover came in other colors!  I recall asking my neighbor what all those red wild flowers were.....lush carpets of them all along the road, in the neutral ground between lanes and along the roadside.  "Why, that's just clover," she said, laughing at my ignorance.  I was bowled over.
Now, the red clover is a special signal to me of the passing of the year.  Summer is just around the corner.  There are patches of white flowers too, which I guess are like dandelions, though they don't quite resemble the ones I grew up with.  And soon, the gentle hillsides along the road will be wearing patches of a lavendar, heather-like flower.
Red clover is here.....Mississippi spring is so wonderful, so magnificently colorful, a riot of nature's paintbrush, and the natives just think I'm a little crazy.  They don't see it with the same eyes as I do.
Louisiana has its own natural beauty.  The swamps near my home had cattails, lavender bulb plants whose name escapes me, yellow and white daisies and dandelions, Queen Anne's lace......but it seems to me I saw these most all the time.  They didn't just suddenly appear, as if by magic, because the season had changed.
Maybe I notice such things more as an adult than I did as a child.
I just know the red clover made me happy this morning. Magic.....God's paintbrush all over the roadside, and people just don't notice it.  What a shame.

My First Book Drive

When I set out to have a used book drive/sale to benefit the Newspaper in Education program at The Meridian Star, I had no concept of the backbreaking labor it would be to carry and shift boxes of books, and then sort through them, one by one.  Thank God for Terry in the mailroom, with his dollies, helping me to move carfuls of book boxes with nothing but a cheery word and smile during the process.  And the ladies in the "front" part of the paper help to carry bags and boxes that get dropped off up front.
The drive is only nine days old, and I can't count the number of books folks have donated.  I myself have a lot more to bring and add to the pile.
We have signed copies of books by local writers, including one of Homesick, a memoir by Sela Ward about growing up - and coming home - to Meridian. The members of The Mississippi Writers' Guild have been sending me signed copies of their works, and that is an exciting part of this whole process.
Some really antique books have shown up deep inside some of these boxes.  I have an 1850 mathematics text from some university in either Kentucky or Tennessee, and there are others.  I plan to do a bit of research before setting these vintage books out.
Many people, like me, come to a time in life when we feel ready to lighten the load of possessions we have carted around with us all our lives.  A time to let loose and let others share in what we've treasured. The books that really touch my heart are those with inscriptions: to Mama on her birthday, to Sally for Christmas......those kinds of things.  Eventually, all things must pass on.   It is a reminder of the short, transient nature of our life upon this earth.  We truly will take nothing with us but the bodies into which our souls were imbued.
I hope people come to our sale......not sure when exactly it will be yet.  The prices will be good, and I'd love to see us raise hundreds of dollars for our NIE program.  It all goes to get free newspapers into the hands of students.  God bless this work.

