Chicken Diaries

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I mentioned in a post a while back that chickens are my favorite kind of bird. Ever since Sister-mine and I moved to our new apartment, I have had the chance to observe our landlords’ chickens more closely, and I have decided to narrate their little chicken thoughts for you. I think you’ll be surprised by how intelligent and charming these awkward birds truly are. 

Day One

I have managed to climb atop of a pile of lumber. There appears to be no food up here. I am uncertain how to get down. I do not know when rescue will come. I will most likely starve. 

Day One 

(Because let’s face it, a chicken’s memory doesn’t really go beyond that.)

We have been released into a grassy enclosure. There is a large furry chicken?? as well as a smaller, equally furry chicken??. They appear to be indifferent toward us, and they offer us no food. Also there are large, four-limbed, bi-pedal, featherless chickens. Two of them walked along the dirt path this morning. They did not bring food. Perhaps next time they will bring food. They are such awkward chickens. They don’t even have wings. I have wings. I can fly. 

Update: It appears I cannot fly as well as I had previously assumed. 

Day One

I have eaten an insect. I hope to eat another insect. 

Update: Something moved over yonder. I will investigate. I believe it is an insect. 

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Day One

I have discovered a barrier made of a see-through substance. I can see one of the featherless chickens behind it, but the barrier is impervious to my beak. There appears to be food beyond the barrier. I will stare at the featherless chicken until it offers me food. 

Update: The featherless chicken does not respond to non-verbal cues. I will make velociraptor screeches to get its attention. Then it will give me food. 

Day One

I eat, therefore I am. 

Day One

One of the featherless chickens gave me an apple core. I am now running for my life. The other chickens are galloping after me in a majestic herd. If I slow down, the apple core is lost. It is my apple core. 

Day One

Is there any higher virtue in life than food? 

Day One

I pecked a featherless chicken’s foot today thinking it was food. It was not food. It appears I will have to find food elsewhere. 

Day One

Food. 

Well, that’s it for today, my little chickens coffee beans. What is your favorite bird? Do you like chickens? Do you like food as much as chickens like food? (Also, in case you were wondering about the two furry chickens referenced above—the first one is a dog and the second one is a cat.)

172 HOURS ON THE MOON // In Which I Talk Space Flight

Rating: Three stars—Good

I’d heard quite a bit about 172 HOURS ON THE MOON by Johan Harstad, and a lot of people seemed to have liked it, so I figured I would check it out. It’s advertised as creepy and disturbing, and I’ve been in the mood for that sort of thing since I started watching The Walking Dead in January. 

Unfortunately, I was relatively disappointed with the execution of the book. So let’s talk about it. 

The Plot. It’s been over forty years since NASA mothballed the lunar program. Now, in preparation for a mission, NASA hosts an international lottery for teens ages 14-18, offering the three lucky winners a chance to spend 172 hours on the moon. However, once our intrepid explorers reach the surface, they discover what their predecessors encountered before them—the reason NASA shut down the lunar program in the first place. 

The Creep Factor. I was, sadly, not the least bit terrified by this book. In the first hundred or so pages, during the build-up to the lunar launch, I felt a cozy sense of impending doom. But the fear factor never got beyond that for me, and it stopped feeling cozy pretty early on. I ended up being more weirded out than anything. Granted, it takes a lot for fiction to scare me, and what frightens someone else might not frighten me. So this could be a matter of personal taste and preference. I just know that I would have written this book differently were I the author. (I personally don’t think the ending is as powerful as it could be, but I don’t want to spoil it for you if you haven’t read the book. If you’re interested in how I would have written the ending differently, feel free to let me know via my contact form and I will gladly tell you privately. And if you loved the ending as it was, good on you. This is all subjective and not a matter of good writing vs. poor writing, so please don’t get your EVA suit in a bunch.) 

The Characters. I didn’t connect with the main characters at all. I understood their goals; I understood their motivations; I understood why each of them sees this as their big break. I don’t think they were poorly written, necessarily. I just didn’t feel anything for them (and upon further research, I’ve found that this is not an uncommon opinion). I did, however, quite like the retired astronaut in the nursing home—a minor character who contributes the only tension I really felt. 

