I've had so little time for myself in the chaos of moving, I'm trying to make a walk down to the library boxes every Sunday a regular thing. I can go before anyone else is up and about, and I miss walking alone. Someday when I have more free time, I look forward to exploring the sidestreets. There was one street we looked at a house on, before we'd settled on here, and there was a library box there, too, so I intend to hunt it out sooner or later.
That said, I admit I did find time, at night before bed and finally while watching the Farmer's Market table yesterday, to finish the book that I borrowed.
There was a lot about rape, and recovering from it. That the rape was also incest almost seems secondary. I'm glad I didn't read this when I was younger, I'm not sure how I would have taken that. Now... the journey of the main character to rescue herself from what she had been through and how she'd been taught to think about it was interesting.
The story was also a lot about dogs, and the love of them, and about seasons. Winter was used as a metaphor through her recovery a lot. Maybe it was appropriate, then, that when I stepped out the door for my walk this morning, winter hit me full in the face. It was not winter yesterday. It was practically balmy by comparison. Today, I several times had to wipe tears off my face because the wind managed to bite at my eyes even behind sunglasses. It sent me longing for my winter coat, which needs dry cleaning and is hopefully salvageable, rather than another sacrificial victim to the damages the old apartment did to our belongings.
Picked up a new book today, and dropped off several more. After the heavy stuff in Deerskin, this is a book by Marguerite Henry, a horse book of course. It's indulging my inner child, I guess? Hopefully I'll have an update on that next week! Until then readers, keep warm.