Apologies to those of y'all whose posts I may have missed yesterday. Our power went out mid-afternoon, yet it still felt cool enough we could sit outside 'til dark. Funny how many things we use that need electricity!
This morning? In the words of my favorite weather guy, "Muggy factor's eleventy bazillion."
Lately, it's been a good time to read. A real book.
“Imagine, the letters one has sent out into the world, the letters received back in turn, are like the pieces of a magnificent puzzle. . . . Isn’t there something wonderful in that, to think that a story of one’s life is preserved in some way, that this very letter may one day mean something, even if it is a very small thing, to someone?”
Gosh. I can't remember the last time I actually purchased a hardback and paid retail. Nevertheless, there was just "something" niggling at my consciousness ..... remaining birthday money burning a hole in my pocket.
I've said it before. Maybe it's just me, but in every book I'm drawn to, I've a need to relate -- if not the protagonist, then another key player.
This? Not only can I not summon an ounce of empathy for Sybil (the Correspondent) ... I don't much like her. At all.
So why then, am I loving this book? I've not read more than 100 pages. Deliberately, I slow my eyes to savor every page -- like one might a decadent piece of chocolate.
Oh, how this meme resonates!
