White-breasted Nuthatch
Northern Cardinal
Cedar Waxwing
There are robins all over, too, but I can't seem to get a picture of one.
Barred owls, dogs, and sadly... the garden
White-breasted Nuthatch
Breaking Creed by Alex Kava
I could not put this book down. Honestly. Well...almost. I did put it down a couple of times, to eat and sleep and do those necessary things of a civilized life in the 21st century. But only when I had to!
This was despite it being really gross and depressing in the imaginary killer's methodology. Usually that sort of thriller material puts me off in a mystery novel. And also the use of very short chapters and alternating POV--I tend to dislike those both.
But somehow he pulls it off and made a series that I'm going to race through at breakneck speed and be sad when it's over. The characters are very interesting and seem to have an ability to come to life with very little description and even less self-rumination. They have a backstory, clearly, but it's not shoved in your face or dragged over the ground. It's just there, teasing the present. Very good writing.
I was gripped by this story from beginning to
end. And it's true, so I guess it
shouldn't be called a story--a memoir, maybe?
In any event, from the ultra-runner's long prelude to his first
encounter with the dog to his harrowing adventure trying to hold onto her, I
was hooked.
Let me admit, and warn you, that the writing is often
repetitive. Some good editing could have got it down by one-quarter of length
without sacrificing any story line or suspense.
Just be aware of that and don't let it get to you. I'm glad I was reading "on paper"
instead of listening to an audiobook, because hearing every word of a
repetition will get old really fast. My
eyes can skip forward--my ears cannot.
Great book, though. Makes me want to go run a few hundred miles and/or adopt a stray dog.
This one is giving me fits -- I at first took it to be a Lincoln's Sparrow, of which we have some around.
But on very close examination and another picture,I'm convinced it is a Song Sparrow. I've seen both around in the winter.
Dark-eyed junco
And a Cooper's Hawk came by to give me the evil eye:
Max's War: The Story of a Ritchie Boy
by Libby Fischer Hellmann
I am sorry to be giving up on this. It occurs in a time peried that I've read
tons of books about--World War II in German and Holland--and covers a subject I
find intensely interesting--the resistance and the OSS. But the writing is dull and stilted, even in
the action scenes. You know how when you're writing action, you shorten your
sentences and jump about to build excitement?
In this book, all of the sentences are short and choppy--they failed to
pull me along. After a paragraph or two,
I kept finding myself wanting to put the book down.
The guy next to him pulled out a rosary and started to pray. Max recited teh Sh'ma. The plane abruptly ascended five hundred feet. Max was on the verge of panic. What was happening? Had they been shot at again? No. The unit leader made circular gestures with his arms, signalling that the jumps would begin. He struggled to pull open the plane's door.
Is this just me being picky, or did the paragraph about read like something I might read to my kids, in a "talking down" tone? (Which I wouldn't do) And another issue I had is that the emotional content just wasn't there. It read like a history book. Strange.
I'm really sorry, because I think the author did her research excellently well and came up with a cool story designed to bring history to life. But for me, it didn't.
Earlier in the week I checked out the "mini-greenhouses" that I'd planted with spinach, lettuce and radishes before the last trip. Excitement ensues....
Not much to see.
Maybe a lettuce leaf or two on the left and a few radishes on the right. I watered them and recovered them, so maybe something will be growing by next week.
My collards and kale from last year are still growing huge. I harvested a little in mid-December, so I guess it's time to steal a few more leaves,
Bearing in mind that this is fictionalized history—isn’t that what they call it when a person takes an actual historical character and makes up stories about them?—I found it to be a hoot. Maybe a little unbelievable in just how many peculiar encounters might happen in the course of a one-week drive, but then, since you know it’s not real, why not?
The story follows the adventures and misadventures of Katharine Prescott Wormeley in the early 1900s when she travels from her home in Rhode Island to her new home in New Hampshire. She drives herself, in an open-top car whose make and model don’t appear to have ever been specified. If so, I’m curious to know what. It does have a top, so it’s some sort of early convertible.
The only annoying thing about the whole book is that the teaser, the mysterious health problem that is going to make this big trip her last big trip, is never resolved. Or maybe it was and I missed it. Find out for yourself.