I have found spinning along on the stationary bicycle goes by faster when one has a book to read, and even more quickly when the books is amusing. Recently I have been reading Erma Bombeck’s When you look like your passport photo, it’s time to go home, and listening to A Marriage Made in Heaven : Or Too Tired for an Affair. 
Having traveled with my parents, and on my own, I could relate to the special situations that arose. Her chapter on Restrooms and Death by Drivers were both rather close to home. I can remember lines of us propping the door open so the next girl would not have to find small change to pay for the bathrooms, and praying that the crazed little Italian man would not run the tour bus off the mountain into the Austrian country side.
I have filled several travel journals with such experiences, although more recently it was edited somewhat so it would be appropriate for my professor to read (and it was for a grade). It was still full of little quirky experiences like the 1/2 Price Book store were a fellow student and I sought out a copy of “Wissenschaft und Gesundheit,” or the quirky exploits of our German teacher, Herwig, who entertained and enthralled us with round about stories of his Italian wife.
Pages could be filled with the political ideas of my host families, one in Vienna mused that once the EU added Turkey the EU’s borders would extend to Iraq and then everyone would have to love Bush. This was all told to me in German as she watched the evening news on TV. She wasn’t particularly enamored with Bush, but Americans were nice to Vienna after WW2, so they can’t be all bad. 
I found A Marriage Made in Heaven : Or Too Tired for an Affair to be rather amusing. I found myself agreeing with some of her ideas, the idea of being out numbered by three children terrifies me, I don’t want to be out voted by little people I gave birth to. Logically, I have two arms, two legs, and there are two windows in the car, therefore, two children seems like a good number.
The tale of the house that needed to be fixed up sent chills down my spine. I’ve never been enamored with the idea of a fixer-upper and I try to avoid such undertakings. I could see restoring the occasional piece of furniture, but to renovate an entire house? May that madness never strike me. May I always see the large lawn that must be mowed, the the poor plumbing, and the roof that has problems before we sign the finalizing paperwork. Marriage, yes, the idea of living anywhere but a civilized suburban, or urban area in an apartment or civilized townhouse, not for quite a while.
Admittedly, I would not have thought to read Erma Bombeck’s work. Awhile back Gavin insisted I would enjoy her books and said he had read them when he was younger, apparently that made him a feminist. When I was younger I read Animal Farm (a cute story about talking animals, I want sheep that can dance and spew propaganda), 1984, Brave New World, The End of the Dream, and one that supposedly made On the Beach look like a Sunday School picnic (I can’t remember the title, but I recall it was rather mild). I did very much enjoy the books, I have a third one, but it is in Boston already, so I shall read it once I get there.
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