Without Sense or Sensibility

Or perhaps "The Bandwagon" would be an equally appropriate title.

Either way, my first reaction to these books was, "Are you kidding me?"

Tell me how it ends...

Emma: "Tell me how it ends."

Alex: "You have to read the book."

Emma: "I want to see if he dies."

Alex: "You can’t read the end first."

Emma: "This is how I read books. If I like the ending, I know I’ll like getting to it. If I don’t like the ending, then I know not to waste my time."

I loved that movie, Alex and Emma. I feel exactly the same way. I read the first chapter and then the last paragraph. Always. Ev-er-y time.

I want to see if he gets off the island.
I want to see if he marries her.
I want to see whodunit.
I want to see if the dog dies.

Why on earth would I want to invest time and emotion reading a book where the dog dies at the end? Who would want that? This is why, when a child checks out a Dead Dog Book from my library like, Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows, or Marley and Me, I always hand them the book and say, “The dog dies.”

You’re shocked I give away the ending? THE.DOG.DIES. I think people should know that before they unnecessarily torture themselves emotionally. I mean, it’s not like I’m ruining the book for them. They've probably already seen the movie.

And now, they come up to me with books like Shiloh and say, “Mrs. Lundberg, does the dog die in this book?”
“No. There’s a sequel.”
Then they skip happily away with a smile on their faces.

And if someday someone comes up to me and asks what I think of Little Women, I’ll tell them the truth. Laurie marries Amy instead of Jo, and Beth dies. I hated that book. I’m the same way with movies by the way. Just tell me how it ends.

Working hard....

Or is that hardly working?

My day went something like this:

I had three classes in the library today, one 1st grade class, one Kindergarten class, and the Special Day Class.

I had quite a lengthy deep philosophical discussion with a 1st grade boy about the existence of leprechauns, and assuming there truly were leprechauns, whether or not the tiny door that suddenly appeared in the 'tree' behind my chair belonged to the same leprechaun, or elf, or sprite, or gnome that showed up unexpectedly (and similarly disappeared) last year, and whether or not we felt knocking would be appropriate (after all, the light did appear to be on suggesting he was home).

I read the delightful story, Leprechauns Never Lie, using my very best Irish brogue, which Tim says is embarrassing, but I think I've got a gift and he's full of blarney. Besides. The kids don't know the difference.

I had another discussion with my Kindergarten friend, Aiden, who is very excited because next year he gets to make a leprechaun trap in 1st grade, and don't I think it'll be a good idea if he brings it in the library so we can catch one?



After work I headed over to Sam's Club, where my Visiting Teacher discovered me in the pet food aisle, and "killed two birds with one stone." . . _ . . . . . . _ . _ . _ . . _ _ _ . . . . . . _ . _ _ . . _ . . . . _ _ . . _ _ . . _ . . _ _ _ . . _ . . . _ .

(My sister will be proud. I didn't say anything derogatory about Visiting Teaching. However, that is Morse code for "Help. I think I'm being ripped off.")


After that, I headed home to my desk to work for my other boss, whereupon I was distracted by just about everything.

I considered starting my treadmill routine and wondered where my walking shoes were. Alarmed at the prospect, I followed some sage advice and quickly lay down until the urge to exercise passed.

My bedroom boasts a wondrous new addition, and from my bed I have a perfect 42" LCD view of Emma, which I watched until the natives became restless, at which time I provided my family with a delicious and healthy home cooked meal sustenance.

The rest of my night will most likely find me happily engrossed in this, or this, and ending with this.

Which brings me back to "working hard?" I'd say it's nice work if you can get it!