So I'm only half way through Harry Potter. Yeah, I'm a slow reader. I like to chew on each chapter a bit and sometimes I reread a paragraph to make sure I don't miss any plot points. Plus, I don't want it to end, so each time I find myself wanting to rush, I stop, take a few moments to imagine what will happen, think about what I want to happen, and then continue. If I get so excited that I start skimming to get to relevant dialog, I put the book down for a spell. It's like a fine meal, or a $100 wine - slow consumption extends the pleasure (come to think of it, this would apply to sex too). Too bad you can't do this with ice cream since it melts.
I do feel rushed, however, as it's only a matter of time before I happen upon a spoiler. (And there better not be any in the comments, I'd have to locate you and proceed with the disemboweling.)
On Wednesday, Dan and I went out to the country to visit our friends who traded a city life for a country one. They live a mere three miles from the Maine border in a very lightly populated area. There is no cell phone service it's so remote. But it's nestled amongst mountains, forests, pastures and streams. The morning cacophony of birdsong is magical. (I decided that a robin's song can be mistaken for an angry squirrel.)
We had a lovely time. There is nothing better than sitting around a fire after dinner, telling stories and drinking wine, watching the moon and the stars, puffing a couple joints, laughing and chilling out watching Indian television. (the fire) I already want to go back.