Spring Fever

I know I posted about this last year, but the thing is, I get spring fever. I really do. I get all dewy-eyed and palpitating.

Fortunately, today, it's manifesting as a brisk, take-no-prisoners de-cluttering. I am pretty bad about clutter. (Note to self: check out that book, Is This Clutter Making Me Look Fat?) I'm better than I used to be. But not as much better as my husband has become, as he can't stop himself from pointing out over and over, sanctimoniously. Pity.

Anyway, please note the new blog roll. So much more accurate. I guess I've evolved.

When I'm at the library, I always scan the featured titles. I rarely, rarely ever choose something from the stacks: it's either a featured fiction, a featured nonfiction, or a magazine. I think it's because I need to see the covers. (I don't buy cookbooks unless they have a photo of every recipe.) So yesterday, I picked up this cutie-pie: The Next Thing on My List, by Jill Smolinski. I feel almost sheepish about mentioning it, because it totally looks like a chick-pick. It IS written in a light, rollicking, very funny way, and it IS about a self-doubting female protagonist, and it DOES drive by a set of rock-hard abs. (Put off yet?) But it is loose enough that the reader can feel smug about cracking the code before the narrator does, and it is NOT the happy ending that you might expect (at all), and it ends up sending you to the mirror for a good taking-stock. And, I checked it out yesterday and I reading it AGAIN today.

Just the thing for spring fever.