Plausibility. I had a couple issues on this front. First of all, let me just say, I love YA. I have absolutely nothing against teens as main characters, nor do I see them as lesser humans. I am, however, very practical, and it does not seem very practical to send minors into space. Astronauts train for years and years, which is one of the reasons why astronauts are adults. But regardless of age, I also have a problem with sending anyone, kid or not, into space on only four months of intensive training when astronauts don’t get to go into space until they are experts and have been proven to be mentally and physically sound after rigorous testing. (Yes, I know, there have been seven space tourists in the past, but they each handed over about 20-40 million for the honor, whereas NASA is footing the bill in the case of these fictional kids. And the premise of the story says NASA needs these kids to encourage more funds.) It would be one thing if the main characters were hand-selected for their stunning genius. But they were chosen randomly. So that makes sense. 

These three teenagers count as nonessential crew members because they are not qualified for anything the mission requires. They are included on the mission as glorified tourists for the sake of publicity. Now, I don’t want to make your eyes glaze over if you’re not an astronomy geek like me, so I’ll avoid numbers and equations as best I can. But essentially, it takes tons and tons (think hundreds of thousands of tons) of propellant to get your shuttle off the ground and through the atmosphere, and even more if you want it to escape Earth’s gravitational pull. This means a single kilogram of equipment requires multiple tons (think thousands) of propellant. Translated into cash, that’s in the five digits (and remember, this is just for one kilogram). This is why the engineers who build shuttles use the most durable yet lightweight materials they can. This is also why crew members don’t get to bring their personal libraries or bowling ball collections into space. So no, NASA isn’t going to fork over crazy amounts of mullah in order to send up three inexperienced teens and their notepads and iPods, even if in forty years they have somehow managed to cut the cost of propellant in half. (Side note, in case you were wondering: When astronauts do bring music and literature and whatnot, they download it onto the mainframe because digital files don’t add mass.) 

Yes, I realize I have probably spent an obsessive amount of time thinking about this. But astronomy is somewhat of a passion for me (had you noticed?) and I find small fallacies in realistic space fiction very distracting. (However, I am by no means an expert in this field, so please take everything I say with a grain of salt and don’t built your rockets to my specs.) 

The Writing Style. I wasn’t hugely impressed by the writing style itself, and the dialogue seemed somewhat stilted and unrealistic (although some of that could have been due to translation, as 172 HOURS ON THE MOON was originally written in Norwegian). Also, fun fact—I spent the whole book wondering why the writing style reminded me so much of BATTLE ROYALE, so I was really pleased when the author mentioned, in the Q&A at the end, that BATTLE ROYALE was one of his writing inspirations. 

What I Liked. I didn’t absolutely hate this book. I mean, I did give it three stars, after all. Like I said earlier, I liked the initial build-up and the sense of dread that came with, although even that took too long (in my opinion). I liked the premise—the idea that there might have been a reason we stopped making trips to the moon, that there might be something very dangerous up there waiting for us to return. And I am a sucker for space travel stories, even when they’re not entirely faithful to the facts. Also, the story incorporates some black and white photos of lunar landscapes and suchlike, so that adds to the mood. 

In Conclusion. I hate to say this, but 172 HOURS ON THE MOON (in my opinion) does not work as a Young Adult novel. It’s one of those books where I get the itch to rewrite the whole thing because it feels relatively close to the mark, like an arrow that's hit just an inch or so away from the bull's-eye. However, that doesn’t mean 172 HOURS ON THE MOON won’t be exactly right for you, so if you’re still interested in it after reading this review, more power to you, and I hope you enjoy it. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Do you find it odd that I’m simultaneously bad at math and passionate about astronomy? Have you read 172 HOURS ON THE MOON? What is something that awakens your inner geek? Have you secretly been to the moon? (If so, please tell all. I will pay you in coffee beans.)

Five Reasons to Love Summer

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Summer is beautiful, is it not? As we humanoids in the Northern Hemisphere plunge into yet another summer, I’m reminded again of how much I love this season. I could talk forever about the reasons I love summer, but let’s touch on the highlights. 

Bugs! Do you love ant infestations? Do you love hornets buzzing around your windows and spiders crawling across your floors? Do you love accidentally eating a mosquito when you open your mouth to say something? Then summer is the perfect season for you. Plus, you get ticks thrown in as an added bonus. And who doesn’t like the thought of getting Lyme Disease? 

