I just finished reading a book. Not for school, not for class, just for me. I liked it even more than I liked the title when I chose it from the library shelf. I chose it partially because of the title and the name of the author: Annie John by Jamaica Kincaid. Isn't that lovely? She's the kind of author that writes so that I feel like the person in the book. I could have been Annie. I could have grown up with a mother like hers who believed in spirits and washed clothes by hand in the front yard sunshine.
The story was messy like life is, and wasn't tied up neatly at the end. I like that in books, because real life isn't a happy ending. It's hurt and pain and joy and laughter all mixed together.
Among other things, I made spaghetti sauce from scratch this afternoon. It's simmering on the stove and I'm about to go eat some and watch the sun set :)