The journey back started last summer. I sat on the park bench, a beautiful July day, watching my kids in their easy play. I held the book in my hands and thought "Am I going to like this? Is it worth the effort?" I am glad to say, nine months and 20 novels later, it certainly was worth it. This blog is about my journey back to the love of reading and the many adventures I've had with amazing characters along the way.
I remember as a kid I would sit for hours on the front porch, no responsibilities, no worries, no pressure from the "real world", oblivious to everyone and everything, except what Judy Blume was saying on the pages before me. Then high school came, grade eleven, boys, and part time jobs. University involved tons of reading, being an English major, but nothing that was "me"...for me. Then he came along, the one, my man, in the midst of teacher's college, all dark, hot and all-encompassing. Time floated on. Teaching involved a massive amount of constant reading and researching, but yet again.....nothing for "me". My world now revolved around children, many in the classroom and my own precious ones at home. No time or energy to read anything more than a page or two, and it usually involved "How to survive colic" or "How to keep them sleeping for more than an hour". Commuting, working, cooking, cleaning, finding time with that hunk of a man- sex? - with young kids around?, losing weight, gaining weight, all of it filling my life. And yet, I still didn't quite realize that "Me" was missing. I remember I'd call my mom and tell her my woes of young motherhood and how desperately tired I was and how I'd love to go to a real restaurant or take more than 5 minutes to eat, and she would reply "You know, after one time is another time." How the hell was that going to help me? And time marched on. Now I am 42, my kids are older and sleep through the night and I have great sex with that hunk of a husband. And I found that "me" again, the one I remember from my youth, the one on the front porch on a warm, sunny day, when not a sound could be heard but the rustle of the pages as I felt the characters evolve in my hands, line by line, page by page. My journey has come full circle. I found that time for "me" in a book again, my escape to anyplace I want, be it the colonies of early America, the Scottish Highlands or wartime Russia. I laugh and I cry, I moan and I giggle. My connections and visualizations make it a place all my own, one where my kids can't get me, or even that hunky husband.
Devil in Spring by Lisa Kleypas- Review
1 month ago