Recent read

Life Before Man, from Margaret Atwood. Long time ago Margaret Atwood. Interestingly, the book is still very modern and it's only here and there, when reading about some 70's decor or style, that you realize this story was written over 25 years ago. The book ends on August 18, 1978, which would have been my fourth birthday. I wonder what life is about when you are four. I can't remember much about my early childhood, sometime images and places, but nothing with a clear timestamp. I remember dad showing me something scary he picked up in the ocean (a lobster?). I remember a small kitchen and a new baby (Annie?).

I wonder if I collected stuff, picked up things I would come across in my exploration of the world. Somehow, this is something I still do. If Tucker and I go on a hike and stop by a river to sit down and watch the water rush by, I always end up with some rocks in my pockets. Not because they were semi-precious stones or out of scientific interest, more because I like how they feel in my hands. Soft rocks that the water has polished, warm rocks that stored the energy from the Sun, brittle rocks that crumble in little pieces when you roll them between your fingers. I've collected seashells from a couple of walks on the beach, driftwood as well, but mostly rocks. Tucker and I seem to share a common interest about rocks, although I have to watch him... He likes to pick up rocks to skip them ;)