Today in my mailbox there was something I expected – an envelope containing the notebooks I’d ordered from Field Notes, in their new autumn colors, and a book: Dandelion: the Extraordinary Life of a Misfit.

I don’t remember if I agreed to review the book, or asked for it in some other fashion, but it’s signed by the author, one Sheelagh Mawe, and it looks delightful, and having just finished reading The Lost Symbol, by Dan Brown, it’s nice to look forward to something a bit less intense.

And yet, it’s also a total surprise, because while the title and author are striking a familiar chord with me, I’ve no idea where the book came from, other than, you know, FROM the author.

It’s the kind of book meant to be read by the light of a single soft sconce, while sipping tea, and after a day of barking dogs and giant vacuums, it’s just the kind of book I need.