Greetings from a balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Newport Coast, California. I'm with my Tucson Symphony Chorus friend, Gail, at her timeshare.
You know I always take too much stuff with me when I travel, and I tried to avoid that this trip. I'm flying back to Tucson on Sunday night, and I don't want to check any bags because of the abysmal baggage handling service (or lack thereof) in Tucson. So I glanced around the bookshelf and grabbed The Poisonwood Bible, written by Tucsonan Barbara Kingsolver.
I have tried for years to get into this book, ever since Oprah first recommended it. I picked it up this morning and something clicked. I have been writing this blog for just short of a year now, and writing it has been a wonderful exercise for me in the science and art of writing. I'm much more aware of words now than I was a year ago.
This passage grabbed my eye this morning and made me want to share:
"I didn't know any name for what I'd seen until some years afterward in Atlanta, when I attempted briefly to consecrate myself in the public library, believing every crack in my soul could be chinked with a book."
If you haven't read The Poisonwood Bible, I highly recommend it.
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