Books

My mom reads to my grandson, Capt. Adorable. I love that they both are holding their mouths the exact same way.

My mom, "Grommy," reads to my almost 14-month-old grandson, Capt. Adorable. I love that they both are holding their mouths the exact same way.

Arrggghhhh! No, it’s not Talk Like A Pirate Day. That is me being aggravated at myself for forgetting things. Like today. I was hanging out with family all day — including grandson Capt. Adorable, my parents and both daughters — and then came home to more computer problems so I spent an hour on the phone getting my wireless router reconfigured and then completely forgot I had an AAUW book-club meeting tonight. I love my American Association of University Women group because those ladies are so dang smart — I just sort of soak up wisdom whenever I’m around them — and it aggravated the bookbejebbers out of me for forgetting it was meeting tonight. Also: I was looking forward to hearing more about our book. “The Golden Child” by Penelope Fitzgerald. Written in 1977, this novel is a delightful poke at pretentious high-museum politics as a world-famous archaeological exhibit opensĀ in LondonĀ — and murder and mayhem ensues. With proper English decorum, of course. I had never heard of this book or this author, who wrote her first book at 69 so that means there is hope for the rest of us, and I wanted to learn more. Oh, well. Plus, this week I also have forgotten three water bottles and left them at various places: 1) My parents’ refrigerator, 2) the local library board room (which doesn’t sound as impressive when you know I was there only for a Harry Potter book-club meeting) and 3) well … I now have forgotten the third place where I left a water bottle. I think it’s time to go to bed.