I’ve spent the weekend ignoring deadlines. I’ve gallivanted and lazed around with Max and his lovely daughter, A, who’s not yet eleven but has already outgrown me by a quarter-inch. She’s adopted a pen name and writes weather reports, and has considered trying her hand at book reviews. Her assessment of the Lemony Snicket trailer: “Kind of cool, but I hate it when they mix all the books up in one movie like that.”
Yesterday she picked up my copy of Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (now reported to be selling neck-and-neck with the latest Harry Potter novel, one of A’s favorites). She tore through it until the killer’s identity was revealed. This upset her, so she set the book aside in favor of playing restaurant. There Max and I must present “A’s Cafe” identification cards and are expected to order several batches of “beautifully and artfully burned” pancakes — coasters that are beaded on one side and the color of batter on the other. I’m sure I’ll always look at them a little wistfully after she goes back home.