Okay, so I read every day. I read headlines and the occasional article. I read countless emails and a handful of blog posts/buzz feeds. I read every day.
But I rarely read a book. For pleasure.
Today, the extended family took a boat ride around the lakes; Stacy and Grayson took a nap. Delilah laid at my feet. I got to sit on the deck and read a book (hardcover!). I was able to pick up the book I referenced about 8 weeks ago: "Tell My Sons." I had read the forward and a handful of pages, no more than two at a time, but I hadn't really gotten to sit down with the book.
In about an hour, I was able to read about 50 pages. I never was a speed reader, but I'm clearly rusty. Regardless, I was able to get into a rhythm, to sense the author's style, to see themes develop. The first few chapters are both heart-wrenching and awe-inspiring. I can't wait to carve out time to read more. Knowing now that the author recently lost his battle with cancer, I'm even more intrigued to we how he ends the book, his message to his sons. I want to see if he stays true to his word that the book would act as a reference later in life.
The lesson I learned today: I can still enjoy reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Be gentle... writing everyday creates an imbalance favoring quantity over quality