For some, vacation means meandering the beaches of Fiji (they have beaches there, don't they?), or exploring side streets in Florence, or even meditating in a temple in Thailand . . . I've done all but Fiji, personally. Anyway, I just completed the vacation dreams are made of. Dreams a reader dreams, that is. It was a blissful week, lakeside in a cabin, surrounded by non-squabbling children (how on EARTH did that happen???), a peaceful husband, and . . .wait for it . . .a pile of books to be read. I read five, in fact. Five novels, and a half of another that I'll finish tomorrow. You all should know something about me: I'm not a book hoarder. I typically read even fabulous novels and then pass them on. They make the rounds in my family and then usually end up in my church library. I have limited shelf space in my house and the idea of packing a novel away makes me sad. However, a very select few will end up on my shelves. These are two I just had the pleasure of rea