Heat! Why go for the comfortable 60-70°F range when you could ramp it up to 90°F? Or better yet, round that figure to 100°F. After all, 100 dollars is better than 70 dollars, so why shouldn’t the same principle apply to temperature? I just love turning into a slippery sweat monster when I go out for my twice-daily walks. There’s nothing like that feeling of impending death by suffocation to get your heart pumping. 

Dehydration! Tired of chapped lips and goosebumps? Not to fear. Now you get to enjoy a lovely dehydration headache, courtesy of summer! Rest assured, this headache won’t go away no matter how much you drink because you live in a literal oven now. Fortunately, you’ll still need to use your actual oven to cook meals, so your kitchen will remain extra cozy and warm. Isn’t that so nice? 

Sunlight! Do you have sensitive eyes? Are you unable to wear sunglasses over your regular glasses? Then you’ll just love the direct sunlight burning holes in your retinas. This gives you the added benefit of squinty, watery eyes. People will see that you’re crying and will naturally assume that you are a soft-hearted person. You’ll blend in way better and make lots of friends! Also, you might get sunburns, and we all know those are loads of fun! I, personally, don’t burn very badly, and I’ve always felt like I’m missing out on something wonderful. *sad face* But maybe this summer will be my lucky summer. 

Thunderstorms! Do you enjoy getting struck by lightning? Do you like worrying about power loss and food shortages? Do you relish the thought of flash floods and downed trees? Are you sick of the gentle, soothing spring rains? Then look no further, because summer is thunderstorm season. I’m at least 100% sure that lightning struck somewhere a few miles away from my house last night. But I’m trying not to be too disappointed, because there’s still a chance it will strike closer next time. Also, added bonus—you might get a lovely hailstorm or two that promise to trash your car and/or your face. And let’s not forget the potential tornado threat that comes with these bad boys. So rest assured, your anxiety will be in good hands this summer. 

I could spend hours talking about how much I love this season, but I’m sure all this positivity is starting to bore you, so I’ll just leave you to think about your own favorite aspects of summer. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? What are some reasons, sarcastic or serious, that you like summer? What’s your favorite season? Do you like thunderstorms?

VINEGAR GIRL // A Tiny Bookish Recommendation

Rating: Five Stars—ajklsdflk (when words fail to describe how wonderful a book is)

I won an ARC of VINEGAR GIRL by Anne Tyler in mid-February, but I haven’t wanted to post my review until closer to the release date. Since June is its release month, I no longer have any excuse to procrastinate. 

Strangely enough, I don’t have a lot to say about this one. It’s not that I didn’t think it was deep or important, just that it was like a nice cup of tea. You quietly appreciate the taste, you finish drinking it, and then you move on to other cups of tea. You don’t necessarily feel the need to explain to everyone just how wonderful that specific cup of tea was and why.  But that doesn't mean you loved the tea any less. (Can you tell I’m drinking tea at the moment? My brain is very confused because the tea is not coffee.) 

The Story. Essentially, VINEGAR GIRL is a modern retelling of Shakespeare’s THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. While Anne Tyler keeps a lot of the basic plot points, she also takes a fair amount of poetic license with the story. As evinced by my five-star rating, despite my love for the original, I’m a big fan of the changes she’s made. She’s simplified the story and taken out a measure of the dramatic, leaving it safe and cozy, but by no means boring. The characters are unique, charming, and lovable (except Bunny—I hate Bunny).

The Tone. Overall, the tone is lighter and quieter. Anne Tyler’s Kate is vinegar where Shakespeare’s Katherine is acid. I felt I was more able to relate to Kate, from her lack of romantic ideas to her propensity toward being a well-meaning bad influence on children. She’s not violent or especially bitter like Katherine—she simply has a mind of her own. 

Highlights. VINEGAR GIRL offers important observations on life and feminism, such as the fact that women are often treated as more valuable once they are engaged/married. 

Style. Anne Tyler’s writing style is quirky and refreshingly different from what I ordinarily read. I’ll have to see about stealing borrowing more of her novels from the library. 

In Conclusion. I highly recommend this book, especially for women, feminists, and all other literate humanoids. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Have you read any Shakespeare retellings? Are you surprised that I didn’t have a lot to say on this one? (Because I am.) Stay tuned because in a month or so I will be reviewing another modern Shakespeare retelling.

