A thankful reader

I am not a writer. I lack imagination and good story-telling skills, I lack detail in my narratives, I lack the commitment to the characters I might create or the story itself.   But all of that said I am so thankful that I am a reader. I am thankful for the times when both of my kids are in bed and I can curl up on my gray couch, with a blanket wrapped around me, in front of the fire and just read.  I am thankful for the snippets of time I find through-out the day, when both kids are not in bed, when I can read.  I am thankful for the writers who capture me from the first line of the first page of their books – Marquez, Atwood, Waugh, Wharton , Murdoch, and countless others.  I am also thankful for the writers that have grown on me over time, like a relationship that starts off faulty but is stronger in the long run in part because of that rocky start .

I am thankful for the smell of musty old pages and worn covers.  For late nights when I am trying to just finish those last 10 pages. For cups of coffee and tea that go so well with a book. For time reading to my daughter, with her snuggled against my side smiling at the adventures of her favorite characters.

I am thankful that reading has been such a great balance for my anxiety and worry-ridden mind. Through times of loneliness, happiness, loss, amazing trips, moments of deep sadness and everything in between it has been my constant companion.  I am thankful for the peace that reading brings, that it requires me to stop and just be.

To all my fellow readers – Happy Thanksgiving!!