I have a habit of reading three to four books
simultaneously. Not sure how that
started. Probably wanted a book at hand
wherever I might be just in case I wanted to read. Right now I am in the middle of Rutherford’s
treatment of Russian history, J D Robb’s mystery set in 2160 in NYC, Diana Gabaldon’s
latest tome on the Claire/Jamie Fraser saga and Carl Hitchens’ book of poems
and memoir of his time in Vietnam.
I don’t plan what I’m going to read, but I find that at the
moment I am steeped in the war strategy and tactics of the steppes with horses,
arrows, swords and armor, the blazing heat of the summer of 1778 when
Washington attacked the rear guard of the British General Clinton’s withdrawal
from Philadelphia to NYC, the mind numbing, soul shattering, slogs through
Southeast Asia where luck plays fickle games with your future, and the clean
wounds of laser guns that can still deal death as well as the sword on the
steppes, but with less blood, all in service of the millions who try to live
cheek by jowl in the New York City thirty-five years ahead in the author’s
imagination.
No wonder I retreat to Netflix to watch an episode of
Monarch of the Glen—a sweet, humorous,
innocuous treatment of life in the present
day highlands of Scotland where the greatest problem is the occasional poaching
of a salmon from the laird’s stream, the flooding in the wine cellar, or guessing
who the young laird will choose to marry.
And yet I would not sacrifice any of these for the
other. They each give me something. And I am so grateful to the writers who spend
many hours of solitude and research bringing their creations to us. Oh to have enough lifetimes to read
everything I wish to read and see all the plays and films as well. And then there are all the conversations to
have…Ah well…Perhaps I’ll return for the moment to the cool, damp hills of
Scotland. Cup of tea anyone? With warm scones of course!!!
