It's been a while since I last posted, and I think some of my readers might have given up on me. Summer is a challenging time for blogger writers and readers, but I have resurfaced for the moment, so feel free to start checking back. Was off at the beach, and then was, regretfully, back at work, which has it's own charming way of completely high-jacking my time.
I left for the beach with a bevy of books, none of which I read. When I returned home, The Tudors was waiting for me and Mr. Red Room Library in a red Netflix envelope in my shiny white mailbox. We aren't huge TV people. We gave up cable a few months ago as an experiment, and haven't missed it too much. I say this to people, and they look like I'm from the moon. It's not that we don't watch TV, it's that we don't waste time in front of TV. If it's a good TV show (Office, Weeds) comes to our attention, we get it on Netflix. The Tudors happened along our way, and we started watching it, or should I say living in it becuase life's gotten a little bit more interesting since we started season one. Yesterday, however, we found ourselves woefully without the last disc, and in my real DT moments of Tudors withdrawal, I turned to my The Six Wives of Henry VIII by Alison Weir and dove into that.
I met Alison about a month ago when she came by the museum for a tour. I readily volunteered to leave my desk in the business office and give her a tour. She is the nicest person, and her husband was also great, though I don't think he quite shared her enthusiasm for all things Gone With the Wind. I have many of her books and truly enjoy her writing and presentation of history. Full review later.