fifty.five.

I think my Dad is somewhere near crazy, or has the potential to be really, truly mad.
He talks to his books like they are real people.

Dear Dad,
Books are inanimate objects that will not [and cannot] respond.
They do not take orders, such as "Stay."
When you say "Hello" they will not respond with similar greetings.
I hope you understand.
Love,
Tina.

The thing is, I'm pretty sure he can hear them talking back.....

It smells fantastic out.

I picked up a book of poetry the other day, and immediately saw the poem by Dylan Thomas "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night." I took a poetry class a few years ago, and one day in class my professor read that poem aloud. I loved listening to my professor read the poems aloud. He really lingered on every word, each word meant something, each word lead to the next.
I always got shy to read aloud, and would hide my face in my hand a little and rush through. But he was unabashed and loved every moment. I remember specifically this poem, he didn't look at the book very much because he knew most of it by heart. I remember his face was big and his voice was big and actually all of him was just big. Not fat, just laarrrggee. And his voice was booming and entreating and soft but still big. I loved hearing him read this poem, especially the last stanza. What a neat guy.

I watched Pride & Prejudice this morning whilst doing homework. What a great movie [even though Keira Knightley bugs me a little]. I just love how jaunty and dandy Mr. Bingley is, it makes me laugh. Just a really friendly man.
Speaking of homework, I should get back on that....