“There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love.”

It was 10 o’clock when I finally woke up this morning. My room was cold because the window was open so Gracie was curled up right beside me on the left and Fern was curled up on the right. They were pretty cozy. I wasn’t.

The day is dreary with a cloudy sky and a feeling of dampness in the air. The breeze is strong enough to blow even the thick branches. As my coffee was brewing, I checked the feeders through the window and saw two new visitors: wrens. I also saw a woodpecker, the goldfinches eating thistle and a robin eating suet.

Today we have a couple of errands, Gracie and I. It’s time for a new dump sticker then a visit to the dump and finally the pharmacy. It is getting closer to the time when Gracie will come with me to do errands only when I can leave the air conditioner on for her. Luckily, the dump is one of those places.

Days like today were among my favorite days when I was a kid. It was too ugly to play outside so when I’d get home from school I’d put on my coziest clothes, hop into bed, turn on the light and read. I’d lose myself in the pages all afternoon. When I got older, I always carried a pocketbook book with me in case of a spare minute or two. I’d read on the bus or even standing waiting for the bus. I disguised my book and read it in church. Last summer in Ghana for three weeks, I read 12 or 13 books. I had no radio, no TV and no computer, but I had books, and they were more than enough entertainment.

When I became a volunteer, we were given settling in money to buy whatever we needed for our houses. I bought a few dishes, a giant coffee cup, some pots and pans and I bought books, lots of books at the university book store. They were as essential as that coffee cup.

Every Christmas from the time I was really young, first Santa then my mother would give me new books. When I was older, my mother would ask which books I wanted as she was afraid she’d buy ones I’d already read. One year I got Alive, The Story of the Andes Survivors. I started reading it right away and read it all of Christmas Day. My mother told me I was reading it too fast and should save it by reading only a little at a time. That made no sense at all to me. I am a firm believer that you can’t put a good book down, that you are drawn to its pages over everything else. I can remember reading The Stand straight through for days. Sometimes I was far too engrossed to realize I had read the night away then I’d hear the birds greeting the morning and look up and see the first light in the window. I still do that every now and then. I love a book which makes me forget everything but the page I’m on.

“Why can’t people just sit and read books and be nice to each other?”

Winter made a dramatic gesture by sending us the coldest day and night so far this season. I almost said this year then I remembered how young the year is. It was 12˚ last night, a perfect night to stay inside, cozy and warm. Poor Gracie got sent out before bed, but she was out for only a minute or two. I think it was squat and run.

My tree is standing in the living room covered by a white plastic bag. It is ready to be taken outside and brought to the dump. I took off all the ornaments and the lights yesterday. I hated doing it, but it was time. To accomplish that task I had to bring up the bins from the cellar, fill them then slide the heavy bins down the stairs and pile them until next year. My back bears witness to all the work I did yesterday so today is a nothing day. The tree can sit until tomorrow. Gracie and I also did errands yesterday, and I carried in the bags of bird seed and cans of dog food. I figured I’d already done in my back so what the heck. I did leave the 20 pounds of cat litter in the trunk, but I’m going to need that tomorrow to change the boxes. I have designated tomorrow dump day and the old litter has to go.

My scrub pine, the ugly fake tree, is still in the dining room where it will be lit every night until twelfth night. I have also left some decorations around the house to keep it a bit festive. There is no rush to return to drab.

I’ve finished Mr. Penumbra and moved on to Merry Christmas, Alex Cross. Nothing better than hostages and terrorists at Christmas. The book is short and won’t take long to finish. I think James Patterson has caught Mary Higgins Clark’s disease of hiding a short story under the guise of a novel.

It’s a wonderful world when I can plan my day around the couch and a book. I have the whole day to do what I want. How lucky I am!

“There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love.”

The morning is lovely, sunny and cool. All the animals are having their naps in all their favorite places. Every now and then I can hear a kid’s voice from down the street and a bird or two, but mostly it’s quiet. I love this kind of morning.

I took my time this morning. The day has lent itself to leisure, to reading the papers slowly, missing nothing, and having an extra cup of coffee. I’m staring at the laundry bag in the hall. It hasn’t moved and neither have I. The morning has brought a contentedness and laundry can wait.

