LAKE MACBRIDE— It is one thing to make a list of books to read during summer—quite another to actually read them. As I enjoy The Great Gatsby, the ultimate novel of summer, for the umpteenth time, the lists made previously seem to slip away, and it is surprisingly easy to let go.
Surrounded by books in my writer’s camp, one would think I’d pick one up now and again. Book reading has mostly been Eric Schlosser’s Command and Control, which was the first book I finished since March. I would like to read Gar Alperovitz’ The Decision to Use the Atomic Bomb, or Richard Rhodes’ The Making of the Atomic Bomb, but fear the rest of my life would elapse before finishing either of them. Both thick volumes stare down at me from the shelf. Finding time to read has proven difficult at best.
That said, there is a lot left to read.
This morning—another glorious summer day—the children walked to the bus stop near our home for the first day of school. It was a reminder of how fleeting life is—how our days on this blue-green-brown sphere are numbered, and too few. That we must seek our own experiences in a complex world not of our own making.
Still, I am thankful for finding books like The Wrong David to get through a night, reminding me of my experiences in France. And no, Carrie La Seur, I haven’t forgotten The Home Place which is on top of the pile ahead of Hillary Clinton and Jewelweed by David Rhodes. But for now, I will linger a bit longer with F. Scott Fitzgerald and seek experiences in this place we call our home.