Rainy days … and books!

There are rainy days and then there are good rainy days.

I love a good rainy day. They’re usually in the Fall and involve a good book and an ample supply of chocolate. We haven’t had enough rainy days this year and I’m hoping that 2020 will bring us a healthy increase in the number of “book days.”

You see, my pile of books-to-be-read is about to overload the little table I store them on. It’s skinny little legs are looking a bit shaky these days. It’s not my fault, really. Between the lack of rainy days in 2019 and the fact that many of my favorite authors just keep on writing more books (a huge thanks to all of you, by the way), my little table just can’t keep up. What to do?

I know. Get off this post and go read. Silly me.

But first, if you haven’t already, try great reads from the following authors:

Jodi Taylor—especially The Chronicles of St. Mary’s series, starting with Just One Damned Thing After Another
Genevieve Gogman—start with The Invisible Library, it’s outstanding
C. J. Archer—start with The Palace of Lost Memories or The Watchmaker’s Daughter
Petra Durst-Benning—The Century Trilogy, starting with While the World Is Still Asleep
Cathy Lamb—All About Evie, Henry’s Sisters, Julia’s Chocolates, and many more!
Abbi Waxman—The Bookish Life of Nina Hill
Fiona Davis—The Dollhouse, The Glass Ocean

I could go on about this forever, but my rainy day awaits. Enjoy!

So little time

Posted by goodoldgirl

Where does time go?

It seems to just vanish when I’m not looking.

If I keep an eye glued to the clock, I can see time pass but who has time to watch the clock? Not me. I’m too busy being retired. Yep, I am retired and have been since last summer. But ask me where those 10 months have gone, what I did during that period, what I accomplished, etc. and I’m clueless.

Let’s figure this out.

I still spend mornings on the MAC checking out what’s happening in the world. Then there’s lunch and sometimes a nap. So maybe I’ve just been wasting a lot of time.

Wait just a sec. I’ve read books. A lot of books.

Oddly, my stack of to-be-read books is piled just as high as it was a year ago. Maybe higher. That must be where all my time went. I’ve been buying books online. You’re welcome, Amazon.com.

Could be worse. I could have spent all that time cleaning house.

Yikes!

Regrets and reprieves

Posted by goodoldgirl

Ever wonder about what might have been? I don’t very often but in the last few weeks have indulged in a romanticized trip down memory lane.

A friend from college recently mentioned via Facebook that a mutual friend from back then wasn’t doing very well. You see, the mutual friend was tucked way back in a cubbyhole in my brain as “the one that got away.” It’s a really long story and I won’t torture you with the details except to say that I always thought it was my own fault. I’ve carried around regret for years and, from time to time, wondered what might have been—until my friend and I took our conversation offline (yes, people do still have conversations outside of Facebook) and I learned more.

You see, I’ve always believed in fate, that things happen for a reason. Maybe not the things I want, much less the reason I want them, or when for that matter, but there is always a reason. As a result, I’ve pretty much strolled through life going with gut instinct. I learned early on that over-thinking big decisions leads me down the wrong path. Doesn’t matter what the decision is about. Whether it’s to pick up and move across the country or what color car to buy, if I over think it, it does not work out well for me. (I still, to this day, can’t fathom why I bought that gray car. I hated it. I hate gray. Yet, it seemed like such a good idea at the time.)

I digress.

Hearing more about our friend, and how he’s conducted his life, brought an end to my little excursion down memory lane. You see, it turns out that if the “one that got away” hadn’t, I would have gotten what I wanted at the time, but would have regretted it year after year after year. That regretful reality would have been so much worse that my regretful “what might have been” illusion.

Which leads me to reprieve.

From where I sit now, it looks like that fateful day, regretful though it was at the time, was my reprieve from a lifetime of disillusion.