Quietly

These past few months have been more than a bit trying for me.  So trying that the pandemic is suddenly far less scary.  Well.

I’ve been coping with little escapism.  Sitting quietly with a lovely little cozy murder…with The Golden Girls playing in the background.  My latest favorite cozy series is Kerry Greenwood’s Miss Fisher murders.  Aahhhh….  For a couple of hours, disappear completely into the wonderful fictionalized world of Australia’s late 1920’s.  Phryne Fisher is smart, sophisticated, stylish, and Uncle Scrooge McDuck wealthy.  The stories are fun, the characters enjoyable, an overall mood lifter.  But sooner or later, a person has to snap back to the here and now.

What snapped me back was a gift of a book.  One of my Dad’s books.  Dad enjoyed his mysteries  – humorous, historic, gritty – all except cozy.  I opened  My Soul to Take by Yrsa Sigudardottir (the second in her series with attorney Thora Gudmundsdottir).  This book is enveloping, gritty, and intelligent. While there are Agatha Christie worthy twists, she adds a bit of interpersonal humor – along with the gruesome murders.  The characters have depth and substance.  I also enjoy the taste of Icelandic history and description of the amazing landscape.  I think I’ll have to ask Mom if any more of Yrsa Sigudardottir are lurking in her house.

so.  It seems my grace period of floaty escapism is closed.  Well – nothing wrong with the occasional tv rerun and Miss Fisher book as long as it is accompanied with a bit of grit.

As always, thank you  for reading and stay safe.

dithering

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I’ve had an unscheduled hiatus from… everything. Some ‘stuff’ and illnesses (not covid) have invaded house and home and family so everything fell away – for a bit. All is not ‘back to normal’ but now there is naught for me to do except fret and worry. Two things I do gracelessly. It occurred to me – I miss blogging – however sporadically. I miss reading everyone’s posts. Hence my dithering return.

During this time I had a birthday. I asked for and received bunches of lovely books. Just looking at them all is pleasing. I have everything to both distract and entertain myself….a couple of old favorites like Kerry Greenwood and Elly Griffiths. Also, Mom dipped into my father’s stash with an Edmund Crispin and Yrsa Sigurardottir. I’ve never read either author, but Mom handed them to me with an undeniable reverence. Recently, my favorite genre has been ‘cozy mystery’. I strongly suspect Dad’s books are out of that category. Hmm. I guess I’ll have to focus.

As always, thanks for reading and keep well.