Salt Water

The cure for anything is salt water--sweat, tears, or the sea.

Isak Dinesen

Last week was an off week. Some weeks are just like that. But instead of letting it remain an off week, the Man, Littles, and I decided to pack our bags and head to the ocean for a night. And it was wonderful. Of course, Littles didn't sleep the entire night and I got food poisoning, but it was still just wonderful. The sound of the sea crashing into the shore, the smell of salt air, the very sense of sitting at the beginning of something that stretches out endlessly to lands far, far away...it was worth it.  

I hadn't been to the beach in almost two years, and I'd missed it. It wasn't even about the swimming (because I almost lost my toes to frostbite just by putting them in) or the sun bathing (because I was in a jacket the entire time) or the laziness of vacation that typically comes hand in hand with the beach (because being up all night with Littles wasn't precisely lazy). It was just good to cuci mata, if you will, to "wash my eyes" by being somewhere new and beautiful.

I worked the rest of my off week out by attempting to start running again (it's that time of year) and laughing so hard that I cried over some silliness that probably involved the Man. That's my preferred form of crying. And on that note, I think I'll leave you with this adorable photo of my two men and go to bed. Aren't they just perfect? And isn't the ocean dazzling as they walk towards it? And don't you just want to be there too? The correct answer is:

Yes.

Oh, Scotland Street...

I'm in the middle of a tomato soup and homemade bread extravaganza, and since the soup is simmering and the timer diligently ticking away to my left, I thought I'd take a seat on the counter and get off my feet for a bit. And what an opportune time to blog about the latest three books of the 44 Scotland Street series! So here I am in my pink flowered splatter-proof apron preparing to share with you the joy these last three books have given me. I was going to take a picture of me in the kitchen with my books and my awesome pink flowered apron, but today is evidently a creepy picture day, and as I don't want to scare off the very few people who read this blog--I'm giving up on that idea.

So, the last two weeks I've indulged myself with Love Over Scotland, The World According to Bertie, and The Unbearable Lightness of Scones, books three, four, and five of the 44 Scotland Street Series. Incredibly, I'm not yet bored reading about Domenica, Matthew, Angus, Elspeth Harmony, Big Lou, Cyril, and, of course, Bertie. I even cheered out loud at one point during the reading of The Unbearable Lightness of Scones (and I also got several comments on the awesomeness of that title--I wish I could pass those compliments on to Alexander McCall Smith). I know this may sound weird but I am becoming friends with these characters. I feel that I know them intimately. This is, perhaps, the best sign of a good novel. I would feel comfortable sharing a cup of tea with Domineca and Angus, and I'm sure that Cyril (the dog) would find my ankles infinitely tasty. I occasionally want to shake Irene--"occasionally" might be putting it mildly. And I'm holding my breath as to whether or not Bruce has actually reformed. Can I wait til the next book comes out  in June? And where did Pat go? I'm missing her!

Essentially, Alexander McCall Smith, thank you for new friends who now feel like old ones. And on that note, I think I'll go spend some time with friends who are flesh and blood instead of paper and ink. And this time I won't make the mistake of leaving this blog open for my oh-so-enterprising husband to add his own little notes at the bottom.

P.S. Now I want scones and tea... Scotland does that to you! msf