So here's my progress on LHN's "Reading". I felt kinda' funny about putting the word "reading" on this, so I slapped my big ass initials on it instead. Methinks it turned out OK. I also changed the color of the birds, since the chart called for the same purple-y color as the skirt. I thought blue might be nice, and I like the results.
I've always been an avid reader. As a matter of fact, I won a reading contest in the second grade and was rewarded with lunch on the Good Ship Lollipop with the Pittsburgh Steelers. (We lived in Pittsburgh at the time, and it was during the "Steel Curtain" days, so I guess it was a big deal). Franco Harris was my special buddy and I spent the entire day with him. I'm sure there's photographic evidence of this somewhere, but I probably looked like a little water buffalo and I'd rather remember myself as being strikingly interesting.
Reading was always my salvation when the cares of the world got to be too much. I think I spent the majority of my adolescence out on the back porch swings with my nose in a book. I was never told what to read or what not to read, and I can remember when Mom bailed me out of detention for reading the John Jakes book "The Bastard". It was the scandal of eighth grade until somebody pointed out that it was actually a novel that took place during the Civil War and it just wasn't that sexy.
When all the girls were passing "Forever" around (you know...the Judy Blume book about S-E-X), my Mom actually asked me if I had read it yet and whether or not there was anything in it that I wanted to talk about. To this day, I haven't read the damn thing for fear that I might have to DISCUSS it with somebody. (Although Mom has been gone for over 20 years now and I'm pretty sure she figures I got my "talk" already.)
I read every night before I fall asleep, and if he's been a good boy, I will read aloud to Stewey. I'm pretty sure that his taste in literature is a little different than mine, but he puts up with it and listens quietly anyway.
Speaking of Mr. TippyToes, I need to get his sweatshirt out of the dryer and let him outside for a potty break. He's been prancing around the house all morning and all I can hear is the click click clickety click click of his little toes on the hardwood. Damn dog.