I don’t remember a time when I couldn’t read. I have hazy, wonderful memories of me and my brother sitting on an overstuffed recliner with my dad as he read to us about dinosaurs. We knew all of them, from the docile, almost boring brontosaurus to the terrifying T. rex to the extremely cool yet often overlooked ankylosaurus.

Then there were the trips to Kmart–my father said he could fill an entire shopping cart with clothes and shoes for all four of us kids, until that horrible day when I figured out who Gloria Vanderbilt was–where the toys were off-limits, but we could choose any book we wanted.

Books have always been a part of my life. They’ve taken me to places I’ve never thought I’d go, to places I could have never imagined on my own. They’ve introduced me to amazing people and their amazing journeys. Some books have been dry as dust and stuffed full of facts that I forgot as soon as I closed the cover on them. Some have transformed events that took place in distant times and locations, and made them come to life for me. Books have entertained me, challenged me, bored me, frustrated me.

Unlike most of my friends, I find it extremely difficult to stop reading a book once I’ve started it. I don’t know why. It’s not that I expect them to get better, it’s some sort of a "finish what you started" thing. I’m the same way with a series; once I’ve started one, I feel almost obligated to finish it. Lucky for me, I read fairly quickly. Also lucky for me, a lot of the series I’ve started recently are young adult series and they tend to be a bit quicker to read than, say, Kim Stanley Robinson’s Mars trilogy (which I will finish, really!).

I try to read a variety of books. Mostly fiction, but some nonfiction too. Lots of sff (I do prefer cyberpunk and hard sf to fantasy, but the Earthsea books are among my very very favorites). Mysteries (for some reason I prefer European mystery writers to American, not sure why). And what I suppose I’d have to call literary fiction, although I’d prefer to simply call them novels.

As I mentioned, I read fairly quickly, which enables me to read for pleasure at the end of the workday. Sometimes, for whatever reason, a book can take me a long time to read. Usually these are works of nonfiction, and sometimes they’re a bit complex and just take a while to absorb, and I have to go back and reread to make sure I’m understanding everything before moving forward. Sometimes the book is so dense that I pick up something lighter to read on the side, and then my attention turns to the light reading for a month or so until I come back to the heavier topic. Sometimes I’ll put a book down if I just can’t get into it. When I come back to it, more often than not it turns out I just wasn’t in the mood for that book and I’m much more able to dive in. But there are always those books that for whatever reason just don’t engage me.

What I really need to do is to stop buying new books until I finish the ones I already have. I think I could get through all of them in a year, but that might be a bit optimistic. Perhaps I could set up a rewards system of sorts: I’m allowed to buy a new book only after finishing five of the books that are in the TBR bookcase. In my defense, though, of the 20 books I bought in England this summer, I’ve finished 17!

 Aye, me scurvy dogs, it’s International Talk Like a Pirate Day. So put on your eyepatch, grab a parrot and a cup o’ grog, and join in t’ fun!

Bit by bit, I’m easing back into normal everyday life. My main issue is just that I’m exhausted. Who knew that sitting on one’s backside for hours on end, looking out an airplane window, could be so tiring?

Over the next few weeks I’m going to be going through my travel journal and trying to make it into a series of coherent entries; the photos as well. At some point I’ll try to post them somewhere, if anyone is interested in seeing any of them. Some of the Africa photos are interesting.

The hardest part of coming home has been the heat! Although direct sunlight was a bit warm, for the most part it was nice and cool in Africa, and definitely in England before that, and I wasn’t prepared for the 100+ (39C) temperatures of Texas.

At least I can use the excuse of catching up on work as a reason to stay indoors

It’s been an amazing journey. In the past 8 weeks, I’ve visited gorgeous cities, overcrowded slums, and savannah as far as the eye can see. Finally made it south of the equator. And i spent time with fantastic people, some of whom I knew, and others whom I met along the way.

I’ll try to post some pictures at some point. For right now, though, I need some sleep. The trip home took almost 48 hours, and I’m wiped out.

From when I was a little girl, I remember sounds, mostly.

Neil Diamond–"Porcupine Pie," "Song Sung Blue," and the entirety of "Taproot Manuscript."

