Hogwarts revisited

I have read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows twice in the past two months -- the first time, of course, I started the night of it was released and devoured it in about a day.

I then put it aside for awhile, and then picked it back up to read at a leisurely pace. The end made me want to go over Half-Blood Prince again, so I read it.

Today, I decided to start all over again. So I'm halfway through Sorcerer's Stone. As I read, it occurs to me there are a lot of questions still left unanswered. Such as:

• What happens to a wizard's/witch's wand when they die?
• If underage wizards and witches aren't allowed to perform magic outside school, why was Lily Evans never busted for "turning teacups into rats," as Petunia tells Harry upon the revelation of the latter learning he is a wizard? (Page 53.)
• Why was it that Ron couldn't perform simple spells with his broken wand in Chamber of Secrets, but Hagrid, whose wand was broken in two upon his expulsion from Hogwarts, is able to give Dudley a pig's tail and make boats move on their own with the pieces of his wand, stashed in a pink umbrella?
• Furthermore, if the Ministry of Magic does, in fact, monitor magic, why have they never caught Hagrid performing magic?

I'm sure there are more questions forthcoming as I continue to read.

All done!

As of 4 a.m., I finished all 759 pages of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

It's been a different weekend. I've been away from the computer, except for playing a few games of Word Whomp, because I was terrified I would turn up spoilers.

I won't spoil it for any who haven't read it yet. Some things were unexpected; others I predicted. Reading well-written text is a joy, and Rowling doesn't disappoint.

There. That's it for a while. Have fun reading the book. And if you're not reading it, READ!

You won't be disappointed.

I'm not alone

My mother's death left me with more questions than answers.

Bipolar disorder, the mental illness that prompted my mother to take her life, is genetic. Could it be that I'll be afflicted with it somewhere down the road. What about my beautiful daughter? Could this horrible disease affect her thoughts and addle her peaceful existence?

Could I, by calling my mother earlier that day, have prevented it?

Is there some way I can talk to her? I just want to hear from her one more time.

I found out a week or so ago that someone else is having the same kind of thoughts.

Anyone who watched "The Young and The Restless" in the 1980s is familiar with Thom Bierdz. The name may not be familiar, but his role as Phillip Chancellor III has been pivotal since the early days of the soap.

(This is the part where I admit that I was an unabashed fan. I thought he was just about the most handsome thing I'd ever seen walk across the TV screen.)

That's why I immediately recognized his name when I came across it while doing some online research last Sunday. I always wondered whatever happened to the guy whose smoldering good looks lit up my TV screen daily and whose demise has me carrying a grudge against "The Young and the Restless" almost 20 years later.

What happened was an almost indescribable horror.

After Thom's character was written off in 1989, it looked like he was headed for a career to match Tom Cruise's. His fast track to stardom was stopped weeks later, however, when his baby brother bludgeoned their mother to death with a baseball bat. And some years later, his other brother committed suicide.

Thom reveals all those feelings and his search inside himself in Forgiving Troy: The Art-o-biography of Thom Bierdz. I found excerpts of the book on his Web site, and I was mesmerized.

He had the same feelings I do. In reading those few pages, I found someone who looked into my soul.

That feeling was even more validated when I received the book in the mail today. Now an acclaimed artist, Thom uses some of his paintings to illustrate the feelings he describes in words. It's a heart-wrenching, soul-searching read, and one I highly recommend.

For me, it's therapeutic. By reading about Thom's trials and tribulations, I'm discovering myself -- and my mother.

Thanks, Thom.

The Peke and Me

Allow me to introduce The Man of the House.

I'll marry the first man who looks at me the way this little guy does. You can almost literally see hearts in his eyes.

The little guy is usually where I am in the house. If I'm doing dishes, he's napping underneath the table.

If I'm tidying the living room, he's either in his crate or lounging on the sofa or love seat.

If I'm taking a bath, he's stretched out on a towel in "his shelf" of the towel pantry or, as you can see above, either on or in the bathroom hamper.

Accessibility made it easy to find him the other day, when I finished "Marley and Me." John Grogan's tale of "the worst dog in the world" will make you laugh, appreciate your good dog, and sob uncontrollably.

I really feel that I got to know Marley in the 300-plus pages in which Grogan tells about the start of a family with an anvil-headed yellow pooch in their midst. And, days later, I find myself mourning the loss of the Grogans' family beloved Lab.

It's a must-read, especially if you're a dog lover. Just be sure your pup's nearby for a hug as you read the last pages. You're going to need it.

MarleyAndMe.com