Yesterday was a hiatus in a busy week. Made a list of what I need for the birthday cake I'm making for Tuesday and the two pies for Thanksgiving. Went to Acme to pick up some of the ingredients; will get the apples when Mary Ann and I go to Santori's today. Took books back to the library, and withdrew more.
Now here's a dilemma: I have so much reading material--and I keep getting more--that I don't know when I'll ever get time to finish it all. I'm simultaneously reading It Can't Happen Here (yes, the old Sinclair Lewis classic), Mr. S. (a show-bizzy reminiscence by Sinatra's valet), The Body Silent (an utterly absorbing account of life with a tumor on the spine), and Say You're One of Them (a collection of short stores by, incredibly, a native Nigerian Jesuit priest). That's why I decided to let my subscriptions to Vanity Fair, The New Yorker, and Harper's lapse--I simply don't have time to read them.
On the literary topic, after lunch, I sat on the couch reading, always a dangerous activity for me, as I tend to then lie down and nap. Which I did. For about an hour. Roused myself, went out to check the mail, and found a second cheerleader costume for the human dynamo, vivacious Vivian. Glad to have a focus, I jumped in the car and drove to Staples in Manahawkin. Bought a very large envelope, addressed it right in the store, added the costume, and got to the P.O. with a few minutes to spare. It's guaranteed to arrive in Singapore by Wednesday, so that's good. Before bed, watched the ending of Blood Diamond (I can't sustain interest in most movies or T.V. for long, so break viewing up into increments), then turned in.
Today will be more interesting: an Atlantic County excursion with Mary Ann.