A rainy day . . .

It is a rainy day in Portland, OR.

One of my favorite kinds of days.

I was definitely born to live in this place. Either here or Scotland, that has yet to be determined. Since I haven't yet been to Scotland, Portland is looking more and more likely.

I know that I am in the minority about the rain. I hear a very vocal contingency among friends, family, and strangers who long for the sun, long for it to dry out, long to go do things out where they won't get drenched. And I get that. Summer time is beautiful here too, the light in the trees, the unending green, the hikes in the Gorge.

But I have this little love affair with the rain.

I love it's soundtrack. The unending background of it, so constant yet uneven. It's soothing and dreamy, melancholy and calming. I love to nap on a Sabbath afternoon when it's raining. There is nothing quite so cozy. And I never feel guilty wiling away hour upon hour of reading when it's raining. No one really expects that I'll be doing anything else. And just now, as I'm writing and drinking tea, the rain is the perfect counterpoint.

I even love to walk in the rain. It's just water after all, and when it's not really cold out, who care about getting wet? I just got back from a long walk and everything smelled clean, wet, fresh, and alive. The view from the top of the hill was slightly blurry and mysterious, like a veil between me and the rest of the world.

I actually love the feel of the water dripping off the tip of my nose and the slight squish of my shoes. I love knowing that all this water is going to make everything beautiful in the next few weeks and months.

I enjoy the puddles and don't avoid them. You should never grow up so much that you're too dignified to jump in puddles. You can always wash those clothes.

I do understand why some people dislike the rain. It's rough on picnics, creates mud, and the clouds can get a little gloomy after awhile. I wouldn't want it to rain every day, that would get a bit monotonous.

But I do love a rainy day.

The geekery in me

I have a confession. It's a little embarrassing and many of you may not know this about me. Then again, maybe you will, because I'm learning to embrace it as I get older. Okay, deep breath, here it is.

I'm a total geek.

Yep. Zero coolness over here. Not sophisticated, totally silly. Very, very geeky.

It all started with the reading. I started reading young and for whatever reason, I gravitated towards the fairy tales. My little sponge brain wanted to read about Narnia, not for the allegorical principles, but because there was a whole different world on the other side of that dang wardrobe!! And there were talking trees. And talking animals. A magical beverage that could cure any illness or wound. And best of all, whenever life got exceptionally dull for the Pevensie children (or relatives of theirs), they found a way back into Narnia and adventures ensued. I loved it all.

Then it just got worse. My dad was a sci-fi fan. So I got to stay up late and watch Star Trek and have Star Wars marathons. The first truly scary thing I remember from childhood is being wildly freaked out by the Borg. I was fairly certain that they were going to come into my bedroom and assimilate me without emotion. I know more random Star Trek facts than is strictly healthy, although I have a long way to go before I fall into the trap of deciding it's a good idea to learn Klingon.

I kind of thought I'd grow out of it after a time, that I would become a bit more sophisticated with age and begin to prefer more realism. Then I watched Battlestar Galactica, Firefly and Doctor Who.

Well, there goes the neighborhood. I'm officially obsessed. I have a Tardis keychain and multiple Doctor Who shirts. You can't say that I don't know how to commit.

My favorite books are fantasy. People know that I am addicted to reading and one of the questions I get asked most frequently is "What's your favorite book?" Honestly, I really hate answering that question, because I don't have "a" favorite book, I have a whole list of favorites, and it's for a slew of different reasons. But in generally, among my top 10 semi-rotating favorite books, probably 6 of them will be fantasy. And I don't like to admit that because, in general, people are as judgey when it comes to books as they are about anything else, and people give me funny looks when I tell them I love fantasy. I think they're expecting something a bit . . . deeper. Which makes me feel apologetic, and then slightly irritated.

I've also wonder why I gravitate towards it. It's all fiction and completely unrealistic. When I've spent some time pondering it, it always comes back to this one fact for me . . . I love a good story. I don't usually care what medium it's presented in, whether books, movie, tv, or a play. I'm riveted by a fascinating plot. And part of what makes sci-fi and fantasy so wonderful is that there are no boundaries or rules. The only limit to what can happen is the imagination of the story teller. I love the experience of getting inside someone else's imagination and immersing myself in their story. And there are some exceptional writers in the fantasy genre. One of my favorites is Patrick Rothfuss. Good gracious, that man can craft a story. He is a word smith. He is a master of world building. Another favorite of mine is Robin McKinley. Not all of her books, but some of my all time favorites are Beauty, The Blue Sword, and The Hero and the Crown. There are some authors that just write in a way that makes you think they might have an open line to your brain, the connection is so strong.