When I was young, I loved summer mornings. They were always the coolest part of the day, and they smelled sweet, of grass and flowers and sometimes rain. I was up and out quickly after a bowl of Rice Krispies and a piece or two of toast. Sometimes I went to the playground; sometimes I rode my bike, and sometimes I’d go uptown to the library, a favorite summer spot. It was always cool on a hot day even though it wasn’t air-conditioned. The floor was highly polished tile. The librarian sat at a round wooden station to check out books. She also had a desk near the mysteries. Sometimes she’d sit there and work. The chairs around the tables were wooden and had fancy backs like captains’ chairs. I was always careful not to scrape mine across the floor when I moved it to sit down at the table to browse through a few books. I’d sit there for a while then I’d return those books to the shelves and start to choose the ones to take home. I always took the maximum.

Books never lasted too long for me. I read them quickly, sometimes in a single long sitting. Books held me enthralled and the day passed unnoticed. When I was older, it was the night which passed unnoticed. I remember finishing a book, looking up and seeing it was morning. That still happens to me.

“There is no friend as loyal as a book.”

Today is cloudy and chilly but the weekend will be spectacular. I suspect the fortuitous weather report will have the cape lined with cars and tourists for the weekend. The water is still too cold for swimming, but the sand and sun will draw the crowds to the beaches. My deck is a mess with pollen and stuff from the trees, but today is cool enough for cleaning and getting ready to spend the next two days outside.

Today is garden shop day. I only need about four or five flowers for the front garden, but I need several for the deck pots. I also need herbs for the garden and for the flower boxes on the deck. The last on my list is one more vegetable for my small raised garden. This is one of my favorite days: when I wander the aisles of the garden shop. All self-restraint seems to disappear. My cart overflows, and I wonder if I’ve bought enough.

I am 100 pages from finishing my book: A Dark Dividing by Sarah Rayne. I started it on Wednesday and have been reading every spare moment since. My errands were more of an annoyance than usual knowing that my book was sitting at home waiting. If today weren’t flower day, I wouldn’t move off the couch until I’d finished. I love finding a book difficult to put down.

When I was really little, my mother read the Golden Books to me. She thought me the smartest of all children because when I was two I could identify all the animals circling the back cover. She told me my favorite story was Chicken Little. I still have a special place in my heart for Henny Penny, and I will always remember Foxy Locky, Goosey Loosey, Turkey Lurkey and Ducky Lucky. They are such wonderful names. It makes me laugh a bit thinking about my favorite childhood book and how the main character thinks the sky is falling. It is no wonder I have always loved science fiction. That Foxy Locky eats most of the characters seems a bit chilling, but I guess it never scared me as Henny Penny, my heroine, runs away safely.

My mother read Treasure Island to my brother and me, a bit of it every night before bed. It made bedtime palatable knowing I’d be following Jim and Long John Silver on their voyage. I still love that book, and I’m still pained by Long John’s treachery.

When I taught English, some kids took pride in saying they’d never read a book. Others told me my course books were the first they’d ever finished. It saddened me that these kids had never entered the amazing world of books, but once, many, many years later, a former student stopped me and said thanks. He told me he had read all of the books in my science fiction course and hadn’t stopped reading since. That was about my biggest accomplishment: helping make a student a reader.

“All writers are vampires.”

The yard lights, two bottle trees and some tulip ground lights, were out last night so there I was around nine thirty trying to figure out why. I had my flashlight, but it wasn’t enough so I jumped up and down to get Gracie’s motion lights to react. They didn’t so I ran back and forth. The lights then came on so I could see to check the box holding the plugs, the timer and the extension cords. The plugs were fine so I came back in, got a lamp, plugged it into the outside socket and found it didn’t work. I knew then it was time to hit the circuit box. I came in, went down the cellar and pushed the levers back and forth, looked outside and found the lights were lit. I raised my arms in triumph, in a Rocky move; of course, there was a domino effect, and when I came back inside, I had to reset the CD player, the microwave and the old VHS player. I also realized the timer’s clock is probably wrong, but I decided it coukd wait. You’re probably wondering why I just didn’t wait until today for everything. Well, I love looking at those lights, sometimes from the deck and sometimes from the window, and they make shadows of tree branches and their trunks which seem to be nine feet tall stretching across the yard. They’re beautiful, and I didn’t want to miss even one night.

