After a long week of work, with early morning risings, daily walks with the dog, constant work challenges (have you made a postcard, on-line, lately?), a week that is lengthened by attending night-time board meetings and teaching writing classes, baking homemade cookies for sick friends, and creating scrumptious dinners for my man (I say with tongue in cheek) – after a week like that, I adore an empty weekend ahead, with no plans but to sit down with a good book.
Even now, with a day left to the week, I pine for the beginning of the long Labor Day weekend, which will bring me to my soft burgundy chair (or sunny deck chair), dog at my feet, sunny gorgeous view of the SF bay (a view I ignore once engrossed), and a tome of fiction on my lap – in hardback, softback, or Kindle format.
I hold back the urge to escape until Saturday afternoon, after I’ve taken my long weekend walk, meditated through my yoga class, picked up groceries for the weekend, and begun a load of laundry.
Then, then the need for a good read is as palpable as a strong, urgent, irritating itch.
I brew a cup of chamomile, sling on my soft comfy sweatshirt, plop down on my chair, and sigh with passionate desire to enter a new world.
How about you? Are you a lusty, dreamy, passionate bookworm too?
(In the past month, I’ve chortled over Where’d You Go, Bernadette?, held my breath during the entire 940 pages of Winter of the World, and now, am chewing my nails over The Ophelia Cut. Next up? The Language of Flowers.)