Unlucky thirteen was Alan Campbell's Scar Night, the most unsatisfying book I've read in a long while. The author seems to deliberately write so as to obfuscate details, probably to build suspense or whatever. It took me till the last chapter of the book to figure out the way that Deepgate (the city) was built over the abyss. Maybe it's just my spatial lameness. The protagonist, Dill, seems very one-dimensional, especially after his revival. There is a sequel, but I definitely think I'll give it a pass.
We have a long weekend, and I really need to get some laundry and cleaning done. K is with the youth group in Wisconsin on a ski trip, and she was really pumped about the forecast for nine below zero and lots of snow. She'll be coming back Monday afternoon, usually exhausted and with a suitcase full of dirty laundry. I need to revamp the linen closet as the flimsy plastic shelving we brought from the Church Street house is totally inadequate for all the sheets, blankets, and other stuff we've accumulated now. We need big wooden shelves, and I've set D on the planning for it. His favorite thing -- honeydo projects.