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my my so rich and decadent in text. I have to take it in bits. really going to take my time indulging in this one. Often feel the need to reread the chapter. Thus im only on chapter 5 after 4 ish days

Completely in my feelings. Cats and Flowers 🌷🐈‍⬛

I can't handle it. oh em gee

So excited to be reading this, been looking forward to it since finding out Fredrik had a new book coming soon! Wanted to wait till the paperback was out, and now i got my hands on my own copy. yayyy yayy yayy

playing the movie in my head as i read.

Mrs. Dubose is unforgivably racist, raining curses on the children & denigrating Atticus for representing a Black man. Yet the darkness in her is balanced by her bravery and determination,& just as Atticus loves Maycomb despite its flaws, he respects Mrs.Dubose for possessing “real courage,” which he explains as “when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway & you see it through no matter what.”

Miss Priss! having so much fun reading this, love the bit of the mystery, mixed with childhood days and innocence, with the side of meaningful deep wisdom and lessons.

Feels so warm and fuzzy to be reading a good book again. Already remembering why I fell in love with this assigned reading freshman year (I believe), the beauty, wit, and charm of this novel leave such an impression on a young mind, I feel it was only yesterday I was reading these very lines. All so vivid and meaningful they never leave. love love love. And somehow I'm falling in love with every character again

wow, i just don't care. ughh listening on 3x b/c I refuse to dnf. Hoping there's some sort of redeeming factor in the next two hours.

Hmm finding myself pushing to read, though am enjoying the on the road experience having just completed the entirety of Route 66. I love and miss being on the road so gonna stick with it. Plus we just got to part two. :)

It was an ordinary bus trip with crying babies and hot sun, and countryfolk getting on at one Penn town after another, till we got on the plain of Ohio and really rolled, up by Ashtabula and straight across Indiana in the night...And
here for the first time in my life I saw my beloved Mississippi River, dry in the summer haze, low water, with its big rank smell that smells like the raw body of America itself

Poor Huck, Poor Jim. I have no clue where the story will lead but excited nonetheless.

In the evening a strange thing happened: the 20 families became 1 family, the children were the children of all. & it might be that a sick child threw despair into the hearts of 20 families, that a birth there in a tent kept people quiet & filled people with the birth-joy in the morning. A family which the night before had been lost and fearful might search its goods to find a present for a new baby.

The cars of the migrant people crawled out of the side roads onto the great cross-country highway, & they took the migrant way to the West. & because they were lonely & perplexed, because they had all come from a place of sadness and worry & defeat, & because they were all going to a new mysterious place, they huddled together; talked together; shared their lives, food, & the things they hoped for in the new country.

“So long,” Tom called. “See ya maybe in California.” They turned across the highway and started back.

The one-eyed man watched them go, and then he went through the iron shed to his shack behind. It was dark inside. He felt his way to the mattress on the floor, and he stretched out and cried in his bed, and the cars whizzing by on the highway only strengthened the walls of his loneliness.

Mae's face was gay when the door opened and the two uniformed truck drivers entered....

"What'll it be, boys?"
"Oh, a cup a Java. What kinda pie ya got?"
"Pineapple cream an' banana cream an' chocolate cream an' apple."
"Give me apple. No, wait, what's that big thick one?"
Mae picked up the pie and smelled it. "Pineapple cream," she said.
"Well, chop out a hunk a that."

The cars whizzed viciously by on 66.

"Why, jus' think how it's gonna be, under them shady trees a pickin' fruit an' takin' a bite ever' once in a while. Why, hell, they don't care how much
you eat 'cause they got so much. An' with them good wages, maybe a fella can get hisself a little piece a land an' work out for extra cash. Why, hell, in a couple years I bet a fella could have a place of his own."

"But Ruthie was older, and she knew the tremendousness of the time. “And goin’ to California,” she said again. And she knew this was the great time in her life so far."

"IN THE LITTLE HOUSES the tenant people sifted their belongings and the belongings of their fathers and of their grandfathers. Picked over their possessions for the journey to the west. The men were ruthless because the past had been spoiled, but the women knew how the past would cry to them in the coming days."

"Jus' let me get out to California where I can pick me an orange when I want it. Or grapes. There's a thing I ain't never had enough of. Gonna get me a whole big bunch of grapes off a bush, or whatever, an' I'm gonna squash 'em on my face an' let 'em run offen my chin."

“Why don't you go on west to California? There's work there, and it never gets cold. Why, you can reach out anywhere and pick an orange. Why, there's always some kind of crop to work in. Why don't you go there?”

20something days left in Michigan.

very excited to see where this story goes as I know very little and as it is very interesting already. Feel I want to take this on as a study, my mind is going a 1000 miles a minute trying to read between the lines. A lot if going on with that turtle, the hermit preacher, Joad (toad). off to read some sparknotes

"Then it was June, and the sun shone more fiercely."

Choose to read this after becoming a fan of Steinbeck but most importantly, since I'll be leaving Michigan and begin driving west, back home to California, at the end of this month, June.

hmmm, slowly, slightly, getting bored...

Tom’s mind was made up, now. He was gloomy & desperate. He was a forsaken, friendless boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found out what they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry; he had tried to do right and get along, but they would not let him…what right had the friendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he would lead a life of crime. There was no choice.

But now, this thing had actually and unquestionably failed. Tom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations. He had many a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of its failing before…He puzzled over the matter some time, and finally decided that some witch had interfered and broken the charm!"…"So it WAS a witch that done it. I just knowed it."