One of the best things about fantasy/sci-fi is that they can talk about all the "big issues" we deal with in the real world, but from a unique perspective. You can read about racism, poverty, gender equality, discrimination, depression, violence, the environment, and a host of other things. But it's presented just slightly askew, on another planet, or an alternate world, with a different set of rules and a different set of issues. Maybe it's racism between blue people vs. gold people. Maybe women rule the world and men are oppressed. Maybe emotion is outlawed. Whatever concept the author or storyteller takes and runs with, it gives you a different perspective on all the same things we deal with. And I love to try and think outside of my own little box.

Now, that being said, I love things that aren't geeky. Plenty of things. But I love spending time with my equally geeky friends and discussing plot points of Doctor Who, Firefly, Star Trek, Patrick Rothfuss, and many other fabulous geeky things. It's a true joy to relish the geekery together and enjoy the simple pleasure of discussing a good story that sprang out of someone else's imagination.

After all, to quote the Doctor as he said goodbye to a sleeping Amy Pond, "I'll be a story in your head. That's okay. We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? 'Cause it was, you know. It was the best." What I take from that is that if you like something and it brings joy, fun and a new way of thinking into your life, however silly, you should just embrace it and enjoy the ride. 

The good and the bad

I have a lot in life to be grateful for. Mostly the people in my life. I have a wonderful family that loves and supports me. I also have fantastic friends. Some people I've known for ages and some I've been blessed with just in the past few years. Most of my family and almost all of my friends are walking on a different path than I am. With just a few exceptions, my family and close friends are all married. And as the years go by, the people in my life are expanding their families, having beautiful children. They're growing, changing, evolving. I can honestly say that I rejoice in their happiness in marriage, I find immense joy in pregnancy announcements, and feel the glow of love when I hold those children for the first time and every time I'm involved in between.

But I'm on a different path.

I spend a lot of time with married people and married people who are parents. Some of these people are the most significant people in my life and I love them dearly. I understand that being married is hard and being a parent is HARD. I'm not on that path, but I can recognize without difficulty that it is a hard yet worthwhile choice to take and I have nothing but respect and admiration for that journey.

But I'm on a different path. And it's not entirely of my choosing. I didn't find "the one" at college and get married. I also haven't met him in subsequent years. If he's out there, our paths haven't crossed. So instead, I'm single. And there are some things about being single that are really, really easy. But for every easy thing about being single, there is often an accompanying challenge.

Good: I am in charge of my life. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. I answer to no one. If I want to stay up till 1 a.m. watching Doctor Who, it's not going to bother anyone. If I want to go out to dinner after work, I go. If I feel like driving to a store across town to go shopping, I go. If I decide I want to move, no negotiating need take place. If I decide to drive to the ocean, I don't have to plan or consult, I just go.

Bad: I answer to no one. When I come home late at the end of a long day, no one is there with the lights already on, asking me why I'm so cranky. When I have a big life decision to make, I have to make it on my own, no hand to hold while I take the plunge. No one checks in with me from day to day. I'm pretty introverted, which means I can go all week without ever communicating with people outside of work.  I am no one's first priority but my own.

Good: I get to spend a lot of time focusing on myself. I have time to reflect on my life, my decisions, my interests, my goals, and my spiritual life. I'm naturally fairly introspective, so living alone enables me to ponder the things I'm interested in and focus on what's important to me.

Bad: Spending that much time in your own head can lead to a host of doubts and insecurities. And when you only really have yourself to think about, you can eventually start to feel like you're the center of the world. In short, when you spend a lot of time on your own, it's easy to become selfish and self-absorbed. You don't need to put anyone's needs ahead of your own. You don't have to make sacrifices. That may sound like a good thing, right? But the choices and sacrifices we make for the good of those we love is a beautiful thing. It shapes you and refines you into a better person. When you're alone, there are less opportunities to give of yourself and contribute to the happiness of another person.

