in my head and house.

Yesterday I was listening to our local NPR affiliate show Weekday and they were talking about Summer beverages/cocktails. You can listen to that segment here. I am not much of a drinker anymore but I felt such envy and longing when they were talking about various drink recipes. "Dammit I can't have any of this...no fair no fair." This really is a pregnant woman's lament at times. Some sounded really delightful. But I will occupy myself with agua frescas and the like in the mean time.
It is supposed to be warm this weekend so I am planning meals around not standing at the stove. I suspect tonight the theme will be about grazing. Small plates/antipasto and the like. I think there will be plenty of ice cream and sorbet as well.

I picked up a copy of The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop at the library yesterday. It is kind of a memoir/love letter to the author's involvement with books. From the first sparks of attraction of ordering books through the weekly reader in school to famous libraries and book shops around the world. (it helps that the author also spent time as a bookseller) It isn't a big book but it looks intriguing. Still reading Calvin Trillin and beginning Suite Francaise soon. In addition to a couple of books on food preservation and what not.

Time to grill peppers now while the weather is cool enough and I have pieces of my sanity.

Let's get Levar Burton in here to talk about it too.

So. Dick Meyer did a thing on NPR about what he thought were the Best 100 books of the last 100 years. Yes. Well.
Lauren Elkin on her blog Maitresse gave her two cents on this particular list and the author's defense of it. Much of what she and some of the commenters say I agree with. There is nothing wrong with having pedestrian taste in literature and in some ways it should have been entitled, "My favorite 100 books written in the last 100 years". Because there is a significant difference between "best literature" and "stuff I like". (the comments on NPR were amusing) One shouldn't be surprised by the lack of female writers on the list because (and there is nothing wrong with this) he is a guy and also a guy of a specific age so it makes a great deal of sense where his taste may lay.

It is an interesting list in some respects. I have to object to The Godfather being on that list in a way because as someone who has read that book, it is pure pulp. Enjoyable pulp, but not exactly high literature. (it would almost be like putting Valley of the Dolls on the list) I shouldn't be surprised by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I have a lot to say about Fitzgerald if given half a chance. But hey it spoke to Meyer. I can agree with To Kill A Mockingbird but I may have read it at an impressionable age (11) and so it could be partly nostalgia and how cruel humans can be toward one another and how important it is to not deprive anyone of their dignity.
Some other books I disagree with because he chose a book by an author who I personally thought wrote other books better.
And just on principle I have to say, "Philip Roth...really?" But then noticing the John Updike I could say, "yeah...that is what I thought."

So in the end no matter what, lists are iffy things because some literary so and so or another uppity person with a blog (me) will find flaws. Though I couldn't ever say my list of favorite/meaningful books could be any better. But I like to think it would be a little more well-rounded because I am overly-confident like that.

I think it is time for a visit to the Farmer's market.

I feel like I should share this special moment in parenting.

We were at Trader Joe's this afternoon and we were having out groceries rung up. There were two older ladies who thought he was very cute and were asking him questions and so on.
Then he proclaimed, "MUMMY HAS BREASTS". And they didn't quite understand what he had said, so he repeated what he had said. *hides face* Then he pointed to the girl who was ringing us up and was quite busty herself and said, "She has breasts!!!" I distracted him by asking him how old he was so that he could work on a subject of conversation that wouldn't mortify his Mother.
It helped that they couldn't quite hear him in his slightly garbled toddler speak but lord did I ever hear it.

So now you know, Senor Onion's Mummy has breasts, just in case you weren't clear on that subject.
I am just glad he didn't say, "Mummy has BOOBS! BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS!" (because he often shares that at home.)