not to be trusted

By the time I was old enough to run a vacuum cleaner, I was a rabid reader. It took me a whole day to vacuum the living and dining rooms. I would clean for about one minute, well, and then read two—three- four or five - chapters of the book I was reading. My mother got very annoyed. I couldn’t help it. I have never been able to help it. I declared a moratorium on my reading habit when I had babies. I was not to be trusted. I would leave her waiting, wet and wailing, for me to tend to her - first Liz, then Kate - until I called a halt. No books, no reading. but I have no babies now so I am guilty again of neglecting my duties.

My blog is my sacred duty. Believe it or not. I have been remiss far too much over the past few months, not because of neglect but due to circumstances beyond my control — truly. But today, I have no excuse, none. I started Kate Atkinson’s new book, Big Sky, yesterday, just a few chapters. Uh huh. I finished it today.

So no blog. Maybe tomorrow I’ll write what I intended to write.

But don’t trust me.

(It’s a good book.)

never apologize never explain

—because with friends you don’t have to and enemies won’t believe you anyway.

My brother, who was four years older than I, told me that. He taught me a lot, and i’ll probably deal with that when I write my next book (Now we Are Twelve) should I live so long. In the meantime, tomorrow is another day.

Maybe a word-fest.

Ann, anon.