Good: I have no responsibilities but myself. I don't even have a pet. Once I pay my bills, my money is mine to spend on whatever I choose. I can buy myself fun things, splurge occasionally, go to movies, save for what I want. I have a stable job and can support myself. If I don't feel like doing a task, I can put it off and no one will nag at me.

Bad: There is just me. If I got hurt or lost my job, there is no backup, no support. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, I do have family that would help out. But there's a difference between crashing at your parents house and knowing that another person has your back if everything goes bottoms up. And there are lots of little things. I do all my chores. I take care of all my bills and budgeting. I handle my car issues. I clean my own tub and toilet. I do my own laundry. I kill my own bugs. I find a way to wrestle that jar open without casually handing it off to someone stronger. I cook, but sometimes it's just too much bother for one person. Sometimes I put these things off, but eventually, I do them all, because there's no one else around to pitch in.

Good: I love being alone. I crave time by myself just like some people crave the excitement of a crowd. I can spend all Sunday morning reading. I can take a 2 hour nap. I can go chill at a coffee shop for three hours and journal. I can go for a long walk, listening to my favorite music, and get lost in my thoughts. I don't have to worry about distractions. My time is my own.

Bad: There can definitely be too much of a good thing. I get in a rut of alone time. Even an introvert can crave the connection of time with others and I do. Some evenings I run through a list in my head of all the people I know, wondering if they're busy and would want to get dinner or a movie or just go for a walk. Sometimes I wake up Sunday mornings and want to have breakfast with someone. I savor the hugs I get at church, because that may be the only physical contact I have all week. My time is my own, because I have no one to share it with.

Good: When you're single, you don't have to worry about heartbreak from your spouse. There are no arguments about money, no frustrations over daily irritations and annoyances, no blowups over major life decisions. There are no misunderstandings and hurts. You do not have to deal with growing away from the person you love most.

When you're single, you don't have to deal with the extreme and constant exhaustion of parenthood. No one is daily invading your personal space. You don't have the incessant worry and pressure over the responsibility of this precious child that you've been entrusted with to raise and nurture. You don't have to worry about losing them. You don't have to deal with judgment from other parents and people who don't understand but have opinions nonetheless. There isn't constant noise and crankiness.

Bad: When you're single, you don't have someone who's on your side. You don't have someone to encourage you, to push you, to love you and challenge you. There isn't that one special person you share everything with. You live your life, but you don't share it. No one ever learns the way you take your coffee or gets up early to scrape snow off your car. People may love you, but you are no one's favorite person.
When you aren't a parent, you don't have a love that is all-encompassing and all-consuming from their first breath. You don't look in a face that has echoes of you all over it. You don't get sticky kisses and full body hugs. You don't have a future of "I love you's" and "mommy's" to look forward to. You don't have the warm glow of knowing that some small part of you will live on after you're gone.

I often feel very fortunate that I'm so well-equipped for a single life. I am generally happy in my own company and I know many people aren't. But it wouldn't be my first choice. If it's the plan God has for my life, then I can and will continue to find the joy in it. I know beyond a doubt that I would rather have a contented single life than an unhappy or unsatisfied married life. 

I suppose I just want to point out that we should never judge the path of another. We should never assume that someone has it better or easier than us. Life is hard enough without comparing our life to someone else's.

To all my married friends and to all my friends who are parents; I respect you and the journey you're taking. It's not easy, but I know it's worthwhile. I'm fortunate to have a part in your lives and blessed by all the richness of each experience with you.

To my single friends; for many of us, this isn't our first choice, but that doesn't mean we don't have a lot to contribute. There are many blessings to be had on this path, and while it might not always seem that way, there's a lot of beauty on this journey as well.

Let me put my face on

These thoughts have been nudging at me of late and I've been shushing them, as I don't want to sound self-righteous and/or indignant on the topic. But here they are, stilted and graceless as are all thoughts that escape the warm, safe confines of the mind and end up stark on the page.

Have you ever spent time thinking of the oddity of getting up every morning and painting on a new face? You look in the mirror and all you see are the flaws. Dark circles under my eyes, uneven skin with too much red in it, invisible lashes, thin brows, lines on my forehead, a blemish here or there. So, you pull out your arsenal; foundation, concealer, powder, blush, bronzer, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, brow pencil, lipstick, lip gloss, etc. I know I'm missing a number of weapons, because I just don't use them (that torture device called a lash curler comes to mind). To be honest, I only own about 3 of the above.

