As most of my friends know I love to read. I really don't have a certain type of favorite, I really just read anything. I pass books along when I'm done with them and I sometimes get the comment "You liked this? Really?". Well yes, as a matter of fact I did. Reading a book is kind of like spending the weekend with people that you don't know. A monitoring visit. A 300 page America's Funniest (or dumbest) Video segment. How the other half lives.
One of my favorite themes in a book is love. I know that you are picturing the covers with the shirtless, heavily muscled Fabio types holding a woman that looks like she hasn't eaten in a month, but really not this kind of love story. Ok I will read those too, but this is not what I'm talking about. What I'm thinking of is everyday love. Friends and family. Dogs and cats. Taylor and her cellphone. Just the everyday interaction with others. This is love.
I can't remember the lines exactly because it was a couple of books back and is currently being enjoyed by someone else that loves books, but the definition of learning to love was something like this. To know that loves comes in many colors. It may not be the bright red of passion or the cold black of unrequited obsession, but anywhere in between. Any shade or color that you can imagine. It really doesn't have to have a name or number, you just need to know that it's there. It's everywhere.
Yes it is, everywhere. You're definitely quoting "The Shipping News" here...two people who had what they thought was real love-finding a different kind of love hard to understand and difficult to accept but REAL nevertheless. A phenomena that I'm finding so rewarding is how sharing the love of a book evokes feelings and comments from others, who like me, have read the book in their solitude. A kinship, a bond forms..."he/she read these words too and was moved like me". It's the "like me" part that no doubt stirs us all. There's nothing like a book!
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