I love books. It’s almost problematic, my husband thinks we have too many, and he’s right. But part of me thinks we don’t have enough. (Even though all the bookshelves are full and overflowing and I’ve got boxes of them still to find a bookshelf). But I really do read them, and many of them I’ve read more than once. A good book can make me feel like a better, stronger person. Finding the right book in the right season of life is like finding the perfect pair of mittens the day before a snowstorm.
I love getting lost in a good fiction novel, historical or mystery. It’s a surefire way that I’ll relax, and I never feel guilty spending hours in a book the way I would watching tv. Plus I read fast, so I can read alot. I think the ability started when I was about 11 – I could read a whole Nancy Drew book in a day and by the end of highschool it was Mary Higgins Clarke books. So the challenge continues to this day, finding a book that requires something of me in reading it. I’ve found I love going back to some of the classics – Charles Dickens, Thoreau, L.M. Montgomery, Jane Austin, C.S. Lewis… over and over, but then some of the contemporary ones are just as worth it – Cormac McCarthy, Ken Follet…
Of course, this is not discounting subjects that matter to me like family (Dobson, Eldredge); Business (Kyosaki, Hansen, Allen, Covey); Leadership (Maxwell). And then there are the biographies (we’ll leave that to a later time)
Anyways, books are my friends – they’ve been faithful throughout the years and the seasons. They are low maintenance and I know that no matter how long we’ve been apart, when we meet again, we always just pick up right where we left off!