Revenge is a dish best served cold (Shakespeare)

"Revenge is a dish best served cold", so says Shakespeare and a bunch of other folks.

Craig Johnson's first Walt Longmire novel's title reflects the same proverb.

Well.

Many of you will think I got revenge played upon me after last night.

Those of you who know me know I love snow. I have unashamedly taunted those of you who do not when we have been blessed by the white stuff.

Last night, you got your revenge, and it was cold.

Somehow the thermostat upstairs was bumped down to about fifty-eight degrees. Now, we like to sleep with it cool, about sixty-two.

It's amazing what four little degrees can do to your dream state.

I dreamt of snow all night long. Every dream my little mind could think up included snow.

I would wake up (sorta) knowing it was awfully cold in the bedroom, but wake up not enough to actually get up and investigate. At one point I remember thinking, "Lord, I hope the heat pump ain't finally bit the dust." (It's thirty years old.)

It was extremely difficult to get up at 6:30, but my bladder said I absolutely had to. And I forgot to look at the thermostat until I was back under the warm covers, so we froze another 2 hours.

Now, the bedroom that was mine all my growing up probably got a lot colder on occasion, as we did not have central heat. I've waked up to ice on the inside of the thin window panes many a morning. But that's been a while back. I've gotten soft, I reckon.

It was nice to go downstairs to a sixty-four degree atmosphere, which quickly heated up to sixty-seven. Hot coffee, warm flannel and a pair of thick socks did the trick to bringing me back to the reality that there was no snow in sight.

Sigh.

Bookworm

I admit it. I am a bookworm.

I have been a bookworm since I started reading. I was, really, before I could even read. I knew in my heart that's what I was, and I yearned to read so badly I could taste it.

I loved the book "Hiawatha", which was really a poem "The Song of Hiawatha", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Of course, at age five, I didn't know that. Someone had taken the poem and put it in a child's book, illustrating it to look like a children's book.

I wanted it read every night. My mother got so sick of it, she hid the book and claimed she had no idea where it was.

Where is DFACS when you need them?

The first book that struck awe in my heart was "Winnie the Pooh", sitting innocently on the library shelf. I was in second grade. The book was 161 pages, a veritable tome.

I loved it. And I have loved big old books ever since. The bigger the better!

Some of my favorite big books: "Winter's Tale" by Mark Helprin, "Outlander" (and the rest that follow) by Diana Gabaldon, all the "Harry Potter" books, by J. K. Rowling, "The Stand" by Stephen King. The list could grow fat, too, like the books.

I actually have a list of very good books, so that when friends say, "Can you recommend a book to me?" I not only can, I do.

A friend and I were talking about books today, and we ahhed over many a book and many an author.

There are some authors that simply rise above the rest. Their writing is better than other writers. Craig Johnson comes to mind, whose first book is "The Cold Dish". You need to read his books in order, as they are about the life of a man. I understand they have been made into a TV show. I've not seen it. Don't want to mess up my books.

If you have a book that's the best ever, let me know.

I'm always open for one more friend on the shelf.

In fact, I can hardly wait!