My friend tagged me in her blog and here's the basic idea--go to your bookshelf, and talk about the book on the top shelf, 5 from the right, and then the book on the bottom shelf, 5 from the left, and what it means to you. She tagged me ages ago and I've been feeling guilty for not getting around to it, so here it is. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how interesting these books turned out to be.
Top shelf, 5 from right: My Sister's Keeper, by Jodi Picoult. I do love this book, it deals with some ethical issues that blow my mind to consider. I think I've rarely read a book that made me cry as much as this one, which sounds weird to mention but it can be really therapeutic. This is so far the only Jodi Picoult book that I have found worth reading. Its no wonder, since she churns them out every 6 months, that a lot of them aren't great quality. On a personal level, this book is a remnant of a friendship that no longer exists. It was the first book in a private book club between the two of us, designed to help us feel more connected when she lived 3 hours away. Little did we know that it was us actually living together that would destroy the friendship. I guess this book makes me feel melancholy, for the plot and for my lost best friend.
Bottom shelf, 5 from left: A History of Their Own, edited by Anderson and Zinsser. The bottom shelf of my bookshelf happens to be where I keep all the books from college that I found worth holding on to. This is a history book from a women's history class; its supposed to be all the classic history from the last couple hundred years, except from the point of view of women. I'm sorry to say I remember it as being extremely dull. I held onto it because it does seem like something that should be important. I will probably never open it again, if we're being honest.
I'm supposed to tag 5 people but only 5 people know about this blog, one of them being the girl who tagged me. So, my 4 remaining readers, I shall tag you-- Dacia, Betsy, Chris and Noah.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I Am In Love
I know this will be surprising since there has been no indication of anything special in my life.* The truth is, this attachment has been around since I was a child. Introduced by my father, I have returned to this love time and again. But it was only this week that I had to admit that my feelings were not of warmth or affection but of actual love.
I am talking about the Tattered Cover.
I walked in to the Tattered Cover earlier this week and the sense of relief and calm and peace and happiness hit me like a wave. A warm, enveloping, nurturing wave (think: opposite of a Katrina wave). Sometimes when I go in there I have to get a grip on myself to keep from lying on the carpet and waving my arms and legs happy-book-store-snow-angel style.
Is there anything better than being surrounded by books? And the Tattered Cover(s), they get it, they have these comfy couches and cute nooks where you can cuddle up with a book, or a dozen books. And they are actually comfortable and have butt-worn marks on them, unlike other bookstores that I can think of that have "comfy" chairs for looks but if you sit in them you can see that they are not actually there for you to sit in. (Rhymes with Shmarnes and Shnoble.)
Here's the best part of all. I know, I mean I know this is a love that will last for the rest of my life. I'm never going to stop feeling this way about books and reading and there is nothing that can offer that up like the Tattered Cover. There is no way I could ever find all there is to explore in there, and even if I dedicate my whole life to it, there are new books being printed and classics waiting for my mind to ripen to them and whole genres of literature that I have yet to reach. Imagine. Just imagine.
Wait...revelation.
Is this what its like to be in love with a man? Not just any man, because I have been in love, but THE ONE. I have a dear friend who is in love (with a human) and getting married and she says that just thinking about her partner makes her feel peaceful and calm, just like the Tattered Cover makes me feel (she did not know I was comparing her feelings on her soul mate to mine toward a bookstore).
On the other hand, its hard to imagine any person having so many layers that they are never completely spent through. Also, if this is what I expect from a partner, isn't that what I should be offering in return? I am most definitely not that deep. I'm pretty sure I only have about 3 layers...not ten thousand. Also, the 3 layers depend a lot on whether or not I've gotten enough sleep the night before. Some days I'm just a one-layered exhausted, cranky bitch.
Oh well. Who cares about real men when I have Jamie Fraser and Mark Darcy and not just them but The Secret Garden and Wilbur, the whole cast of Lonesome Dove and a red tent full of women so deep and spiritual and real that I can feel them in my soul.
*Ok, maybe there was some talk about an LI in earlier posts, but that guy is sooo not worth my time and I sooo see that now.
I am talking about the Tattered Cover.
I walked in to the Tattered Cover earlier this week and the sense of relief and calm and peace and happiness hit me like a wave. A warm, enveloping, nurturing wave (think: opposite of a Katrina wave). Sometimes when I go in there I have to get a grip on myself to keep from lying on the carpet and waving my arms and legs happy-book-store-snow-angel style.
Is there anything better than being surrounded by books? And the Tattered Cover(s), they get it, they have these comfy couches and cute nooks where you can cuddle up with a book, or a dozen books. And they are actually comfortable and have butt-worn marks on them, unlike other bookstores that I can think of that have "comfy" chairs for looks but if you sit in them you can see that they are not actually there for you to sit in. (Rhymes with Shmarnes and Shnoble.)
Here's the best part of all. I know, I mean I know this is a love that will last for the rest of my life. I'm never going to stop feeling this way about books and reading and there is nothing that can offer that up like the Tattered Cover. There is no way I could ever find all there is to explore in there, and even if I dedicate my whole life to it, there are new books being printed and classics waiting for my mind to ripen to them and whole genres of literature that I have yet to reach. Imagine. Just imagine.
Wait...revelation.
Is this what its like to be in love with a man? Not just any man, because I have been in love, but THE ONE. I have a dear friend who is in love (with a human) and getting married and she says that just thinking about her partner makes her feel peaceful and calm, just like the Tattered Cover makes me feel (she did not know I was comparing her feelings on her soul mate to mine toward a bookstore).
On the other hand, its hard to imagine any person having so many layers that they are never completely spent through. Also, if this is what I expect from a partner, isn't that what I should be offering in return? I am most definitely not that deep. I'm pretty sure I only have about 3 layers...not ten thousand. Also, the 3 layers depend a lot on whether or not I've gotten enough sleep the night before. Some days I'm just a one-layered exhausted, cranky bitch.
Oh well. Who cares about real men when I have Jamie Fraser and Mark Darcy and not just them but The Secret Garden and Wilbur, the whole cast of Lonesome Dove and a red tent full of women so deep and spiritual and real that I can feel them in my soul.
*Ok, maybe there was some talk about an LI in earlier posts, but that guy is sooo not worth my time and I sooo see that now.
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