On the merits of slow

First the weather,

 it is perfect.

 Clear blue sky, cool breeze.

Sleep is once again possible,

let’s hope it lasts.

Next, hockey season is right around the corner,

 I can’t wait.

Yeh.

I haven’t been reading much lately.

Well, actually I haven’t been reading much I can talk about.

A friend asked me to read her novel, which I did.

It’s good. I’ll tell you all about it,

 once it’s published.

If, she wants me to.

I’m still working on the Philip Roth.

I find myself impressed by the language.

With me, that is not the best of signs.

I like to get lost in the plot, in the characters.

To be fair I’m only about fifty pages into it.

I’ll let you know.

What I have been thinking about this week,

the merits of slow.

Slow food,

can’t beat those slow roasted chickens,

 or a beautiful stew that has been bubbling for hours.

Slow love,

letting it develop,

learning to appreciate the precious moments.

We’re talking long walks on the beach, here girls.

Reading can be like that as well,

 taking the time,

 not riffling through it like you’re in a hurry.

Years ago,

 I read this article,

 probably in the newspaper,

that said Canadians who are big readers read about fifty books a year.

I said to my ex, I must read about fifty books a year?

To which she harumped and said,

you read way more than fifty books a year.

I started keeping count in a notebook.

It’s usually more like a hundred.

In 2008, I had a big year,

 one hundred and forty three,

 that’s a lot.

But, you know what?

 I read a lot of crap that year.

Don’t get me wrong,

 I like thrillers and mysteries,

well mostly mysteries.

Some of them are very good,

 and those are the ones I read,

now.

I seemed, that year, to be consuming them more than reading them.

It was like scoffing down Big Macs or having multiple quickies.

I like a Big Mac, twice a year,

 and I have no problems with quickies.

Filling the void, scratching the itch.

But, I prefer slow roasted chicken and long love making sessions.

I have been reading slower lately, and I like it better.

Letting the story wash over you.

Those of you who read my blog on a regular basis know that I have been having

a quasi mid-life crisis.

No shit, Sherlock!

You get to be forty-five or so,

You start asking yourself , Is this what I want with my life?

Am I ever gonna get  me some Love of a good woman?

In other words you panic.

It’s as if I woke up,

 and all of a sudden,

 wanted to get all the things I crave.

Now.

Well, I’m going back to my appreciation of slow.

Not coma or inertia,  just slow.

What’s my hurry, it will come.

He Also Serves Those Who Sit And Wait,

I believe that is Milton,

 and I think I am going to live by those words for a while.

Later girls

Be good

BB

 

Published by

Bookish Butch

I am a bookish butch in my very early fifties. I live in Montréal and always have. I used to run a small used bookstore. Reading keeps me sane. My latest jiggie is photography, book project in the works, living the dream

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