Well, here it is. Time for the Winter Solstice and the darkest day of the year. (Which is especially dark when it’s as cloudy, gray, and overcast as it is here, today.)

So, here I am, trying to spread some light, because we could use some brightening around here, anyway. So, yes, Christian though I am, I lit a solstice candle to help bring back the sun.

It comes naturally to me, of course. After all, I’ve been spreading light and cheer in our house for 41 years, because it was exactly 41 years ago today that I came home from the hospital, a teeny little premature baby in a whole lot of wrappings. (Mom and Dad love to tell the story about bringing home a “normal” size baby and then starting to unwrap the blanket . . . and another one . . . and another one. Layer after layer until they were left with teeny-tiny little me.) So, you know, happy anniversary to me (grin).

Anyway, I had taken today off from work, and I had a 30% off coupon from Borders, so Mom and I went to the bookstore this morning. I don’t think I’ve been in a bookstore since about October, which is practically unheard of for me. (We won’t even discuss how long since I’ve been in a yarn shop. May, I think? Or earlier?)

The truly bizarre part, though, is that I’m having the hardest time finding fiction that I want to read. It’s not that I’m really that picky, either–I’ll read almost anything that’s recommended highly enough–although, while that’s true, I suppose, that I really am kind of picky. Nothing too trashy. Nothing scary that will keep me up at night. Nothing with too much overt sex or bad language, because, really, why waste my time? But something interesting, with good characters and a well-thought-out plot? How hard can that be, really?

Apparently it’s more challenging than I thought, because I couldn’t find anything. I picked up a paperback for Dad and bought Mom one that she was looking at, because I’m happy to buy books even when they’re not for me. I bought two non-fiction books for me (The Tipping Point and Permission Marketing). They both look good and interesting, and mind you, I like non-fiction, but . . . It’s fiction that I need for that internal satisfaction thing. Something that tells a story instead of communicating information. Something that has fascinating characters instead of facts and theories. A good plot with (hopefully) an emotionally-satisfying ending. All of which you can find with good non-fiction, I am well aware. I have any number of non-fiction books on the shelves that are every bit as involving and gripping as the best fiction, but . . . it’s not the same. (grin)

Good thing I’m happy to reread books I already have, huh?

Oh, and I saw this here:

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