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Rather prepared, but a little unplanned
So I have dental trauma you can slice a mile thick and just about the last thing I needed right now was for a notionally minor appointment this morning to add to it in a day-derailing way, but my godchild had their first day of middle school and the last of my mother's eleven monarch butterflies hatched and I have photographic evidence of both.
I think my godchild is constitutionally incapable of not being stylish.
It rested on my mother's hand for a long time, then flew up over the roof and away.
I am haphazardly re-reading the handful of Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody mysteries currently unpacked. My introduction to the series in high school was actually The Last Camel Died at Noon (1991), which set me up to be extremely confused when none of the rest of the books were parody-pastiches of H. Rider Haggard. I have distinct memories of reading library hardcovers of The Curse of the Pharaohs (1981) and The Deeds of the Disturber (1988) in my grandparents' house, specifically while sitting on my grandparents' bed and on the couch downstairs—I think I had just taken out as much of the series as existed at the time, which would mean up to The Hippopotamus Pool (1996). I'm still not sure I caught up on all the later ones. In twenty-five years, my taste in favorite characters really hasn't changed.
I think my godchild is constitutionally incapable of not being stylish.
It rested on my mother's hand for a long time, then flew up over the roof and away.
I am haphazardly re-reading the handful of Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody mysteries currently unpacked. My introduction to the series in high school was actually The Last Camel Died at Noon (1991), which set me up to be extremely confused when none of the rest of the books were parody-pastiches of H. Rider Haggard. I have distinct memories of reading library hardcovers of The Curse of the Pharaohs (1981) and The Deeds of the Disturber (1988) in my grandparents' house, specifically while sitting on my grandparents' bed and on the couch downstairs—I think I had just taken out as much of the series as existed at the time, which would mean up to The Hippopotamus Pool (1996). I'm still not sure I caught up on all the later ones. In twenty-five years, my taste in favorite characters really hasn't changed.
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I last re-read them in 2016 when I was spending a lot of time in the bath. They seem to be very durable comfort reading for me.
I have not read the posthumous one, from 2017, The Painted Queen, because... warm fuzzies.
Same. I may actually have tapped out at Tomb of the Golden Bird (2006), because even if she had decided to continue moving forward in time with the characters, KV62 was a fine place to leave them.
How one author kept track of so many characters and their intermarriages, I don't know. I chart by world-shaking wars and I still dick it up on the regular.
I think she must have kept a card catalogue. The series only progressed in real time when it felt like it, but there's a solid three generations sprawling in multiple directions by the end—more if you count the crossover of The Laughter of Dead Kings (2008). And there are still loose ends like that one time Kevin O'Connell was mentioned to be married, which I would have thought was a typo except it's repeated in the biographical dictionary of Amelia Peabody's Egypt (2003), at which point I want the full story!
They are currently refusing to believe we are not related. I took it as a moment to re-explain genetic bottleneck.
I'm still not over the algorithms.
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