Holidays and a retreat from reading

Befanged with excessive weather the fever pitch of the season was lanced with a deadening stillness as all plans for calculation and evasion of familial matters was broad-axed by the snow and subsequent gnashing of the beartrap of the sentimental holiday dinner. I survived such with nary a scar save for my sister's latest supernova.

My reading these past days has been diminished by my, em, shopping on Friday and other incidental matters since. The break supplied by Nikolai was welcomed and i was pondering another detour for this afternoon. If A Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich isn't a holiday book, then what is?

This season was also rather consistent as to book buying for others. Cloud Atlas was the runaway winner with a few copies being disseminated here and far. I look forward to rereading it with my mates in month or so. Susana Clarke's Jonathan Strange saga was also purchased for my mother. I must admit that reaidng a few pages while on the couch yesterday afternoon was enjoyable. I bought my dad Confederates in the Attic as he appeared interested atwo weeks ago when I told him of my enjoyment with Shelby Foote. I read the Horwitz a few years ago after Roger exclaimed his love for such. It was principally cook books for my wife who has finished Death in Venice and is pondeirng a change of course, perhaps in srpski (serbian to our wayward drawl.)