I was raised by a mother who didn't wear much makeup. And while I did occasionally attempt to use it on the sly, I didn't have visions of someday being old enough to finally wear makeup. It always seemed like a lot of work and, frankly, a bit disingenuous. Nobody really believes that my eyelids have a slight natural shimmer to them or that my lips could ever be bright with gloss on their own. My face is not a canvas.

I wonder why it is that as women, we get up every day and put on a face. For some of us, it's a quick swipe under the eye with concealer to mask the dark circles and maybe a layer of mascara on Sabbath (yes, for some reason in my mind, it's more respectful to Jesus if I wear a little extra makeup on His holy day; I even wear my Dr. Pepper chapstick). For others of us, it's a slow, layer by layer process of fixing every perceived flaw until our mask is firmly in place and we're ready to face the day. Our skin is encased in a layer of concealment, shimmer, smoky mystery, and dewy perfection. And frankly, we're worth it . . . everyone says so. Celebrities are nabbed in photos, gasp, "makeup free!!" as though they ran through the streets naked. And they may as well be, because their features are unrecognizable and transformed. Their lips are less pouty, their eyes smaller, their cheekbones less defined. They look . . . human.

I don't know when it became such a tragedy to look like yourself. I know a huge group of people who do it every day. They're called men. Perhaps I'm sheltered, but I don't know a single guy who wears makeup, and the world is full of attractive men.They don't need perfectly even skin, mysterious smoky eyes, pouty lips, or gently blushing cheeks to look their best. They wake up, roll out of bed, shower, hopefully throw on some deodorant, shave, maybe throw some product in their hair, and bam . . . reasonably attractive guy emerges. What you see is what you get, no surprises after they wash their face.

I just recently turned 31 and I feel the pressure to put on a bit more of the mask. The commercials predict dire warnings of fine lines and wrinkles . . . oh the horror! I wouldn't want anyone to have to see that. The part that I have a hard time with is, it's really not fooling anyone. The more layers you put on, the more obvious the layers are. The more perfect the mask, the more obvious it is.

My face may not be perfect, but it's the only one I have. That's not to say that come Monday morning I might not put on a little concealer . . . old habits die hard after all. But I hope to continue fighting the impulse to put on another face. This is the one God gave me, after all, so He must be somewhat fond of it as it is.



*Disclaimer: to all my beautiful, intelligent, funny, irrepressible, creative, girly, tomboy female friends on there who wear/love/endure/avoid/enjoy makeup, this post should be seen in no way as an judgy post.  I think you're all splendid, whether you wear no makeup or go out every day with blue mascara and sparkly lip gloss. I just wanted to spend a few minutes thinking about the "why":)

If you can't say something nice . . .

I haven't blogged in awhile. That's not to say I haven't been writing for myself, just that I haven't been sharing. There's been a lot going on for me in the past year, but nothing that I wanted to, or could, share outside of my own internal reflection.

I've been relatively quiet on social media as well. About a year and a half ago, I came up with my own personal motto for Facebook; if I wanted to post, it needed to be positive, humorous, encouraging, educational, joyfully reflective, or only mildly self-deprecating/ironic stories. No woe-is-me posts, no whining about first world problems, no rants, no vague attention-seeking posts. To be totally honest, I'm often vastly entertained by those types of posts on others' pages (in the way you're entertained by awkward public arguments in restaurants and train wrecks). I support everyone interpreting their lives the way they choose to (even if I surreptitiously block some of them from my news feed to avoid some of those things) and this isn't a rant on Facebook etiquette in general. It's more about my personal choice. I've definitely been in the mood to break my personal motto for FB in the last year, because I've had moments where I wanted to whine, and wanted to rant, and wanted to post vague attention-seeking posts so people would sympathize. I even slipped a few times.

It's been a rough year for me. Let me put that in context . . . in my 30 years of living and breathing in a privileged life with, currently, a steady job, excellent insurance, a comfy apartment, plenty of food, continued overall health, books/internet/Netflix, family and friends . . . it's been a rough year. My job has consumed more of my time and energy than I ever considered it would. I've become useless at remembering things that aren't work related. I barely have the energy by the end of the day/week to make time for friends. Some very valued friends have fallen completely by the wayside for me. I've started collapsing in bed instead of exercising. I've ignored my hobbies and passions. I've spent less time with family to avoid any possible drama/commitment that often comes with families. I've been spending less time relationship-building in general, because my introverted self just doesn't have the energy most days to be around people.

