Friends are with us through all the genres of our biographies: mystery, romance, drama, satire, action and adventure, health, travel, horror, children, history, comics, cooking and fantasy. I share all subject matter with several fantastic women, all major characters, both literaturely and figuratively, in my non-fictional life.
There are also four other women, only one of whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, who are some of my best girlfriends: Danielle, Debbie, Elin and Nancy. We spend time together individually several times a year and just like the plot line in any of their novels, a perfect storm has occurred: for the first time, they have all come to me at the same time.
I was not able to read my for two years when my vision became impaired and thinking about that period now I don’t know how I survived. I just finished my 46th book of this year and it seems fitting that my favorites will turn that count to 50. But first they will transport me to New York City, Nantucket, Seattle and surprising locales in between, leaving hot, humid Southeastern Pennsylvania behind. I will get lost in their fictional accounts of people who will become very real to me until this blog needs writing, the bike needs riding, the husband needs dinner, the parrot needs to play, something needs washing and my new business needs creating. They will provide an escape from real life, taking me out of myself and into a completely different world.
Books are our friends, I remember being told as a child, and I still hear that in my head from time to time. Their authors are the talented, creative, intelligent artists who share their gift with us. Getting their newest title is one of the few sure things in my life; their name on the cover a guarantee that I will enjoy myself from the first page until the end.
It is, at once, Christmas in July, my birthday, a snow day and girls’ night in. And I can think of no better way to celebrate than with a good book.
