On a Friday

I have begun to work at a school library; Fiona's school library to make things that much more convenient. I love it.  I spend three mornings a week placing my favorite books into the hands of first, second, and third graders.  I feel humbled that I get to do such gratifying work and I never want to take it for granted.  One of my favorite perks is running my hands along the spines of titles that I have never seen before. I grabbed this one as I ran out the door on Wednesday and I can't stop reading it.  The words run like a harmonious babbling brook through my mind.  Voigt's descriptions paint a vivid picture of coastal Maine as I could not have imagined. And the heroine is name, Clothilde.  There's a name that got away. I love seeing it written in type again and again.  Clothilde has struggles and asks difficult questions. It feels like a story just right for this day.  And there is a lot of charming talk about clam chowder, being in Maine and all.

"...so it was Clothilde who chopped wood, year-round, for the stoves, and shoveled coal into the boiler that supplied hot water for the house; who dug potatoes out of the garden with Mother; it was Clothilde who- whose future didn't matter."

It is Friday and the sun is shinning, but yet I am bracing for the weekend.  Fiona has a play to perform tonight and Sunday, and Myles has his usual Sunday morning choir boy obligations, as well as the rest of us.  I hope to find a bit of rest in the midst of all the ought-tos.  Even as I write that I feel guilty complaining about being busy.  What nerve I have.  

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