Simon and Garfunkel.

John Denver.

Bach’s works for organ.

And always, always, Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

Then come snippets of actual memories.

Miniature golf.

Horseback riding. Terrified, but trying to look confident for the camera.

Gardening.

Sewing.

And, as I got older, indelible memories.

Some with my mother:

Rafting down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.

Hiking across the crater of Kilauea.

Sitting side by side, having our morning cups of tea, watching the whales play on the Hamakua Coast.

And some with my father:

Boat rides. Glacier Bay. San Francisco. Nantucket.

My parents are amazing people, who in spite of the upheaval in their own lives made sure their children went to bed–and still go to bed–every night feeling safe, secure, and loved.

My mother would have been 69 today. The older I get, the more I realize just how much life she had left to live.

My father will be 76 next month. I am so thankful and grateful for all that he has done, and all he continues to do, for me.

I have an amazing family, and I don’t take that for granted. Ever.

I miss you and love you, Mom. I love you, Dad. Thank you for everything.

There’s a new baby red panda at the National Zoo! Now if only I still lived in DC and could go visit! 

Sometimes, a given language does not have a word for a given item / concept / action. In many cases, the workaround is to borrow a word from another language. English, for example, is rich with loan words. Some examples:

avatar (Sanskrit)

checkmate (Farsi)

geyser (Icelandic)

sauna (Finnish)

Several nights ago, I was watching a World Cup match with some friends. The volume was turned way down, as the commentary was in Magyar and was more distracting than informative to the non-Hungarians in the room. At one point, I looked up on the screen and saw the word "Elefántcsontpart" in the schedule. I can’t speak Hungarian, let alone read it, but usually the country names are at least vaguely familiar. But Elefántcsontpart? What in the world country is that?

Turns out, Magyar doesn’t have a word for "ivory." They call it "elephant bone." So the Hungarian name for "Ivory Coast" starts out with "elephant bone."

For some reason, this amuses me immensely.

A while back, Harlequin Enterprises announced its new self-publishing imprint. This caused a bit of an uproar because the idea was that Harlequin planned to pitch this imprint in its rejection letters, with the implication that books that sold well would be considered for the "real" Harlequin imprints. Several major writers’ groups–Romance Writers of America, Mystery Writers of America, and Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America–immediately expressed their opposition, and removed Harlequin from their lists of qualifying publishers.

Cut to today, when RWA announces that it is adopting a new system, and will now recognize imprints rather than publishers. Meaning Harlequin, with the exception of DellArte Press, its self-publishing imprint, is back in. Presumably Thomas Nelson (minus West Bow Press, its self-publishing imprint) as well.

This is pretty much what I figured would end up happening, as I mentioned in this post.

As always, I didn’t get to read nearly as many books as I would have liked. I did read some really good books in 2009, though.

Mysteries:

Beneath the Bleeding, by Val McDermid: Tony Hill and Carol Jordan. ‘Nuff said.

Bone by Bone, by Carol O’Connell: This one’s a stand-alone, not part of the Kathleen Mallory series, which I have also enjoyed.

The Girl Who Played with Fire, by Stieg Larsson: I liked this one better than The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I’m looking forward to reading the next book in the series.

Heartsick and Sweetheart, by Chelsea Cain: Interesting premise. I want to read the third book in the series as well.

Made to Be Broken, by Kelley Armstrong: I have to say, I love this character (Nadia Stafford). I like this series a lot better than the Otherworld books.

Nonfiction:

Blood River: A Journey to Africa’s Broken Heart, by Tim Butcher.

When the Guillotine Fell, by Jeremy Mercer.

Urban Fantasy/Paranormal/SFF

Harry Dresden books, by Jim Butcher: the TV show sucked, but I really like the books.

Magic Strikes, by Ilona Andrews. Looking forward to more!

White Witch, Black Curse, by Kim Harrison: I love me some Rachel Morgan!

Young Adult

The Blue Girl, by Charles de Lint: I really, really liked this book, and plan to read more by this author.

The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman. Yes, I know. Just about anything by Neil Gaiman makes my best of list!

RIP Dan O’Bannon, who wrote the screenplay for Alien, one of my favorite movies ever.