My husband is back from his travels to the beach, and my sister-in-law stopped by tonight to bring us coffee (wait, no, she stopped by to bring us other things, actually, but the coffee was the most important).
She asked how my work was going and I told her I had done a lot of reading. Looking around the room, she said "yes, there are books everywhere. Shakespeare is everywhere." I hadn't thought about it, but it does appear that a Shakespeare cyclone has settled on our front room - from his works, to critical works, it could be a veritable Shakespeare festival. Underneath it all, though, is hidden a fortune in Greek epics and talk of heroes.
This will be my life for the next few months. Heroes all around me. I feel quite overwhelmed.
Tonight, though, I'll leave my heroes on their battlefields and read, sans highlighter and post-its and notes in the margins, The Grapes of Wrath. It is a pretty sad state of affairs when your comfort literature is about a family escaping the Depression by finding more depression. Although I do think I see some heroic qualities in them. Just not tonight.