Wisteria and Our First Garden

Yesterday, I think, was my first good glimpse of a roadside full of wisteria.  The vines were carpeting an embankment.  I had caught a small glimpse or two of a stray purple cluster here and there a day or so before, but this was wisteria in its full glory.
The trees that line the country roads near my house will be festooned with wisteria garlands for a brief while.  If you blink, you may very well miss the splendor of nature's wild purple tailoring.
I drove down Poplar Springs Drive in Meridian yesterday, and saw spring in its full Mississippi glory.  Azaleas of every shade, white dogwoods, a few early roses peeking out between deep greenery, daffodils, the wisteria blossoms hanging everywhere......it was enough to make a body fall off the side of that winding street and wreck in a gulley!
One home had a delightful border of tiny flowers. I couldn't slow down enough to distinguish them, but it seemed like a mix of impatiens and marigolds and such.  You know, all those bright little annual bedding plants that pop up everywhere all of a sudden.
The first home we lived in when we moved to Mississippi had well-developed garden beds and trees and shrubbery.  We moved in August, and I don't remember much but the kudzu garden at the roadside edge of our hilltop property.  But when spring came, oh my goodness.  We had huge yellow roses growing up beside our chimney.  We had plum trees.....can you imagine?  And peach trees!  Oh, the boxes of peaches we picked that first season.  I went to the local farmer's coop and didn't know what I was doing, but I was so entranced by all the little bedding plants I bought a bunch and killed half of them before it was all through.  We did end up with some respectable-looking flower beds, though, by lucky accident.
Our neighbors asked us if we were going to plant a garden.  Well, why not, we thought.  Put seeds in the ground and up will come vegetables.  So we put in a big old garden, about the size of a small cottage!  We knew nothing about it.  We planted tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, yellow squash and zucchini,  We planted every variety of pepper plant we could find, because I liked the colors.
We tried to weed, at first, but then it just got away from us.  Ignorantly, we planted our squash eight inches apart.  (I can hear the laughter, but we honestly didn't know squash was supposed to be planted on little hills about three feet apart.)  Soon, our entire garden was like some gorgeous, wild jungle full of food!
We thrashed our way in every morning when the dew was on the plants, and brought in baskets of delicious vegetables.  My neighbor asked, will you "put up" your tomatoes and peaches?  Why not, I thought.  So we made a trip to Kirkland's Hardware and bought a huge enamel canning pot, jars, and a Ball book about canning.
We tried some of the recipes and canned jars of some lovely stuff called India sauce. We used our own fresh onions, jalapenos, tomatoes, and made fresh salsa.....I've never tasted the like ever again.  We canned tomatoes, peaches, banana peppers, tabasco peppers which looked like Christmas tree lights.
No one told me that peppers had to be handled with gloves, carefully.  I just plopped piles of jalapenos in the sink and started to work.  By nightfall, my hands were on living fire, and it was hard to breathe!  We learned the hard way about canning peppers, I can tell you.
None of the gardens we tried the following years ever produced like that first one.  We tried smaller gardens that we could do a better job of keeping weeded.  We planted things like we were supposed to.  But it was never the same.
When we moved into Quitman next to the Archusa Creek Park, we could not find a place on our property that would grow veggies.  The only spot would have been the front yard, and I didn't think our neighbors would care very much for a front yard vegetable garden.   I think the soil in our new place may have been too sandy.  After some half-hearted attempts at container gardening on the deck, we just threw up our hands and gave up.
But in my mind's eye, I can see the dew glistening off that first jungle garden just as the sun was up.  I can smell the fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, the damp earth, the sharp scent of the peppers.  I feel the grit in my shoes.  And I can taste that India sauce, those peach halves, that completely homemade salsa. What a treasure God gifted us with that first year.

Memories, Memories

I am busy sorting through hundreds of books that have been donated for our first NIE (Newspaper in Education) book sale in May.  It's back-breaking work, more than I anticipated, but enjoyable for a bibliophile like me.
One particular group of books has affected me deeply.  Someone, or maybe someones - I have no idea who dropped off most of the books - has donated dozens of books about war.  WW I, WW II, VietNam, Hitler, the Holocaust, and war in general.  I can picture an elderly man who has been collecting and reading all of these books, most of his life, fascinated by the subject of warfare.  Perhaps he is a veteran.  I can picture him staring at his bookshelves, thinking of all the time he's enjoyed reading these books - and then realizing it's time to pass them to someone else.  A reader who will respect the subject.  These books are a legacy.

My father was fascinated with WW II.  He had every Time-Life collection on warfare you can imagine.  For some reason I could never fathom, he did not believe in the Holocaust.  Oh, he believed there were Jews killed, but nowhere near on the scale that we know.  He thought the Holocaust was propaganda.  I never understood how he could pour through those collections of historical fact, full of documentation and pictures and first-hand accounts, and yet think it was trumped-up pseudo-history.

I know very little, actually, about my father. I do know he spent close to two years in Germany in 1950-51......he was a soldier during the Korean War years, but spent all of his enlistment stationed in Germany.  Perhaps he hear, saw, things that caused him to view the German side of the story in a different light.  Or perhaps my father was, simply, a bigot when it came to the Jewish people.  I'll never know.

As I go through these old books, I think of him sitting in his recliner, reading his war collections over and over, and I wonder what was going through his mind.  I try to imagine the person  - or persons - who donated these books, and wonder what caught their imagination(s) about warfare.  I wish I knew who donated the books.

