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Finishing a book on the way home from work is a really satisfying feeling, a nice end to the day. And then when I get on the train going to work in the morning I get to start a new book and it makes 6:45 a.m. just a little bit brighter. Even more satisfying is finishing a book just as the bus pulls up to the stop around the corner from my house. That didn’t happen today. I finished Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett just before my train pulled into the station which is fine because these days it is dark and cold (well below freezing, our high today was 0F/-18C) and there is no reading while waiting ten+ minutes for the bus, there is only shivering and then when the bus arrives there is only a very slow diminishment of shivering before I reach my stop and have to freeze again walking around the corner to my front door. But enough about the cold, tomorrow we are expecting a heatwave and a high of 19F (-7C).

Bookman gave me Reaper Man, a Discworld book, to read after Steppenwolf. What a pleasant tonic it was. Death is fired for showing too much personality and suddenly things stop dying causing a build up of life force that wreaks all kinds of havoc. Meanwhile Death is now alive, sort of, and living out his life as Bill Door, farmhand to Miss Flitworth a feisty old lady.

While Death is learning quite a lot about being human and alive out at the farm, in the city of Ankh-Morpork snow globes are appearing everywhere and then later turning into wire trollies with minds of their own. The wizards go into battle, thinking they are being macho by yelling “yo!” and recklessly shooting off fireballs.

It’s all a silly good time. I even was surprised by getting a little teary towards the end while reading the book at lunch today. Bookman was home and I emailed him after lunch and he said yup, he’d been waiting for that to happen. I didn’t even have to tell him what I had read. He knows me well and he probably got teary at the same part. Light, enjoyable fluff. And tomorrow morning I will be starting another book of light, enjoyable fluff, The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore. Santa, zombies, a not too bright angel, the prefect counterpoint to the waves of stress flowing off the students in the library right now who just started finals on Monday.

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