Suffering form cabin fever, we set out to a former high school alterna-teen hangout in my suburban hometown, a cafe named Mojoe's. With mismatched furniture, a friendly barrista, reasonable prices, big sun-filled windows, hardly another patron in sight, and copies of Chicago Parent magazine strewn about, it was the perfect Saturday afternoon haunt.I took notes on the book I'm reading, which would be admirable if it were non-fiction. But alas, 'tis a fictional mystery based in post-World War I France and I can't keep track of the dates, locations and names, so I've had to go back to the beginning (after finishing half) in order to chart in bright blue ink exactly what the main character discovers on her search. All in all, I've been left with 1) a dismal in-the-trenches feeling and 2) a desire to learn French, which I once possessed while in Barca but never got past page one of the text book I was loaned...
Oli read the newspaper and tried to chart various future locations for us to inhabit on the earth. It was noted during our conversation that New Zealand believes in manifest destiny and gives away plots of land and that real estate in Eastern Europe is pretty cheap and marketable as a holiday get-away.
~ Angela
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