* Reading. Reading. I suddenly come back to earth, notice the time, jump up to attack my to-do list. It comes back, a story my father told to me. After learning to read he immersed himself, escaped himself, into books, newspapers. Collecting newspapers at the printers, readying them to be delivered, he would sit on the street curb reading from page one to the end. (Must know what you are selling.) In adulthood he praised Carnegie for library philanthropy, a library had landed in his small Ohio town. He escaped his parents' small town divorce (anathema in the '20's), his hand to mouth existence by devouring anything in print. One day he was told by his mother to mind the cooking beans on the stove. When she got back, smelling the burning beans and seeing her middle son reading, she beat him. What had he been reading? What did they have for dinner that night?
* Delighted when something I am watching veers from the plot course I sadly and frustratedly thought was to happen and blossoms into something more creative and still plausible. I had been ready to switch it off.
* Hearing of a decorative pin her mother wore=EGB okay. Even before the song.
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