How morbid is it to sit in a graveyard and read? The cathedral cemetery is one of the nicest places to sit and relax: it’s green, quiet, and sheltered from the wind. Now that it’s starting to get warm again, Felicity and I have visited the little alcove we like to go to, paying our respects to Normand MacLeod, Esquire and the unnamed twin daughters, across from James Ellis who died at 17. I hope it isn’t too disrespectful. I remind myself of the 19th century when people went to cemeteries as parks, especially on Sunday afternoons.
I spent most of today reading The Bruce. The good thing about reading in a cemetery is that you’re discouraged from falling asleep, no matter how tired you might be. However, I did fall asleep once we relocated to Felicity’s room. I haven’t been nearly as tired today as I have other days. Insomnia and quasi-allergies/sinus blah aren’t fun. It’d help if the seagulls and song birds didn’t cry or sing all night long, but I digress.
In other news, Christine (a housemate when we lived in Oxford, who is now studying in Sweden) and I have bought our plane tickets for Spring Break: we’re going to Lisbon, Portugal, to visit the lovely Caroline, a classmate from OBU. We Northern Europeans can’t wait for the sun! Now, the question is, which books do I take with me for the flights? I have ~15 hours of travel time to fill. I have to be careful, though, for KLM’s hand baggage guidelines say: “…including a coat/blanket, umbrella/walking stick, purse, camera bag and a reasonable amount of reading material” (emphasis added).