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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