Chicken soup

Thirty-one years ago today:

I don't know what we're going to do tonight. In the past, we've always gone to Stephenson's Apple Farm for our anniversary, but they went out of business last year. I don't really want to do any big elaborate deal, so I suggested we go get Mexican or Chinese. Then Bob got a cold, and I'm getting it, too, and this morning before he left for work, he said, why don't we just stay home tonight since we're both sick, and have soup.

So we may spend our anniversary at home eating chicken soup. Which would actually be fine.

When I was talking about short story collections yesterday, I forgot to mention that I have a TON of short story collections on my Palm. I have Palm Reader, and I get quite a few books from Fictionwise. I have a subscription to Azimov's there, so I get that magazine monthly, plus I have a few other collections that I've, um, collected.

A couple of Neil Gaiman's story collections, something of Kelly Link's, some Stephen King, plus a few multi-author compilations. As well as a few Charles De Lint novels, more Stephen King, Louise Marley, Neal Stephenson, the first four Harry Potter books . . . I have a 256MB memory chip (I think it was the one that originally came with my camera, which I've subsequently replaced with a larger one), and less than a quarter of it is full. It's a comfort to me and my obsessive nature that I can carry around an entire library in my purse and avoid one of my biggest fears -- boredom.

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