This past weekend was spent with a group of some of my favorite people, who also happen to be part bookworm. We had our first bookclub sleepover and it was so fun. Our August book was Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. Most everyone had the chance to read it and it was almost unanimously loved.
It was nice to know that we had more time to just sit and talk. The weather couldn’t have been better and we sat outside for most of Saturday. The food and drinks were delicious and my dear, sweet friend hosted us all at her beautiful lake house. We fittingly watched the movie Bookclub, some of us had seen it, others had not. All the way around that movie is the best, it makes me excited to be sixty. I just love Diane Keaton! Seriously, could the weekend have been any better?
After lots of coffee, blueberry muffins, sausage balls and more conversation, we all began to pack up our bags Sunday morning to head back to our various homes.
A few of us rode together and on the way back we were talking some more. I mentioned how, as much as I like to travel (referring to my recent vacation), I have found myself hating how much work it is to plan and actually go on a trip. Then, on top of all of the work that precedes a trip, there’s so much to do afterwards, not to mention the sad feeling that it’s over. And, insult to injury: we paid a bunch of money to do all of this! I find myself thinking more and more about the whole process and just how much I just don’t like it. Saying all this led my friend to say while we were driving home, “That’s the great thing about books, you don’t have to leave your home to go somewhere. And people who don’t read just don’t understand how true this really is.” These may have not been Jennifer’s exact words, because I wasn’t recording our conversation-but it was the gist. If you read this Jennifer, please correct me in the comments if you disagree 🙂
When I look at all of the books on my shelves, each one represents somewhere to go. I’ve spoke it this before and readers know this to be true, so I know I don’t have to convince you. There are more trips waiting to be taken sitting on bookshelves than I could ever manage out globetrotting this world. Something reading and taking physical trips do have in common is time. Just like going somewhere on a plane or in car takes hours, so does reading. Us readers value our precious reading time and look forward to it in many of the same ways someone preparing for a trip does.
I’ve always been somewhat of a homebody. This fact only becomes more concrete every year. Let me reiterate, I do like going places, but I like being at home just as much, if not more. Reading broadens the mind as you all know, and my mind is huge. I’m not talking smarts necessarily, but the size in reference to my imagination. If there’s a border to another place, I cross it without thought. If going back in time, or even to the future is on the agenda, I’m game-and most likely I have my pj’s or crappy stretched out yoga pants on. I don’t need a stamp on my passport (which I don’t have, but I do really plan to get) to sit in an outdoor cafe in Paris. I’ve been there my friends, at least in my mind, which is more vivid than any trip I have or ever will take. So take that to the bank, non-readers. You just don’t understand and maybe like the quote says, ” If you don’t like reading, you just haven’t found the right book.”
PS. If you need me, I’ll either be in the 1950s suburbia, Seventh Heaven by Alice Hoffman or out west in Texas with some cowboys, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry.
“People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading.”
– Logan Pearsall Smith