Tea: Matcha.
Music: Sweet, "Ballroom Blitz"
Time: Night.
Family outing to Barnes and Noble today, to spend the Christmas gift cards.
I wound up with Christopher Moore's "A Dirty Job" (Yes, I've turned into a Moore junkie.) and C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces." (I still have more card to redeem. They weren't that expensive.
The 17-year-old got three classics, and won't let me tell you what they are.
("There's this thing called privacy," she called over her shoulder as she headed to bed.)
The 16-year-old picked up "The Spiritual Brain: A Neuroscientist's Case for the Existence of the Soul," by Mario Beauregard and Denyse O'Leary.
The 14-year-old got music. (And no, I didn't browbeat her to get words. The card was hers, to do with as she pleased.)
It's more than interesting, seeing them develop their own tastes as they grow. There are influences, of course -- from teachers, from peers, from travel companions and (occasionally) from their parents. But none of them is a carbon copy of anyone -- and that's a good thing.
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