PTSD // In Which I Rant a Little

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Though I’ve been planning this piece for several months now, I almost decided not to post it just yet, in the light of the events in Orlando, since I don’t want to draw attention away from what the victims’ families are going through. But then I got to thinking that the survivors of the shooting will also experience PTSD, most likely, so maybe this is more relevant than I had realized. 

So today we’re going to talk about what it’s like to live with civilian PTSD. 

I find it surprising how often people assume PTSD is only something you get if you’ve been in the military on active duty. You go out; you fight people; you shoot and get shot. Maybe you get a few limbs blown off. And then you come home a different, more difficult person. You lose buddies, and they haunt your sleep. You hold inside the things you can never explain, the things you’ve seen that can’t be unseen. You spend a lot of time feeling like a cornered animal. 

Military PTSD is legitimate and you should never sweep it under the rug, don’t get me wrong, but the same goes for civilian PTSD. Just because we can’t pull up the more commonly heard type of war story by way of explanation doesn’t mean we aren’t still stuck in a mental battlefield. 

There were several factors that contributed to my PTSD, but I’ve already talked about the main event in a previous post, so if you want the long story, I would advise you to go there. The CliffsNotes version is that I was evacuated from Ivory Coast (twice) when my town became a war zone (twice). 

Because of the night I spent cowering on the floor listening to bombs falling a mile away, I cannot stand fireworks. My brain hears the fireworks exploding, thinks they are bombs, and starts preparing to lose everyone and everything all over again. It doesn’t matter that I know fireworks are recreational and beautiful and harmless if you practice appropriate precaution. It doesn’t matter if I can see them, although it sometimes helps a little. It doesn’t even matter that it’s unlikely I will lose everything for a third time. All that matters is that fireworks sound like bombs to me. The same goes for slamming doors and any other sort of loud, abrupt noise. 

All of this can be incredibly embarrassing, like the multiple times I’ve freaked out during firework shows at the camp where I worked during the summer, or the time I had a full on panic attack when our camp flooded during a thunderstorm and I was told to save my most valuable possessions and leave the rest behind. Last week a piece of wood fell onto the tile floor in our apartment, and I instinctively took cover because my brain misinterpreted the bang as a gunshot. When I attended my grandfather’s funeral and the honor guard fired their guns in salute at the cemetery, it took great effort not to dive behind the nearest vehicle. 

One of the biggest problems is that it is easy for people who have never experienced something traumatic to assume I am merely overreacting, that what I went through could not have had such a profound effect on my psyche. I have been laughed at. I have been told to grow up and get over it. I have been accused of doing this for attention. Because yes, I just love that feeling when my knees get so weak I can’t even support myself so the girl’s staff boss has to carry me on her back to my cabin while everyone stares at my tear-splotchy face. I just love forgetting where I am and how old I am. I love the overly-concerned and confused looks I get when my body is shutting down but my mind is on high alert. I love getting looked at like I’m broken glass or a time bomb. I just love it when everyone knows why I have the week off counseling after the fourth of July. I love it when the rumors get back to me. I even have PTSD attacks on my own time when no one is watching and no one is available to help me through them because I love having them so much. Clearly I am doing this for attention. *

*So that we’re absolutely clear on this point, if you can’t see the sarcasm dripping off that last paragraph, then it’s possible you are part of the problem.

Those outside my mind who think they have permission to judge it are right when they say there is nothing wrong with my body. In fact, they are right when they say it is all in my head. 

That is the problem. 

It is in my head, and it won’t ever go away. There will always be a part of me that is still seven years old and cowering in the hallway praying we won’t get hit by a stray bomb, praying the mob outside won’t try to break down the gate, praying the gunshots are going into the air and not into people. I had no way of knowing whether or not I was going to survive that night, so there will always be that small part of me that came away convinced the end was still coming, that small part that’s still braced for that final, fatal bomb to fall—that small part that still avoids windows on bad days because STRAY BULLET, STRAY BULLET, WHAT IF THERE’S A STRAY BULLET. 

I avoid large crowds when I can, and when I can’t I have to grit my teeth and bear it. All those voices, loud and talkative and undisciplined, garble together until they sound like the angry roar outside my home. When I go on trips or move house I have to pack slowly or I start to panic because it feels like seven-year-old me all over again, choosing what to take with me and what to leave behind forever. 

