
After all my
whining about books about kings, I finished
that one Peter Ackroyd book about kings (and queens) and started
the NEXT Peter Ackroyd book about kings (and...?). I broke down and bought it at
Square Books the other day.
Dr. Theresa planned to meet me there and we were to continue on our way to wherever it is we go, so I sat down with my newly purchased book in a chair that was cunningly placed next to the employees' recommendation shelf. And that's how I ended up with some poems by Stevie Smith, recommended by
Katelyn (and seemingly disapproved of by the similarly named
Kaitlyn, who rang it up). I don't know, the poems were making me laugh and Smith's drawings (like this one) made me think of
Thurber's or, really, the doodles of
my old friend Eugene. Finally Dr. Theresa showed up so I could stop buying books in short bursts. But none of this is my point. Yesterday, I opened up the Stevie Smith book and happened to read "Outside an
owl hunts/ Hee hee hee hee/ Hunting in the Old Park/ From his snowy tree" and
I maintain a list of books I read that happen to have owls in them and I don't know why.