This one book at a time thing is working fairly well. I have managed to only lightly browse other books and those have been more reference type books than full on literature. At the library this project leant it’s restraining hand and I left several interesting books on the shelf – now I just have to recall the titles so I can put them on my list. (No, it wasn’t easy – but I behaved). Oh and thankfully magazines don’t count since I just recently got the new copy of National Geographic Traveler as well as Yoga Journal.
The book has been a good one so far. Interesting, straight forward, and bluntly honest. It has inspired quite a bit of personal relfection along the way. What follows is one of those reflections.
The first sting at the back of the eyes came on page nine for me, when it mentions his wife’s light yet serious way of telling him what she wants at her funeral. It turns out to be a shrine of memorobelia from her life, the things that showed who she was, where her path took her and what was important to her. It reminded me of going through my mom’s stuff after she died. How she wasn’t there any more,so suddenly – so harshly not there, but everything that she interacted with on a daily basis was. Her kitchen and stained coffee mugs. The old round table she would sit hours at reading book after book and the piles of books as well. The huge collecion of cookbooks she just couldn’t resist when she broused through her favorate thrift stores. All the teapots given to her over the years or picked up herself. The cats that she had been so happy to get from Mark and I after we had rescued them and nursed them back to health. They were sitting there looking up at me, wondering what was going on and obviously greatful someone they new and trusted was there with them, to comfort them after loud sirens and rushes of men in big boots and mom being carried out to an ambulence, never to return home. It was the oddest thing to have been surrounded by everything that reminded me of her and have it feel like she was going to walk into the room any minute and offer me a cup of coffee, sit down at the table and slide a pile of books towards me that she’s saved because she just knew I would enjoy them and then give me a few spoilers just because she couldn’t help herself, only to sit down at that very table,myself, petting one of those cats and realizng with a heaviness it would never happen again like that, never.