I got a new book this past weekend. We were in Columbus servicing my mom's computer. (She had an "emergency" and so felt the need to call in PC Geek - thing Geek Squad but slightly cheaper - instead of calling her daughter, and perhaps more importantly, her son-in-law. So we took off rather quickly to save her from those worthless charges.) Anywhoo ... as I've stated more than once, my mom likes to shop. And this weekend we added the bookstore to our list. More often than not, we go to Half Priced Books (ahh ... Heaven really must be a book store ... I'm sure of that.) but this time we were at Barnes & Noble. How wonderful book stores smell. How wonderful the colors and type on the covers of all the volumes. How wonderful the diversity of material. (Yes ... this truly must be Heaven ...)
I've grown up around books. I've always enjoyed reading. Even when I was sick and tired of reading for school, I always enjoyed my pleasure reading. I so enjoy the escape to another world that a well-written book provides. That being said, I also fear that, at least at some times, it can be sinfully glorious. Today was sinfully glorious.
I got a new book. It was a good book. I opened it this morning. It is finished. I did other work today, but none of it really mattered. I needed the escape. I needed the down time. I have done this once before in my life. I still remember that glorious, wonderful feeling of having lost an entire day to another world that is not my own. It is quite the rush for me. I was thinking about that first book ... and realized that this latest book is somewhat of a "grown up" version of that first book. Amazing how I haven't really changed all that much in the last 12 or so years.
At times I've wondered if I was born at the wrong point in history. Now, for all practical purposes I know I'm wrong. I enjoy my a/c, running water, indoor plumbing, and all of the 21st century conveniences. However, the hopeless romantic in me so easily gets lost in the majesty and mystery presented in tales of times gone by. I'm a junkie for historical fiction. It's just such a beautiful and carefree existence in the stories. I know better. But that doesn't change the little pangs in my gut for the simpler times portrayed in the books I truly enjoy.
And so, once I quiet my mind and return to today, to here and now, I'll go to bed and crawl in next to my peacefully sleeping husband. He went to bed several hours ago ... but I just couldn't put the book down. There was too much crucial action going on. And tomorrow, the "sinful" will sneak in on my glorious day. For tomorrow all the work that could have been accomplished today will still be there, piled on the work to be accomplished tomorrow. And I will have to function in reality, once again subject to the 21st century. But tonight I will just remember the glorious feeling. Tonight I will go to sleep with that cradling me. Tonight I will be in the 17th century. Tonight I will be on a Virginia tobacco farm. Tonight I will stay wrapped in the warmth of the love story I just finished reading.
Tomorrow I will iron ...