I Was Wooed By A Leather Clad Hemingway

Ever since I was a small child I have revered and adored books. My father took me for my first visit to the library when I was about 5 years old. Not being a child who reveled in childhood in fact, I found childhood insulting, I bypassed the children's section immediately and settled myself right into the Classical Greek section. I, of course, with my child's mind thought that the best and most important books must be huge. Therefore, needing my father's help in actually carrying the book, I sat at the library table with my copy of Greek mythology. My reading skills were not up to snuff at the time, but I was in book heaven. Not only was I with my favorite man in the whole wide world, but I was also getting my own library card that day. Imagine my delight at being able to take home any book that I wanted!

Many years have passed since that momentous occasion, but love for the written word has only grown stronger. However, my love has become fixated on a relatively small portion of this world's literature. My father and I have replaced the public library with memberships to societies. Please, do not confuse our society memberships with common book clubs. Alas, we belong to a society whose members love words wrapped in leather. That's right, leather bound books my friends. Now, I am well aware of the Freudian implications involved when my father and I receive the latest editions to our libraries and ask each other to feel and smell the books. It is truly a sensual experience that only another lover of the same persuasion could appreciate. My good friend Chad from college teases me and asks me if Hemingway, Tolstoy, or Plato are any better clad in their leathers. One word: Yes. The question, I must assume, can only be rhetorical. Take a strapping man like Hemingway, rub the scent of quality paper and ink on him, clad him in a leather jacket and you've got yourself a recipe for love. All that one may need to top it off is a fine wine and a good smoke.

Good Night.

A Pint With Saint Francis

Today is the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi and I just spent the last hour of my day celebrating it in a pub with my daughters. I was in desperate need of a pint. Immediately, after picking my eldest up from school, we hit the pub. Now pub is really just a fancy name for a bar and going for a pint is really the same as going for a brewski. Nonetheless, I went to the pub and had a pint of lovely "olde world red." However, as I said, I was in desperate need for a drink.



We are a Catholic family and my daughter goes to Catholic school. The youngest is still home with me. As it is the feast of St. Francis and he the patron saint of animals, my daughter's school hosts a blessing of the animals. All are invited to bring the family pet(s) and have them blessed with holy water by our priest. I still find this tradition a bit strange and don't really get it. Nonetheless, I brought Katie, our Craig's List mutt, to get some blessings. Lord knows she needs it. After a successful blessing, Katie proceeded to bite four children causing two to cry and one to bleed. Needless to say, I was stressed, tense and needed a drink.

In order to blend in with kids at a pub at 3:30 in the afternoon, you have to order them some kind of food. I couldn't very well go in, order my pint, and then ask for water for the kids. I was tempted to order big and let the kids pick out desserts to make it look like a special occassion or something. Alas, I settled on the fish and chips and we split it three ways.

Saint Francis, pray for us.