Reflection

A lot of women my age can't sleep like they used to. I've gotten used to not sleeping predictably well over the last eighteen years, and often am up in the night, thinking about what to do while awake. It helps to have a great novel going. Then I am thrilled when I wake at midnight and can continue on with a story. I don't have one going now, but the last three are worth noting: The Commoner by John Burnham Schwartz (two generations of Japanese princesses tell their fictional stories, based on fact), The Gathering by Anne Enright, 2007 Man Booker Prize winner, very dark, lyrical, biting and Irish, and lastly my favorite, not a novel, but a collection of compelling short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri, Uncommon Ground.

Last night I got back in touch with birding and Jonathan Rosen, in Life in the Skies, a brilliant book from our library that I just can't finish before the due date. I'll have to borrow it at a later time and let others have a chance or wait for the paperback edition to come out (Dec. 2008)

I heard an owl too, always and always a thrill. I hear the barred owl frequently, always around midnight, but last night it was different call, a different species of owl. It was one long raspy WHO, so perhaps the saw-whet owl. I'll listen again tonight.

Always behind on New Yorkers, I picked up June 23 issue and read George Saunders on Antiheroes. I laughed aloud, a rarity while reading. So, DO click on the New Yorker link to the story yourself for a good chuckle. I guess I'll have to read his latest collection of essays, The Braindead Megaphone.