Today is dark and damp and cold at 49°. Yesterday I did errands so I get to lounge today. The book I’m reading is Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. The title alone tells you it’s a strange one with limited appeal, but it appealed to me. I won’t tell you anything as I’d hate to be a spoiler. I figure I’m not the only one with varied, even odd, tastes in books.

As for me now, I’m almost ready for the afghan, the couch, my book and some music.

“There is no friend as loyal as a book.”

Oh, spring, where have you gone? Last night was winter, and today is only 52°. The sun is warm through the doors and windows but not enough to make being outside on the deck inviting. I got cold when I was filling the bird feeders this morning. Even the house feels chilly. The heat turned itself on early this morning which meant it was lower than 62° in here. No wonder I slept in under the warmth of my down comforter.

This is a new week, and I have high hopes it will be a good week. It’s my Pollyanna moment.

When I was in high school, I took four years of Latin. I have no idea why, but I actually liked it. The Aeneid, my fourth year text, was my favorite. I still remember the first line, ” Arma virumque cano.” I sing of arms and of a man. I think the story appealed to me because I loved all the tall tales, stories of people like Paul Bunyan, Johnny Appleseed and Pecos Bill. I can still see in my mind’s eye the illustration of Pecos Bill riding that cyclone. In my library those tall tale books were on a short shelf to the left of the door. I used to sit on the carpet and look through them and read a few tales before I’d choose the books to take home. I think I read all of the books from that section.

I never read any of the science books in my library. They were in the shelves in front of the windows. I did read some of the biographies of scientists like Madame Curie, but the actual science itself never interested me. I loved mysteries and historical fiction, though, when I was little, I didn’t know that’s you called it. My favorite of all was Johnny Tremain. It took place in Boston so the novel felt personal for me, and I could actually visit the houses of characters like Paul Revere. It made the story real to me. I remember the horror I felt when Johnny spilled hot silver on his hand.

That book led me to read more stories about the Revolutionary War. I think that’s what books are meant to do. They take you to one place which leads to another and another and on and on. It’s like a family tree filled with the names of books on branch after branch.

“Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?”

Today is the last of the warm days at least through the weekend. The weatherman called the weekend temperature an Arctic blast, but right now the temperatures are predicted to be in the low 20′s with some rain turning to snow and accumulating as many as 3 inches. I laughed when I reread this and saw I had written “as many” as 3 inches. That’s only a bit more than a dusting in New England or it used to be. This year we all seem to have refined our definition of Arctic and cold and snow storms. Right now it is 46°.

The Cape Times had a picture of daffodils which have already bloomed in Orleans. The article with the picture said bulges of buds are being noticed on some trees. One woman was quoted as saying this is the earliest she has ever seen daffodils.

Last night I drove home from Chatham. Though it was not even nine, the roads were almost clear of cars. I think I saw only 3 all the way from Chatham to Dennis. It reminded me of winter when I was young. In those days many people worked only summers as little work was available all winter. They let their bills pile up until they were back working, and nobody minded waiting. They knew they’d get paid. The streets were usually deserted at night. Few restaurants and only a couple of movie theaters stayed open all winter. By the day after Labor Day the Cape was a giant ghost town.

Last night as I was driving I also thought about books. Nothing is more exciting than reading a great book for the first time and nothing is worse than finishing it. When I was a kid, I took joy and pleasure in reading so many wonderful books for the first time, and I dreaded getting closer to the endings. I’d put the book down for a bit, which took every bit of fortitude I had, but then I’d give in and go back and finally finish it. I was seldom disappointed but was always a bit sad.

“A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.”