It has been almost twelve years since that November, and I still have nightmares and flashbacks. I still have trouble convincing my mind it's safe enough to fall asleep at night. Telling me to get over it will not suddenly make me better. I can promise you, I wish I had a sound brain. I wish my mind and body didn’t betray me at the worst moments. I wish I hadn’t been through something so painful and hard to understand. 

I don’t usually get what I wish for. 

So a word to the wise. If you see someone freaking out about loud noises or having a flashback, do not laugh. Don’t you dare belittle them. So help me, do not make it worse. If you can’t help them, at least stay clear of their personal bubble, keep your mouth shut, and don’t stare. Or better yet, find someone who can help. If you want to help, respect their space, use a soft voice, remind the person of where they are, remind them that they are safe, talk about unrelated positive things to distract them (but don’t talk too much). Help them get grounded in reality again. Listen to them. Keep a crowd from forming. Be aware of their response to physical contact because sometimes a hug is helpful and sometimes a hug is an attack. Use your common sense. Realize that you are there to be a friend, not a psychiatrist. We don’t always have people on hand to help us through our PTSD attacks, so we generally know how to manage on our own, but you could help so much just by being understanding and gentle. 

Despite the patronizing and unhelpful people I have encountered along the way, I have also had wonderfully supportive people who have stepped up to help at some of my most vulnerable moments. I have had peers lend me their music and earbuds on multiple occasions in hopes of helping me block out the sound of fireworks. I have had people lend my sister and me their cars so we can drive away from the noise. I have had people sit with me and talk to me and help me during these times. I am extremely grateful that these sorts of people exist. 

Please don’t be the sort of person who makes it worse. Please be the kind soul who understands. 

Thank you for listening. It's not something I like talking about at all, so I appreciate your willingness to read this whole thing. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? How many of you have had flashbacks? How many of you know at least one person with PTSD?

Orlando

My condolences to the friends and families of the victims in Orlando. 

I don’t know if any of you are reading this, but if you are, I literally don’t know what to say. This crime committed against you was horrific and evil. You are in so much pain, and I wish there was something I could do to take that pain away. I pray that you will be comforted today and all the days after. 

I can’t promise you that this grief will lessen with time, but I hope you find it gets easier to bear. I wish I could hug you and let you cry and talk about your lost loved ones. I hope you will be able to find even the smallest measure of light through all of this.

I wish this didn't have to turn into a political and religious battle, because I can't imagine how much more painful this must make it for you. You deserve the right to grieve in peace. 

And please, everyone else who is reading this, please remember that these were people who died. People with hopes and dreams and plans for the future. Please don't forget this when you start arguing about gun control and healthcare and ISIS. Please take this opportunity to reach out and help those who have been devastated by this violent crime. There is a time and a place for all of this, and right now it's time to comfort those who are in pain, to support them and let them know they do not have to go this alone. You have had ample time to argue about politics and religion in the past, and you will likely have ample time in the future. Please don't make the present harder for those who are suffering. 

The Power of Words Tag

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The estimable Heather @ Sometimes I’m a Story tagged me for this lovely thingumabob, for which I am eternally grateful. Thank you, Heather! Here, have a coffee. 

The rules follow thusly: 

Thank the person who nominated you and link to their blog. (Or I will shun you and take away your coffee for being an ungrateful little bean. Try me, I dare you.) 

Answer the original six text-themed questions. (I will also be answering the bonus questions as well, because I am a rebel.)

Add a typography/word-related question of your own for those tagged to answer. (Or I will hunt you down and tickle you until you come up with something.) 

Tag six or more bloggers and let them know. (Psshh, I make my own rules.)

Include these rules in your post. (Make me.)

What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

Wouldn't you like to know?

Okay, fine, I'll tell you. Lowercase "l", because it looks a bit like 1, which is one of my favorite numbers. This has nothing at all to do with the fact that my nickname begins with an "l". 

What are three words you love?

Lamborghini // Lullaby // Masquerade

What are three words you hate?

Seductive // Clammy // Cesspool (Especially when you string them together.)

If you were to create a word, what would it be, and what would it describe?

Shodastaidinbd (see if you can figure out the correct pronunciation), a temporary state of being in which a person suddenly becomes overly clumsy and/or loses all ability to sound/behave like an intelligent member of society. 

