Eeek! It has been a while since I've updated my blog. I wish I could say there was one especially good excuse, but really, there were just several lame excuses: a guest bedroom to rearrange, miles to run, laundry mountains to tackle, a birthday party to throw, insurance claims to file, a final Harry Potter book to read, and, oh yeah--my children to raise. Well, I haven't finished raising my children. I've got a minimum of fifteen years to go before the last one leaves the nest, but the rest of that "To do" list is getting shorter.
I finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last week, and having allowed myself some reading for pure fun, I am now turning to what one of my writer friends calls "the guilt shelf." The book I have currently chosen is "A Lantern in Her Hand," by Bess Streeter Aldrich. This is a book my mom has tried to get me to read for about as long as I have been able to read books with no pictures, and in the past, I always fell asleep somewhere around page four. This time around, I have breezed past the first four chapters and still have the urge to keep reading, even without the aid of a gallon sized iced coffee. Who knows? There may be hope that I can tackle some of the other books on my guilt shelf, so that the next time I admit to having majored in English, I'll know what other people are talking about when they start listing their favorite literary classics.
So, let's hear it, readers: favorite books from your guilt shelf? Most painful books you attempted to read from your guilt shelf? I promise not to reveal your identity to any of your past English teachers.