I received my new needlepoint canvas on Wednesday. The poor mailman struggled all the way up the icy stairs so he could leave it on my doorstep, and seemed relieved when I answered the door because he didn't want to leave it in the snow.
Today, I went and purchased my first wools for the canvas.
The ladies at the needlepoint store were incredibly helpful, and now I have something to do when I want to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory followed by Neverending Story and then Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.
I like to mix things up at the end, okay?
I'm still working on one of the three books I bought right before the snowpocalypse. I finished Alias Grace (which was wunderbar) and My Life in France, and now I'm reading Shantaram.
It's fascinating. The guy who wrote it escaped from a maximum security prison in Australia, fled to India with a fake passport, and after a year living in a Bombay slum, became involved with the mafia. The book is essentially a thinly fictionalized version of the guy's life, presumably so people won't say, "Hey! You continued to be a criminal! You covered up a murder (or four-million)! We're going to arrest you since you've confessed to all this stuff in your book."
Granted, he served out the last ten years of his prison sentence when he was caught and returned to Australia, but still.
The book is wonderfully written, and for a former heroin addict/armed robber/accessory to murder, the guy can sure as heck turn a phrase. I'm not finished, yet, but it's still a worthy read with wonderful characters and descriptions.
And this is the dude who wrote the book:
Seriously, how can you NOT want to read it?