In the meadow we can build a snowman
Wow, the first real storm of the year. 2006 and this winter season really.
For once, I'm glad I'm in Cambridge.
It's early, there are no cars going by outside, and the beauty of the snow and the trees and the rest of the world outside is comletely unspoilt.
I'm going to grab a cup of tea, start reading a book by the front window, and have one of those "moments". Where I feel like a fictional character in a favourite novel.
Sometimes being here really makes me hate Toronto. But if I moved to the country, I'd have to contribute to ruining it by driving. And I'd get a lot less exercise. I'd never see a Second Cup again. And I'd have no access to some of the really amazing stores and places I've found in Toronto, or theatre, or the good, smaller movies that only make their way to this town if they get nominated for a slew of Oscars.
I'm sure there are many smaller cities that have a share of culture (Waterloo actually, Guelph has an independent bookstore and cinema) it's just that other than it's beautiful architecture, Cambridge is the epitome of the suburban nightmare.
Anyway, boring diatribes aside, I think I'm going to attempt this 52 books this year thing. theshapeshifter has been talking about it in her journal. I've been at myself since I graduated to start reading again, the way I used too. I used to devour books. Now I sit in front of the t.v. Way too much. Granted I now have cable, and the joy of things like Discovery channel that can not be called wasted time, but still.
The first couple weeks shouldn't be too bad because I've got at least 10 books that I'm in the middle of already. More if you count some things from courses years past that I never managed to finish though I told myself I would. After that it's going to get tricky.
My count so far? Two. One small biography I re-read yesterday of author Jean Little and an Anne McCaffrey book I read two weekends ago.
For once, I'm glad I'm in Cambridge.
It's early, there are no cars going by outside, and the beauty of the snow and the trees and the rest of the world outside is comletely unspoilt.
I'm going to grab a cup of tea, start reading a book by the front window, and have one of those "moments". Where I feel like a fictional character in a favourite novel.
Sometimes being here really makes me hate Toronto. But if I moved to the country, I'd have to contribute to ruining it by driving. And I'd get a lot less exercise. I'd never see a Second Cup again. And I'd have no access to some of the really amazing stores and places I've found in Toronto, or theatre, or the good, smaller movies that only make their way to this town if they get nominated for a slew of Oscars.
I'm sure there are many smaller cities that have a share of culture (Waterloo actually, Guelph has an independent bookstore and cinema) it's just that other than it's beautiful architecture, Cambridge is the epitome of the suburban nightmare.
Anyway, boring diatribes aside, I think I'm going to attempt this 52 books this year thing. theshapeshifter has been talking about it in her journal. I've been at myself since I graduated to start reading again, the way I used too. I used to devour books. Now I sit in front of the t.v. Way too much. Granted I now have cable, and the joy of things like Discovery channel that can not be called wasted time, but still.
The first couple weeks shouldn't be too bad because I've got at least 10 books that I'm in the middle of already. More if you count some things from courses years past that I never managed to finish though I told myself I would. After that it's going to get tricky.
My count so far? Two. One small biography I re-read yesterday of author Jean Little and an Anne McCaffrey book I read two weekends ago.