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.)