The Art of Reading a Book

Last night with nothing on television, I settled myself down to read Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes. Sometimes the debate caught my attention, but, for the most part, I was lost in reading the book.

I loved the feel of the book in my hands, the feel of the pages as I turned them. I was warm and comfy and the animals were scattered around my feet. Even Hubby grabbed a book and did a bit of reading, but he went to the computer (because he doesn't really have any computer time during the day).

My imagination latched on to words and scenes and descriptions and helped bring the book to life before me. Like most things, the book is absolutely nothing like the movie. They are so totally different I can look on the book and it is brand new, nothing like the movie - they are separate entities and I love them both for their differences.

Like all good books, this one has me thinking and looking at my home without a critical eye. For the first time I am looking at my house, my home with an eye to what it could look like and I am quite pleased. Isn't that part of what makes a book wonderful? The spark of ideas.

Reading a book isn't something that should just happen - it should be enjoyed like tasting the purple of a grape!