As a distraction from work and relaxation, I read works not related to what I do. In the past, I've read Clancy, Grisham, and others of their ilk. Lately, for lack of more modern fiction, I've turned to older authors.

A few weeks ago, I read through the original Alice in Wonderland. Then a play of Ibsen's. Now I'm over halfway through Don Quixote, but I stopped for a while to zip through C.S. Lewis's A Horse and His Boy, which I finished yesterday.

This morning I picked up DQ again. Joel had read an excerpt of his for his school, so I started the unabridged edition, which we have in our home collection. Shortly after that, Joel rented the video, and we watched it at home. That dampened my enthusiasm to finish the book, but I plod on, like a valiant knight errant.