Sir Boom-Boom and Some Books I've Read

Guess I should explain Sir Boom-Boom first. He's the man that lives in the end apartment next to us. He lives alone and appears to be older than Hubby and me. The day after we moved in (boy, he must have been cringing when we pulled in at about 10 p.m. Friday night with four kids in tow) Hubby met him in the driveway. Sir Boom-Boom said that he thought our apartment would never be rented out and that it was always going to be used as the model. Apparently the complex is doing well enough they don't need a model anymore, and apparently that's why it's already furnished, and apparently that's why we're able to rent it short term. Since he's in an end apartment, he previously shared no walls with anyone.

Anywhere from 10 p.m. to 12 a.m., as in midnight, many nights, Sir Boom-Boom starts playing music in his guest room, which shares a wall with our second bedroom, which is the bedroom Hubby and I share since the kids needed the master bedroom so that we could fit two twin air mattresses on the floor along with the queen-sized bed that was already there. And both bedrooms have bathrooms off of them, it's just ours has access from the hall too, but who cares? It's not like we didn't just come from a duplex with one and a half baths. Please! We have two and a half here. We think we're in heaven! I'm digressing again, but if you read my blog often enough, you're used to it.

So back to Sir Boom-Boom, which I'm guessing by now you figured out how he got his name...the bass beat to his music which reverberates through my walls...when I'm trying to sleep...which my white noise maker turned as loud as it goes will not drown out...with cotton stuffed tightly in both ears...with the bathroom fan on...with a dvd in my dvd player turned up a little so as not to wake up Hubby...as the Veggietales would say, "Nothing, Zilch, Nada," does any good. So I read until my eyes drop shut. But nothing of any value mind you, because at that point I'm a little ticked. So I read fiction, because then I can lose myself in the story. I've read a lot of fiction.


First is the second book in "The Cat Who..." series that Lora recommended, "The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern." I mentioned that I had a little trouble getting into the first one in the series, but the second one was going a little smoother. Much quicker and easier read, and I enjoyed it. I had started it when we came up to buy the house in July, but with packing for the move I didn't get to finish it until I got here. By the way, the first one was about art, and since I'm a left-brain math kind of girl, I think that caused some problems in the interpretation.


Next I finished off a series by Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman, The Four Seasons. The book title is "Winter Turns to Spring," and if this had been the first book, I'm not sure how I would have felt about the series. I had started the series when it was first released because I liked the cover of "It Happens Every Spring," the first book. The first couple of books were definitely my favorites, but I always like to finish a series unless I'm seriously opposed to it. Without spoiling the last book, it had lots of bitterness and marital discord that was dealt with, and although there was resolution, which of course was the purpose of these books (putting Chapman's marital theories into fictional situations), it was still not something I would have normally read as a stand-alone book.


Next I read "The Penguin Who Knew Too Much" by Donna Andrews. I read a minimal amount of non-Christian fiction, only because it's difficult to find something that is "clean" enough and non-offensive. There are a few uses of the "d" word in her books, but just a few throughout, and after having thumbed through some others in the fiction section and seeing multiple words multiple times just on the first couple of pages of some other author's books, this is very acceptable. After all, Andy Griffith used the Biblical name for a donkey on Matlock and sometimes used the "d" word, so I think I can read it a few times in a book and not be scarred for life.

So now that I've digressed again about the language in non-Christian fiction books, this was I believe the eighth by Andrews in her "bird" mystery series. Meg Langslow is the main character that serves as the "Nancy Drew." I've enjoyed these books. There are some rather eccentric characters in Meg's family that you can't help but like. There were a couple of books along the way that I liked less than others, but I think that's common in any series.


After I finished that Andrews book, I happened to find the next installment at Barnes and Noble in hardback on the sale table. It's not out in paperback yet and won't be for a while, and I don't buy them usually unless they are. I made an exception since this was discounted quite a bit. It's called "Cockatiels at Seven" and was probably the only one that I figured out in the middle of the book. I don't know if it was my feelings towards Sir Boom-Boom that was putting me in touch with my inner detective. Regardless, I still enjoyed the book. Again, I think Meg's eccentric family always adds a lot of character to the story.

Lora just recently blogged about a devotional by Sally Clarkson that I'm going to get about motherhood. I need to do some more serious reading along with this mindless fiction. But obviously it's got to be done at a different time than when the music is booming.