I am blaming gods in Alabama for the fact that at 9:00 last night, I was making biscuits. I am blaming my grandmother for never measuring anything and for inspiring me to follow in her footsteps which meant my destiny was drop flour all over my newly vacuumed floor. (This was of course my lesson for being lazy on sieve selection and for not washing the one I should have used.) The first sentence was no shocker at its mention of football. Judging from my brief stint here, the entire first line of the novel is apropos as an opener to life in Alabama.
As I do not seem to have the ability to let a novel "rest" before jumping into the next one, Sunday found me in the company of Jackson's read. This was the first book that I have read in some time which is actually a "book" and not a manifestation of New York Times font (or in Handler's case, Linotype Sabon font which debuted in 1966 for all you trivia buffs) on my electronic reader. I held the book, and I turned page after page, trying to 'cifer (getting into character) what happened with Jim Beverly. I am also now a little more fearful of palmetto bugs, but this may not be relevant to the rest of you.
How were the biscuits? Tasty. I had them with butter, bbq and slaw. Note to self: next read must be from a healthier food region.
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