Birthday Books

Isn't this like looking at a nice juicy steak? I mean, if you eat meat that is. Are y'all reading anything good? Today is my birthday, and this seems to be the year for book gifts. Really I bought The Annotated Christmas Carol for myself, and I borrowed Serena from my parents. So not actually gifts. I wanted to show you Serena, though, because I finished it last night, and it is amazing. How have I never heard of this author? Serena is set in western North Carolina in the 1930's, at a logging camp. Note to self: never get a job cutting timber in the 1930's. Anyway, if Lady MacBeth and Cormac McCarthy had a love child, that offspring would be the title character. I loved the book for its sense of place and also its style that doesn't announce itself as STYLE, you know? It's funny, too, and gothic, and suspenseful. A good yarn.

We had cake and a little celebration on Friday night with Kelly and Jane and their husbands, who I can't link to because they don't have blogs. I hate it when I can't link to someone. Cosmos were consumed, and Lego Rock Band (my gift from the kids) was played.

This morning I told Matt that I'd had a realization. "When you're turning 37," I said, "all the bullshit that was okay in your twenties and that you got away with even into your thirties is officially no longer cute." He replied, "Hmmm." He was in the shower and not that talkative, which is too bad because I always like to stand in the steamy bathroom and chat. Anyway, I guess I need to figure out which parts of my whole act need to get the ax. Maybe the part of me that tends to make bold, categorical pronouncements. Food for thought.