I myself am slowly clearing out my personal library.  Every book I donate has some memory attached to it.  I think of when and why it was purchased.  I weigh each volume carefully, wondering if I am really ready to give it up.  With each book I place in my shopping bag to bring to the Star, there is a small weight lifted off of my shoulders.  We treasure books, and never want to part with them. But the day comes, for all book-lovers, when we know we must begin to let loose.  I am thankful for all of those folks out there who shall remain mostly nameless, who, like me, are gleaning their shelves.  Hopefully, many new readers will buy these treasures and enjoy them once again.  Stories passed on, history passed on, ideas passed on to the next generation.

A Surfeit of Riches

I actually have so many new books that I feel numb......not sure which to read first!  What a delightful conundrum.  But it makes me think, too, about whether I need to stop buying books.  When a person has enough unread new books to last for months, shouldn't she stop getting more, at least for a good while?
But......but.....Charlaine Harris's next Sookie book will be out soon.  Louise Penny is working on the next Inspector Gamache novel.  Cronin's next installment of his vampire series should be due out soon. And the list just goes on and on.....
So when is enough enough?  I am fixing to donate boxes of books to my NIE book sale coming up soon.  If I were to die tomorrow, to whom would these books mean anything?  Ok, DeeDee.  But even she has a storage limit.  And even DeeDee can read just so many books in one lifetime.
I have a dreadful confession to make.  I am not really joking here.....I feel guilty about this.  One of the biggest fears I have of death is that I will not be able to read all my new books I've been piling up.  That is officially awful.  I am supposed to believe that heaven's joy is so far beyond that of reading a good book that it's ridiculous to even talk about it in the same breath.  In heaven, we will be so rapt in the ecstatic enjoyment of being in the presence of God that earthly things - like - books - will be as dust.
But here I am, trapped in the concupiscience of my flesh and blood, thinking of what book to read next.....and next.....and next.....
Lord, forgive my humanness.

New Shoes and Azaleas

After my venture out to walk yesterday, I realized I must have new walking shoes.  I guess I'll finally use that gift card Bobby gave me for Christmas; I've been saving it for something special.
On my way to church this morning, I noticed the dogwood tree by our house is suddenly in bloom, as are little dogwoods peeping out through the woods all over.  That's how the wild white dogwoods do.....all of a sudden, the woods are alight, as if God turned on a switch.  I love this time of year.
I noted one small azalea bloom on our bush near the garage yesterday.  This morning, there are azalea bushes everywhere full of pinks and whites and all shades of purple and red.
One morning soon, I'll be on my way to work and the wild wisteria vines will be hanging full of their purple clusters.  Wisteria takes over the trees like kudzu.  The purple blooms don't last long, maybe a couple of weeks at most.  But while they're out, the yards and fields around here will be full of color.  Dogwoods, azaleas, and wisteria all in bloom at once.  Bob says one day we will wreck because I am distracted by spring in bloom.

So, the new shoes.....I'll go for some matching color, a pink or purple.  It may be a day or two.  My shins may have to hurt for a bit longer till I make the pilgrimage to the JCP store.  Meanwhile, I'll be watching the blooms grow and spread and love that I live in this place during spring.

