A book by it’s cover

I have had the distinct pleasure this morning of laying in bed and reading. Work doesn’t start until 5:00 and so until then I am convinced I must spend my hours doing only pleasurable activities (namely, covering myself up with a heating pad and reading to my hearts content).

Every year I try to read 100 books. And every year I fail, getting anywhere between the 50-70 range. The year I actually make my goal, I should promise myself something extremely decadent (see: cookies and cake). Until then, I am happy to fail and try again every single time the clock turns a year. I’ve had the goal for about 8 years now and looks like I won’t be making it again. Unless I start reading 3 books a day. Currently my number is at 25. I will be grateful if I can read another 5 before 2019.

I found that in my sorrow and anger over the past year, my ability to concentrate on reading left me for a while. As I was changing and growing, I couldn’t find the stamina to rest and dive head first into a book. I would read a page or two and get lost in my own thoughts. Fret, get up, sit back down, fret, read the same two pages. I finally just let reading go until it felt good again. Gratefully, my concentration is back now as reading is one of my true pleasures. Anyone who knows me knows that the library is my favorite place on earth to be.

I also enjoy walking on the beach in any season. See the photo above? That was me, taken by my Mom on Saturday. We decided to find seashells on the seashore despite it being 20 degrees. Being on the beach when no one else is, is another true pleasure of living. The breeze, the sunset, the freezing sand and dark houses illuminated but the sleepy sun. This summer, Mom and I walked every morning at 6:30. And although I felt tired getting up, I never regretted going for a walk, barefoot and sweatshirt-ed.

Something, though, about winter beach walks fill me with delight and awe. I suppose it is the vastness of the ocean and the quietness of the shore that leaves my mind wandering across the sand and off to sea. There it dances as free as the ocean waves, as carefree as the clouds slipping by. I think of books I’ve read and maybe even a book to write. And then I let go of it all and take a deep inhale of salty air and (despite the very, very cold) feel chilly but extremely grateful.

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