Day 263. Great Escape

Last December, Claire over at Word By Word reviewed “The Bridge Club”, Patricia Sands’ first book. Claire’s a fabulous reviewer and, the more I read, the more I the promise of provencewanted to read it. So, thanks to modern technology, it was downloaded and on my iPad in mere seconds.

It’s a book about a group of women and their friendship. A friendship they began as young women. Over the years the friendship grew stronger and stronger; and they became closer and closer. They were there for each other through thick and thin. Heartbreak and happiness, marriage, divorce and widowhood, sickness and health. The more they went through, the closer they became.

I loved the story because I saw my own friendships in it. I loved it, because the older I get, the more my friendships mean to me. The more I appreciate them. The more I count on them. And depend on them. I also loved it, because it takes place in Toronto, which I didn’t know when I bought it. So as I read, I visualized. I was there, with them. I could see exactly where they were, all the time.

The story was set here because the author, Patricia Sands, and her husband live here. And lo and behold, because she had read an exchange between Claire (Word By Word) and me, she (Patricia) decided to check out my blog. Happily she liked what she read and started following me. And one day, she commented we should meet for coffee. Which we did; and we talked and talked and talked. Like old friends. Like women do.

That’s when she told me she had another book, “The Promise of Provence”, coming out, in the not too distant future. She was at the

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Day 221. A Void

I realized something this morning.  But I have no idea what prompted the thought.  From the day I first learned to read, there’s never been a day when I haven’t had bookmy nose buried in a book.

Until recently.

Honestly, I don’t remember when the last time was, I curled up with a good book.  And got so involved in the story, I lost track of time.  Not wanting to put the book down, even for a minute, to go to the bathroom.

Or talk on the phone.  Or make a cup of tea.  Or have a snack.  Or eat dinner.  Or go to sleep.

My life has been filled with books I loved so much, I’d have to read them, cover to cover, in a day.  And all night, if necessary.  There have been hundreds of all-nighters, during my lifetime.

Always, dreading the end, actually.  Wanting them never to end.  The books, not the nights. Continue reading