In short, I've been drifting, aimless, and often sad.

And so I've been quiet, because deep down I've always believed that when it comes to sharing to the world (outside of trusted friends and family), you should stick to the motto "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all". Everyone has struggles. Mine are small in the context of the real struggles of the world. You have only to watch the news to put your struggles in perspective. My struggles are small, but they are real to me.

So, maybe a rant would help? Maybe a mopey blog that talks about how rough I think my life has been and requesting sympathy and suggestions? Or, I could say something nice. Thanksgiving is next week . . .

I'm thankful for The National band album I'm currently listening to, which gives me something slightly moody and ethereal to reflect and write to.

I'm thankful for my nieces, nephew, and the honorary nephews and honorary nieces/nephews that are growing healthy and strong. I'm thankful for how they remind me that time goes by quickly, and you have to get in all the hugs and love that you can before they become too cool for geeky Auntie Dacia.

I'm thankful for friends who are equally, if not more, geeky than me and who embrace all that with me. And I'm thankful for my friends who I sometimes have only a few core things in common with except that we love each other in spite of/because of our differences and mutual respect. I'm thankful for Friendsgiving with some of those friends.

I'm thankful that I was instilled with a deep obsession with books from an early age, because I will never be lonely or bored with all the thousands of stories out there in the world. There is always another adventure to embark on and another perspective to learn from.

I'm thankful for a church where I can be imperfect. I'm grateful to be a part of something flawed, beautiful, and honest. I'm thankful that my mind is still open and unformed enough to change and learn and take on new perspectives. I'm glad I'm not jaded quite yet.

I'm thankful for a digital journal, so I could get out the whiny, ranting, self-pitying thoughts out without subjecting anyone else to them.

I'm thankful for a family that loves me unconditionally. For a mother who still calls me by endearing childhood nicknames, calls enough so I know I'm loved but never smothers, and who gives me an example of how to have adventures, be goofy, and still be an introvert. For a step-dad who gives car advice, life advice, a sense of humor and adores my mom. For aunts and uncles that are close enough to parents that I just feel too blessed for words. For a grandma who prays for me every day and is such a humbling example of living a faithful life. For the memory of a grandpa that instills a sense of working hard, never giving up, and sticking up for those that can't stick up for themselves. For a brother, sister-in-law and two sweet nieces who are finally close enough for me to get a regular fix and a chance to reconnect. And for step-sisters who always include me when I visit and consider me an auntie to their kiddos. I'm so thankful for all of you.

I'm thankful for wonderful co-workers who make me laugh, talk me down from the crazy days, and are teaching me daily how to be better at my job. I'm blessed to work in a place where the mission is to demonstrate the healing ministry of Christ. I don't always succeed at the mission every day, but I do try, and the daily effort and struggle make me a better person.

I'm thankful that I worship a living God that knows all these struggles and joys and never leaves me, even when I'm apathetic, depressed, overwhelmed, frustrated, selfish, petty, and distant. I'm thankful that this same Savior takes me outside of myself when I'm at my worst and shows me all that I'm blessed with. I'm thankful to be told I'm not the center of the universe. And at the same time, I'm thankful to know that I am adored, utterly and completely, by this same Savior.

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. It's been a rough year, but I am thankful.

My 30th Christmas Tree

I've always had a strange tradition around this time of year. I turn on the lights of the Christmas tree and turn off all the other lights in the house. I sit in my pj's and snuggle up in a blanket on the couch and just stare at the lights of the tree. I distinctly remember doing this as a little girl and the tradition endures even still. On this evening, I'm carrying on the tradition and staring at my 30th Christmas tree.

December has always been a magical month for me. A birthday at the beginning of the month and my favorite holiday at the end. A whole month of celebrating, beauty, happiness, presents, decorations, beautiful lights and family. What's not to love?

