Have you ever had a period of time where life flies at you so fast and furious you feel like that double-eyed fellow in the old Ripley’s museums?
Well, that’s me these days.
We went to pick up Joseph from Space Camp. Here are a few images I captured:
You can just imagine how many people fell over in laughter and just had to have their pictures taken with this fetching sign. I am hoping to use one of them for my Christmas card this year!
After spending three hours at a cutting-edge space-science museum, the most fun was found in some red clay dust found in the parking lot.
Can’t you feel the joy?
Incidentally so far the only questions I’ve gotten from Space Camp involved hippies and a request to see Terminator movies. (Thankfully I can easily handle both those…so much better than last year!)
On the rare book scene, I have succeeded in infesting my house with book lice thanks to an unusually large, and frighteningly old estate acquisition.
Yes, book lice. Should you be so lucky!
I sell books online for my local library system, and that works exceedingly well. I love the ladies who run the store; many are active women in their 70s and 80s who heft book boxes about with aplomb and can tell you the most obscure details about every Southern writer from our area.
Yet the other day I picked up a large collection to sell online and was taken aback to find that one box was brimming with books of an, ahem, incredibly questionable and racy nature.
I mean these ladies are ex-English professors and pillars of the community! The whole thing is troubling to say the least. I can only imagine that they took a quick peek in the box and thought it was brimming with “art books.”
I sealed all the “reading” materials in a box and stuck them in my garage so I could return them to the library. Later that day, I was pulling in the garage and accidentally ran over the materials with the van.
(This was of course accidental…I promise!)
To further protect the precious works, I plunked them in the back of the van and dashed off. One nearly-squashed squirrel later, I found myself whiplashed in the middle of the road screaming to my three children at the top of my lungs, “Close your eyes! Don’t look! Cover your eyes with your hands! Do it now!” while these books shot out of their shoddily-taped box and rocketed all over the back of the van.
Poor Joseph was trying to help. “Mom, I can load them back in the box…let me help! See, I’m already strapped out!”
“No!” I panicked. “No, seal your eyes! Please, please!”
I hastily scrambled in the back seat and threw the books back in the box. I then drove straight to where I was meeting H and dumped the books off with him.
I did what any self-respecting wife would have done. I let him take those books back to the library.
And if you want to know what is particularly funny about H’s interchange with the library ladies when dropping off “the box,” you’ll have to email me for details.
Believe it, or not!