My Kind of Churching

On Sunday mornings, I don't go to church. I give my spirit a feed by catching up on my favourite webpages, which you can see in the list (Arts & Letters) on the left side of the page. It's set up so that whenever a blogger posts a new entry, the title (and link to) the blog rises to the top of my list; those who update infrequently tend to stay down near the bottom. It's a handy little system and I put it on my page solely for my own convenience.

There are some I go read the moment I see they've written something new. There are some whose entries compel me less, and those can wait till I get around to them. There are some who write longlonglong and every day, whose writing can be quite wonderful, but I just can't keep up with them; I don't much like book-length reading on the computer screen, I must admit, and prefer time-consuming reading to be done while propped up in my comfy bed. But I peruse the list every day to see what's new and what my bloggie friends are doing.

Today I'd like to introduce you to a blog that I've only recently discovered where the author talks not only about crime-writing but about many mystery novels themselves, thus pointing me in the direction of titles I might otherwise never have come across. Thanks to Margot Kinberg, my local library is constantly in receipt of stacks of books I have ordered through the interlibrary system here in Saskatchewan.

One entry she's made lately is about her own experience, as a mystery writer, while travelling.
You may like to CHECK IT OUT and add Margot's blog to your list of favourites. JOAN, I'm particularly thinking about you because of your new mystery-writing endeavour; Margot's blog could be an inspiration and provide good tips.

Meanwhile, once Sunday morning is over and I get on up and about the day — and another sunny fine day it is — my plan is to dig up a daylily that desperately needs a home in a sunny spot, and five delphiniums to go with it, along with about three shasta daisies, and take them to Kuroki where my new friend Bev (who is Scott's cousin) lives. She and her beau moved out here from Ontario a couple years ago when she got a teaching job in town after her mom passed away. It seems teaching jobs down east were impossible to get, or so she'd been finding, so this was an opportunity not to be missed. Anyway, her mom had a nice little flower patch right in front of the living room window, and somehow it has been neglected for the past couple summers.

I dreamed about Uncle Bruce last night, probably because my aunt Shirley called yesterday and we had a good chat. In the dream, Bruce looked young and wasn't wearing his glasses, and I was surprised to see him because I knew he had died five years ago, but we hugged each other for a long time anyway and I wept tears of joy, knowing I was in the middle of a dream, but not caring.