As I stare at my 30th Christmas tree, it strikes me as the complete opposite of so many of my trees growing up. They were huge and covered in multi-colored blinking lights. They had hand-made ornaments adorning them and I spend hours rearranging the ornaments to perfection and scouting out the presents underneath. My tree this year is about 5 feet tall and is simply adorned with white lights, red berries and gold leaves. It is a grownup tree. There is no childish wonder and fascination, just a subdued elegance and a simplicity due to being too tired for more effort. Looking at this tree makes me realize how utterly 30 years can change a person.

As a child, I couldn't get the tree up fast enough. I would have put it up the day after Thanksgiving if I could convince my parents. I wanted the biggest tree and I wanted it to be completely drenched in lights and ornaments. I wanted incessant Christmas music. When I got a set of lights for my birthday to decorate the outside of our house, I literally bounced off the walls with excitement. As an adult, I kept forgetting to get a tree. Life has been busy and I keep thinking "It'll only be up for 3 weeks!! So much work . . . should I even bother?" The main reason I got my 30th Christmas tree this year is in memory of that little girl. I remember the magic and wonder that I felt growing up. I can literally close my eyes and see my younger self cuddled up many years ago and staring at her 8th Christmas tree . . . her 12th Christmas tree.

As I hit this slightly significant milestone in life, I will try to remember that you are only as old as you feel inside. I can close my eyes and reach back to find my younger self, filled with wonder and possibilities . . . the girl with the big imagination, silly and lovely dreams, and a tradition of staring at the beauty of a softly lit tree and taking it all in.

Fifty Shades of Crazy

This past Wednesday, I was browsing online and wandered across an article on Entertainment Weekly that was talking about popular books being made into movies. It had a picture of the Hunger Games on it, so I clicked on it in mild curiosity. As I browsed down the books listed, I came upon a title I’d never heard of; Fifty Shades of Grey. Hmmm, intriguing title . . . kind of mysterious. Instead of finishing the article, I looked it up on Goodreads, wanting to see some reviews. It had a lot of polarizing reviews, and I decided to read the description.

As I read through the summary, this thought went through my head . . . “What the heck????”

Basically, this book is about a young, innocent college student who falls for a wealthy entrepreneur with unusual sexual proclivities. This book is categorized as erotica. Yep, erotica is on the NYT’s bestsellers list for paperbacks and ebooks.

Seriously??

Wait, it gets better.

This book was written by a woman who writes fan fiction. She finds a book that she loves and decides to write her own little fantasy story using either the world, the characters, or the theme, and taking it on her own merry little ride. In general, I find fan fiction pretty harmless. It’s the same thing as those lame videos you see on YouTube where they try and make videos out of books and patch together scenes from random movies to make a trailer. Yes, very lame. But pretty harmless. In this case, the author created fan fiction (titled Master of the Universe) based on the Twilight novel characters. Granted, she completely changed the basic story line, which involves vampires and werewolves. Instead, she makes Edward into a hot millionaire named Christian who enjoys whips and domination and Bella is an uninteresting, meek college student named Ana who completely falls for him . . . okay, that part is mostly the same.

So, this author wrote MOTU and it got rave reviews from readers of fan fiction. With such a glowing response, she decided to publish it as her own book, Fifty Shades of Grey, by changing the character names, places and a few other details.

Seriously??

According to software produced to prevent plagiarism in schools, FSOG is 89% the same as MOTU. Yep, 89% the same as a piece of work that she wrote as fan fiction and published online for free. You can now buy the ebook version for $9.99 online.

Don’t get me wrong, the Twilight series wasn’t some great work of literary expertise, but if I was Stephanie Meyers, I’d be outraged. Not only did she take her very pure, chaste characters and turn them into sex maniacs, but she had her characters in mind the whole time she was originally writing. If that isn’t a breach of intellectual property, I don’t know what is. And because these books (oh yes, it’s a trilogy) are becoming so wildly popular, they’re also making a movie out of it. Which means that every genius who’s ever written ridiculous fan fiction is suddenly going to have an “inspiration” to write their “own” book. Unbelievable.

I’d just like to add a disclaimer that I have not read Fifty Shades of Grey, nor do I intend to. I’m not a book snob; I’ll read almost anything, especially if someone recommends it to me. But I won’t curb my curiosity in the mania by supporting an author that was too lazy to develop her own characters. Sorry if that sounds harsh, it’s just my opinion. Any thoughts from my book-loving friends? Speak up in opposition, I’d love other viewpoints, especially from a legal standpoint:)