I think it's the warmer weather (not counting today, ugh). I suddenly want things to be immediately accessible, no matter where we happen to be.
Sun hats? Will now has three, and I'm trying to keep them at key locations: back door, front door, stroller. I think we need another one for the car.
We still have only one bottle of sunscreen, and therefore ended up at the Folk Arts Festival hiding in the shade or counting the exposed minutes in front of the stage. All the bags and trunks and strollers need a bottle of that stuff for the summer.
I'm not sure why this obsession with access has transferred to my reading habits. After being stranded in the car with a sleeping child and no book, I now find myself part way through at least four novels, each one ready to read in a different place in the house.
If I'm in Will's room and it's nap time (read: light outside), I'm reading either The Origin of Species by Nino Ricci or Tom Robbins' B is for Beer. So far the Ricci book is truly terrible. I can't stand the protagonist, but I'm enjoying reliving my time in Montreal. His description of the life of a student in the city is perfect.
In the hallway outside of Will's room is my nighttime novel, The Gargoyle, which I am finally reading after kgirl sent it to me as part of a December giveaway. This interesting book has my little LED light inside, so I can read as Will slowwwwwly falls asleep.
My own bedside novel, What are You Like? by Anne Enright has migrated to my purse with 1, 2, 3 Magic. I've since added Jen Lancaster's Bright Lights, Big Ass to my night table, along with the history text I picked up in South Carolina, Black Majority.
In the downstairs bathroom I have the option of Bed Timing or Cringe. Usually there are sections of Saturday's The Globe and Mail and a bunch of medical journals in both bathrooms.
Excessive, even for a student and teacher of literature? Afraid to be alone with my thoughts? Or just prepared?
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