MASTERS OF DIGRESSION

I am in the middle of reading Les Miserables, but before you jump to any crazy conclusions, let me assure you that I am reading this particular book only because I happened to run across it several years ago at a garage sale and it called to me. First, and most obviously, because the author is Victor Hugo and I happen to have an affinity for all things "Hugo". Second, and more importantly, because the price was right. So there you have it. My reasons for reading one of the great classics of all time.

I must also confess that I started reading this book back when I bought it, but I had a hard time making progress. Because let’s face it...and no offense Victor...the thing is definitely not a page turner. But even more daunting than the actual writing was something I discovered shortly AFTER I started reading the 470-some page book. Towards the bottom of its front cover, in fairly large print so I can’t claim fraud, are two ominous words...Volume One. To say this discovery discouraged me would be an understatement. I simply could not go on, so I laid the book aside. (Or did I lie it aside? Never sure on that one.)

Anyway, about a month ago, I ran across the book again...this time in a stack beside my bed. And I don’t know why but I decided to give it another shot. And here I am now at almost the halfway mark in said Volume One, so I am thinking brighter thoughts about my chances of finishing it and maybe even searching out the dreaded Volume Two. I can only hope there is no Volume Three.

But the reason I bring all this up now is that I have recently come to the conclusion that Victor and I have something in common in our writing styles. Seriously. We both digress. Right smack dab in the middle of his epic about the prostitute Fantine and her lovely daughter Cosette, Victor veers off into a lengthy and detailed description of the Battle of Waterloo. Fascinating reading, actually. But that’s when I realized that even great writers veer off on tangents now and again, and so I’m going to quit apologizing for my digressions.

As for family news, we are charging ahead with this graduation thing. Apparently, it will happen whether I want it to or not. Emily has addressed all the invites and they should go out shortly...when and if I can get to the post office for stamps. We’re hoping they have a Frank Sinatra series out, but that would probably be too much to ask. She also got her cap and gown. And that’s enough about that.

Rachel played in her final symphony concert of the year last night. And I don’t like to speak ill of the boyfriend but when she asked him to go, he said "Do I have to?" and she said "No", and he said "Okay." And I can’t really blame him because I literally had to PREPARE David in advance for the ordeal. I gave him plenty of warning, and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not getting out of it. So we all went, and the music was beautiful, and the conductor always does a great job of picking interesting pieces. But the highlight of the night for David was when he spotted a typo in the program which made Englebert Humperdink’s name sound even funnier...and bawdier, if you will.

And on a final and serious note, someday I would like to tell you the story of my mother and her dear friend MaryAnn. I am thinking about their uncommon friendship right now because our family was saddened to hear that MaryAnn passed away yesterday. I know if it’s possible for heaven to get sweeter, then it did the minute she said goodbye to this earth. But seriously, I cannot talk about this now.

I haven’t had lunch yet today, but for breakfast, I had two Connie’s Cookies that had been in my freezer.