What are your three favorite punctuation marks?

. — /

What are your three favorite fonts?

Times New Roman // Trebuchet MS // Cochin

Bonus Question: If you could change the way one word sounded, which would it be, and how would it sound?

I would make it so that the word “woman” was actually pronounced “majestic warrior queen”.

Bonus Question: Do you know of a word that looks better than it sounds?

Psychopath

Heather’s Question: What are three words you mispronounced when you first read them aloud because you’d only ever read them before? 

Aphrodite // Inevitable // Envelop

And here is my question for the lovely humans I shall tag: What are three words you used incorrectly in your youth (youth being anywhere from a week to eighty years ago, give or take)? 

I’m only tagging three people today, because I feel like I’ve been tagging a ton of people lately, and also because I am a miser. But if I haven’t tagged you, and you would like to do the tag nonetheless, tough luck. *coughs* I mean, please, help yourself. By all means.  

I hereby tag:

Alexa // Tessa // Ashley 

What about you, my little coffee beans? What are some of your favorite and least favorite words? What is your favorite letter? What is your social security number? (Don’t answer that.)

THE SOUND OF EMERALDS Review // In Which I Am an Emotionless Brick

Rating: Two stars—Meh

Caution: Mild, mild spoilers ahead

Wow, it’s been quite a while since I last posted a review. Is it bad that it feels like only a week has passed? 

Anyway, onwards and upwards. 

I was given an eARC of THE SOUND OF EMERALDS by Rachelle Rea. Thank you, Rachelle! (THE SOUND OF EMERALDS released last month.) 

I have to say, I was a bit disappointed with this one. I didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t for me either. Unfortunately, I can’t address the entirety of my opinion because most of my issues are centered around major spoilers, but I will try my best. (Also, if you haven’t read the first two books in this trilogy, maybe don’t read this review, as it will contain spoilers for THE SOUND OF DIAMONDS and THE SOUND OF SILVER. If you want to read my reviews for those two books, you can find them here and here.) 

The Central Plot. Coming into the book, I was expecting the central plot to revolve around clearing Dirk’s name, as had been set up as a necessity in THE SOUND OF SILVER. I was excited to see where that would go. We have tension between Anders, Dirk, and Gwen and, at least at the ending of the previous book, it seems unclear whether Anders will help the two lovebirds or if he will do his best to put Dirk in jail. 

Unfortunately, I was wrong. Dirk’s legal issues take back burner for most of the novel, and the plot that takes its place just wasn’t for me. I’m sure it would appeal to a lot of other people, specifically people who like children. 

Mush Middle. On top of my inability to sympathize with the central issue for this book, I felt that, overall, the middle dragged. A lot of information and feelings get rehashed repeatedly without enough deep exploration of the emotions or broadening of the themes. Dirk and Gwen spend a lot of time at odds with each other, communicating poorly, and operating on assumptions that could be easily dispelled—which was valid and enjoyable for a time, but got old after a while. I can only spend so long watching characters skirt around an easy solution before I get frustrated with them. (I encountered this issue with books like ALLEGIANT and THE ONE.) 

The Plus Side. Despite my complaints, I don’t want to insinuate that Rea said nothing interesting or worthwhile. On the contrary. Rea throws in some profound observations, and her themes are still interesting. I think, with less repetition, I would have given the story three stars instead of two. And to be fair, like I said before, I think my biggest problem with this book might have been more a personality issue than anything. Not to mention, I can be difficult to please when it comes to series conclusions. So, just because I didn’t like it all that much, doesn’t mean you won’t absolutely love it. If this book sounds like your cup of coffee, please don’t let me rain on your parade. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Have you read any of the books in this trilogy? What have you been reading lately? How easily do you empathize with a character’s struggles?

The Scoop

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Sister-mine and I have officially moved into our new apartment! *happy dance* I wasn’t able to post on Monday because I was busy packing and cleaning, and I didn’t have consistent internet. I also didn’t have time to prepare a full-length post for today. *sad face* But now that the moving craziness has passed, I should have more time to blog from now on. 

As for my current state, while we still have a fair amount of unpacking left to do, all my books are on my shelves again, and I can organize and reorganize them to my heart’s content. This makes me a happy coffee bean. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? What have you been up to lately?