My sister and brother-in-law are coming down today. I’ve held their Christmas presents and Christmas goodies for ransom until they visit. Every Christmas my sisters have certain expectations from me. Moe and Rod, in Colorado, expect English toffee. Sheila, who’s due here any time now, expects her fudge and date-nut bread. She won’t be disappointed. Once I knew Sheila was coming, I made both of them. She’ll open her presents first then we’re going to lunch.

Last night was warmer than I expected. When Gracie went out before we went to bed, I decided to follow her and check out the night. She went into the yard, and I stood on the deck looking at the lights strung across the driveway gate. They’re coming down after Little Christmas. I’m going to miss all of them, but I’ll miss the star most of all. It lit up the night. I’m thinking maybe I just ought to keep it lit, let it keep away the deep darkness of winter nights. It will have to be moved a bit so I can open the gate but that doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Whoever chose December to celebrate Christmas chose well. Joyousness and celebrations and music and color and families gathering together brighten even the darkest days and nights. Fireworks, I think there should be fireworks.

I finished my book today. It was the newest James Patterson, at least I think it was. He seems to write a new book every month. This one was an Alex Cross novel.

Books go quickly for me. If I like one, I take every opportunity to read it. Whatever break I have, out comes my book. When I’m watching a TV program, the commercial is another opportunity to read. Often I get so involved in the book I lose the program I’m watching. A day spent reading a good book is a day well spent.

“Read in order to live.”

The day is again lovely and warm, though not as warm as yesterday. From my window here I’ve been watching the birds at the feeders, and I just watched a red spawn fit through the mesh of the small feeder, the one the nuthatches like, and he’s having quite the picnic. I’m thinking a weapon of some sort, even a slingshot, would be useful right about now.

The two cats and the dog are asleep. I guess they had a tough morning moving from the bed to the couch though Gracie might be tired as she did have a play date earlier with her friend Cody from down the street. Cody is let out, he comes here and barks at the door to come in, and he and Gracie romp in the yard. When they’re done, Cody barks to come in, gets a biscuit from me then I let him out and he walks home. It’s a perfect arrangement.

Today I have no plans except to loll and read. I have just started the new Stephen King novel, and I’m unhappy about it. When I hold that giant book, over 800 pages, in my hands, I bemoan its length. The problem is that the novel grabbed my attention right away, but given the number of pages, it will be a long while until the end unless I do nothing else but read, not really unheard of for me. I realize I have to partake in a bit of life here and there, but I suspect I’ll resent it as time taken away from the book.

I have sometimes read until three or four in the morning totally unaware of the passage of time as I turn the pages of an engrossing novel. When I realize the time, I tell myself one more chapter then one more then one more again. Soon enough another hour or so has passed. When I was a kid, my mother swore I was totally ignoring her. “Didn’t you hear me screaming for you?” I hadn’t. I was so into my book nothing could intrude. I always suspected she never believed my no.

“No day is so bad it can’t be fixed with a nap.”

Today is quite the contrast from the weekend. The temperature is down 20° and the sun is intermittent. I’m even wearing a sweatshirt though I’m still clinging to sandals. Shutting in my feet seems the last resort before admitting summer is really gone.

Last night was perfect for sleeping, far cooler than it’s been. I kept the window opened and could feel the night as it chilled. I’m looking forward to snuggling under covers on cool nights.

This morning I had a library board meeting. Only one other member is younger than I so the rest make me feel young. Two of the members are 90. Only one of them was here today; the other forgot.

I have no ambition whatsoever today. I won’t even make my bed as I feel a nap coming on a bit later and there’s no sense messing a made bed. Yesterday I did a little shopping so the animals and I have some food to tide us over, and I don’t have to cook for any of us. For them, it’s just open the cans and also fill the dry food dishes. For me, the chicken is already baked, the salad made, and I bought cheese, hummos and pita bread. Life is good when the larder is filled.

I think a cloudy day makes me lazy. Nothing is inviting when the world looks dark even in the daylight. Rain never stops me nor does snow. I love to watch them both. I got a couple of books when I went to the library so I can see myself prone on the couch reading with the light on beside me giving me a cozy feeling, a drowsy feeling. No question I’ll easily succumb to a nap.