I can’t get enough water.  Salt, lake, or river in mud, water.  These days I need to drink loads of it, stand by it, stare at it, jump into it, sink.

Or try not to sink, rather, being the well-below-average swimmer I am.  Side-stroker, dog-paddler extraordinaire.

It’s as though water has been rationed all my life and only now can I finally, finally, have all the water I want, whenever I want it.  Ice.  Or ice cold.  No lemon.  And no cucumber, either — what’s with the cucumber you find in water at the gym or in a salon?  Plain old-fashioned icy water, please.

If I leave the house and drive away and realize I’ve forgotten my water, I will turn around the drive back to get it.

In other news, I just finished my first Benjamin Black book — CHRISTINE FALLS — while in the bathtub (of course!) and have moved right on to the second book in the series, THE SILVER SWAN.

I don’t read much crime or mystery, but these are so beautifully rendered (literary fiction gone evil and dark) and I can’t resist the pathologist Quirke or the constant mists and rain of 1950’s Dublin.

After this, I swear I’m moving on.  Maybe.


Here’s what’s in my next-up stack:


Gillian Flynn  SHARP OBJECTS

Maeve Binchy (RIP Maeve)  EVENING CLASS

Rohinton Mistry  A FINE BALANCE

Here’s to this stack of books, a comfy chair on the patio (right after the sun has gone down) and a tall, sweaty glass of ice water.

No cucumber.