It's like a furnace in Las Vegas, dear reader, so over the weekend we made a quick trip to the beach. It would've been lovely, except I was under the weather...still, it's amazing what the ocean and a little Charles Portis can do to take one's mind off wanting to crawl beneath a rock.
He's one of the few writers who make me laugh out loud. Even now, I'm sitting here recalling what he said about the main character reading an old lady's story, and I quote:
Melba had broken the transition problem wide open by starting almost every paragraph with "moreover." She freely used "the former" and "the latter" and every time I ran into one of them I had to backtrack to see whom she was talking about. She was also fond of "inasmuch" and "crestfallen."
I'm not the type of person who laughs excessively, unless I'm on some kind of roll. But Portis's stuff makes me giggle.
Sometimes I fantasize about having a personal reader...someone with a resonant voice who would follow me around, reading aloud. Charles Portis is the kind of writer you're better off reading on your own. You need to follow at your own pace...meander a bit, shake your head, try not to smile.
At any rate, I just received a text from my little brother calling me on the carpet for not having posted about Canada Day. So I checked his blog and guess what: his post is about Hamlet, for crying out loud.
But I am thinking of the place where I grew up today. It never really leaves me.
In other disastrous news, Caroline has announced herself as the new baker laureate of the family.
We're plowing through butter, sugar, and eggs like nobody's business, though all too often I make it my business.
Then again, it's Canada Day, dear reader. Let's kick back and celebrate, let's get a little crazy. Whether you're Canadian or not, I hope something nice happens to you.
If not a personal reader then perhaps a sugar cookie...