The warm spring air is wafting around - bringing with it sneezes for those who can't tolerate acacia - and spring fever for everyone else. I read in the paper about snow in the east, but just can't visualize it. The daffodils nod, the cherry, peach and apricot blossoms glow, the green green green of the hills... it is nearly blinding in its intensity. Blue iris begin to show. Someone recently told me about immigrating to California from Minnesota during February when she was young. She thought she had travelled to the Land of Oz, when winter was transformed into spring like Dorothy's trip from black and white to technicolor.

My musings on book memories of last week coincided with the film we rented this weekend: Stone Reader. I thought it was very poorly edited, and quite ego-driven. However, the filmmaker's quest to find out what books "mattered" to people is a question that I enjoy asking. I recently bought a used copy of a book called "Lanark", that was described in someone's blog as a book that really mattered - a definitely book of a generation, etc. However, I just couldn't finish it. It got very, very dreary and surreal towards the end. Hearing the description of the book "The Stones of Summer" in the film reminded me of "Lanark". Parts of it were brilliant, and the writing was clearly the work of a very intelligent, obsessed person.

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