Walking the Trail with Emma

I am reading a hauntingly, beautiful book called The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey.  It's based on Russian folktales about a childless couple who build a little girl of snow who then comes to life.  There are many versions of the story, none of which end happily.  I am hoping against hope that Eowyn Ivey finds a way to bring hope at the end.
So far, a homesteading couple who've lost a child before heading out West have built a snow-girl.  Suddenly, the snowgirl is melted and they spy a little girl wearing the articles of clothing they had put on the snowgirl running around the woods near their home, with a red fox always in the distance.  I don't want to say any more, because I want to encourage the reading of the book and don't want to give any spoilers.  I am half-way through, and I tell you, this book will affect you in imaginable ways.
This afternoon, while reading, I began to reflect on Emma, and I began asking myself, what were Emma's dreams for her life?  What did Emma envision for herself five, ten, and more years into the future?  And I becam very melancholy.
I interrupted Bob loading his kiln and said, "Let's go walking." And we went to the lovely blue-paved walking trail near  the reservoir in back of a local school.  I thought to myself, "If I don't start walking, I'll die."
To my delight, my Canadian geese were in full flotilla, gliding near the bank where I was walking.  My children have always laughed at how much I look forward to my little ducks and geese which migrate to Archusa Reservoir every year.  Their appearance - and disappearance - mark the seasons of my life.
I thought of how badly I wished Emma were walking with me, and I thought of the woman in the book who had just made a beautiful embroidered coat for the snow-girl she knew would return.  But Emma will not be returning, no matter what season of the year it is.
Emma's dreams are lost with her.  Oh, I know what her immediate dream was......to be the perfect wife and housekeeper for Randall, at least the very best she could be.  But in her deepest imaginings, what was her life's ambition?  That elusive dream she seemed to be chasing in all the wrong places, at least until she met Randall?
The llittle snow-girl in Eowyn Ivey's book is a quiet, fey creature who presents the couple with hares in her blood-stained hands, hares she has brought as a gift. What gifts were you trying to bring us in your world-stained hands, my Emma-girl?  WHat would I say to to you if you suddenly appeared furtively dashing in and out and between the trees in our backyard?
I have to walk.  I have to do something, or I know I will die before I should.  I can feel it......my breathlessness, my heartrate sometimes racing, my tired body groaning just to climb a couple of flights of stairs.  Emma, I'll be thinking of you when I walk, when I watch my dear flock of geese finally go back North for the summer.

Author Explosion

Is it my imagination, or are there way, way more new writers and books out there than there were when I was in college?  Every time I turn around, there are brand new books I want to read!  Hundreds of them, it seems!  I could easily buy twenty books every day and never run out of interesting-looking books to buy.  Where are all these authors coming from?

Is it simply a matter of population growth?  Of expanding awareness because of the web?  Of growth in the self-publishing or print-on-demand sectors?

Honestly, it's impossible to keep up with it all.  I could read ten hours a day and never get to the bottom of my to-read pile.......it's growing like the national debt, I think.  No sooner do I finish a book than I find myself having to choose the next one and feeling overwhelmed by it all.  It's easy, you say, just quit stressing over it and stop reading.

WHAT????  Are you crazy? This is a bondage worse than cigarettes or alcohol or painkillers. I mean, how can I suddenly quit being intrigued by the complexity of characters' situations? By the clever intricacies of plots?  What is the drudgery of the daily grind in comparison to the time-travelling, geographical-wandering, and emotional journeying that reading affords me?

How is it that, when Tommy Lynley begins to cry with loneliness after having to break it off with Deborah Cotter, I feel my heart constrict, my eyes burn? When Lizzy Bennett excoriates Darcy for his arrogance and desire to control others' lives and fortunes, I feel his flinching at the injustice and, truth be know, the accuracy of some of her verbal darts? 

Characters have been real to me since my childhood.  Books have always been my friends. I imagine this will continue to be true for as long as I have eyes to scan the lines or ears to hear the words......or, after both of those have failed, a mind to picture their stories with.

British Mysteries, a Cut Above

After finishing Believing the Lie, the latest from Elizabeth George, I am happily rereading my way through all of her Inspector Lynley series.  Her main characters, an unlikely teaming, are richly complex and likeable.  After all these years, they feel like family.
Inspector Thomas Lynley is the Earl of Asherton, a title which he wears like an uncomfortable overcoat.  Suave and always elegant, Tommy is struggling to cope with what has happened to Lady Helen Clyde. (no spoilers here)  His partner, Barbara Havers, is as always struggling with her physical shortcomings while trying to help Tommy with his latest case and her neighbor with his returned prodigal lady.
Deborah and Simon St.-James are along for the ride, and the former gets deeply enmeshed in the case in ways that worry Tommy and her husband.
These five are in every one of the Lynley novels, and it's a real treat to follow them through years of evolving relationships.  The mysteries are always interesting, but for me, the murders take a secondary role in my enjoyment of George's books.
I really can't think of a comparable series.......perhaps the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels of Anne Perry, although they are set in a different time and lack the added soupcon of dealing with contemporary social mores and issues.
Need to run, will try to write again soon.