Things are at sixes and sevens (sevenses?) in my life, but happily in a fairly positive way. (Though, of course, I do live in this world, which seems to be hurtling full speed over a cliff. But I want to be clear, here, that other than witnessing the horror, I myself am well and safe with nothing to complain of.)
Still, though, for an easily unsettled person like myself, it has been…unsettling: most of my house is (temporarily) unavailable to me, because we are renovating the kitchen. My mailbox for this blog has been piling up with boxes. My cats have been bearing with the renovation by shedding clumps of hair and hiding under bed in a traumatized manner.
So today, in the midst of all the heat and cat hair, I sat with my sister and nephew, while I cleaned out the litter box, and they opened the boxes of books. A great and strange variety came out, among them this:
OK, I know: it is possibly not great literature. However? When we went out to lunch afterwards, and my excellent nephew started going through the mazes and all, I was struck with a longing that I might have my own activity book.
It is possible, I acknowledge, that this is the thought of an overtaxed brain in a world gone mad. But still, mazes! Puzzles! Scribble games! Nonstop laughs!
I guess this is merely the first step toward getting an adult coloring book, isn't it? And yet I feel so far from that. Still: the feeling was there. If you see me with the Trollope Activity Book (it would have hedge mazes! Riddles! Someone please stop me!) send help. (Except maybe don't? Because likely I will be really happy.)