
My lawn has been replaced with clover. Perhaps I'm a bad homeowner, but I prefer it to grass.


Father's Day breakfast this morning, at Cora's Restaurant in Ancaster.
We went to the bigboxbookstore after, and took turns shopping and watching the girls. While searching for a replacement copy of Orwell's
Keep the Aspidistra Flying (mine was eaten by a dog), a mother and her teenage daughter and a store employee wandered into the O's. The daughter, who was about 14 and looked very spunky, was looking for George Orwell books. The employee handed her
Animal Farm.
"I've read that one already," she said. He found
Nineteen Eighty-Four. "That's the only other one we have," he said. I noted that there was a copy of
Burmese Days on the next shelf, and moved on. The store employee then spotted a collection of all Orwell's novels, and the girl said she wanted that, or
Ninteen Eighty-Four.
"Nooooo, I don't think you'd like it," said the mother.
"I liked
Animal Farm," said the girl.
"No, I mean you'd find the ideas too complicated," her mother replied.
"I've tackled some pretty complicated books," said the girl.
"No, I don't mean hard words. I mean the political ideas are too complicated. It's from another era, really," said the mother.
I did really want to say something like, "Hey, I read
Nineteen Eighty-Four when I was eleven, and understood enough of it to make it worthwhile. And who are you to disapprove of someone trying to read something complicated, or outdated?"
But I didn't, and instead went to look for some G.K. Chesterton books they didn't have in stock.