A couple weeks ago–right about the time my arm got stuck in a hole in my sheets–I thought perhaps it time to purchase anew. So off I set for TJ Maxx, thinking surely I could find the perfect set, right within my budget. Alas, not so much. I did, however, come away with the most fabulous quilt … a quilt The Intern has since adopted as his own. He has been completely worthless ever since I placed it upon the bed. Really, it’s so hard to find decent help nowadays.

And Lord knows I could have used the help, trying to get my book blog back up and running and all. That’s right, The Bibliophile’s Adventurers Club is back in session … barely.

If you’re wondering what in the world, let me explain. Last year, in addition to getting my business up and running and writing this blog, I decided it would be a splendid idea to have a book blog. Something that highlighted the intrigue associated with the bookish world–one that didn’t take itself too seriously. No sooner had I got it up and running, I lost steam.

So after a year hiatus, I’m back. I’m still working a few things through, but this time around I should have some help (most notably, Amanda Hammond, Bio-Writer-Extraordinaire). In addition to the usual hodge-podge, we plan to add reviews (as requested) … themed library ideas … and more travel options. We’re also working on a fairly big project–the idea of which makes me positively giddy. Look for it the first part of 2012!

As for balancing everything, I’m not sure I have the answer. But I can’t be bothered with the details; it is, after all, the weekend.

And may you, dear readers, have a happy one. Perhaps it will include finding the perfect sunny spot to curl up with a good book?

Wishing you laid-back, do-nothing-you-don’t-want-to-do days!

The annual Library(!) book sale marks the start of spring more than a date on the calendar, the first bloom of forsythia, or the first red robin hanging about. For three days, scores of people trek to an old warehouse in search of bookish delight.

Typically, I am not of their number.

I’ve nothing against libraries, mind you.  Quite the contrary. Growing up I was of the nerdly persuasion; the library was my Camelot.

But as so often happens, things change. Suddenly, those stains happened upon while reading pages of a borrowed book were not so innocent. I would stare, the stain would stare back–it was positively disconcerting.

With that in mind, I now tend to opt for new book sales. I keep the purchase of old books to truly vintage–tomes housed in attics, or works appreciated from a library shelf. They’re old enough, you see, to have been new when books were revered … and not read in the likes of the loo.

But something about this year changed my mind. Perhaps it was the sunshine, the budding trees, or the birds’ cheerful chorus–whatever the event, I found myself heading downtown, straight toward the book sale. As I drove around the block searching for a parking spot, I eyed person after person scurrying back to their cars, arms laden with treasure. The mere sight made me giddy.

Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last.

So many books–so many people. From the moment we entered the door, the swell carried us along. We had no choice but to partake in a bit of speed shopping–rounding the tables multiple times to see all there was to offer. It didn’t help that the checkout line extended from front to back, wrapping itself along the rear wall or that we walked into a most unfortunate odor right from the get-go. Apparently, the excitement of it all, gave a certain someone gastric distress–a condition that distressed us all.

Overwhelmed is an understatement.

Now treasure hunting requires, at the very least, two things: patience and perseverance. Patience, I have not. That would be how I managed to emerge from a book sale with nary a parcel–a fact quite criminal.

But persevere, I will.

Next time I’ll be prepared.  Next time I’ll make note of the types of books I’m looking for, and I’ll not leave until I find them. I’ll plan on reading one of my books, while waiting in a line that may very well span the width of Texas.  And I’ll plan on bringing a room freshener or two … for good measure.

{nothing like new books begging to be read}

A couple weeks ago Maddy, of the Maddy Chronicles, announced the winner of her giveaway: Amy of Magpie and Muttonfly.  I was dubious.  After all, the winner was chosen via random generator.  Who wins those things?  Certainly not I!  Still, out of curiosity, I clicked the link.  And what do you know?  It brought me here.  I clicked back; clicked again.  Same thing. 

It took me ten minutes to realize I had actually won.  You do not even want to know how long it took me to decide.  An Amazon gift card, people!  There are WAY too many options.  Like a pup on spring morn’ … just when I would focus on one thing … SQUIRREL!!!   

Finally, I settled upon books.  Shocking, I know.  They arrived in the mail yesterday … right as I was coming home from an errand.  I must have seemed a tad overzealous because the mailwoman looked a tad scared.  Could it be helped, my friends?  Me thinks not.  After all, it’s one thing to get books in the mail … it’s a whole other when they were free {to me}. 

And, I might add, they are bea-u-tiful.  Sigh.  I purchased books I had planned to read this summer: When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris, Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen by P.G. Wodehouse, and The Thornbirds by Colleen McCullough.  I know the first two will be good; the last, I haven’t a clue.  It could be total sap.  Luckily, it’s a lovely paperback.  It’s also orange, so there’s that …

So thank you {again} Maddy!  I plan to keep them forever–and I’ll think of you each time I see them upon the shelf.  

In other bookish news, people keep asking what I’m reading … so I created a page that will tell you just that.  Now if only I can figure out how to make it show up…

Finally, I was planning to give you a short review of Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet … but I do believe I’ve rambled on quite enough for one sitting.  Another post, for another time, perhaps?  

Until then, happy reading, dear friends!

I read a few back in the day, you see.  They were novels filled with characters who refused to speak naturally–everything was oh my darling … yes, my darling … goodbye, my darling.   There was no passion.  None.  Couples in these novels were about hot as dead fish.  A peck on the cheek was a risque as they got–they didn’t even kiss on the forehead because WHO KNOWS WHAT MIGHT TRANSPIRE … which, you know, is kinda true, but still.  And in moments where desire might possibly creep in, it was veiled with a prayer.  And I’m not talking, Oh sweet Jesus help me; I’m talking long, drawn-out prayers for our nation and beyond. 

Needless to say, you can imagine my horror when my mom and I were shopping at Borders a few weeks ago and she picked up this book …

Not only did she buy the book, she liked it.  She leant it to friends, and they liked it.  Then she turned on me…

Do you want to read it? *silence* I think you would like it.  *change of subject* 

I was valiant in my stance, dear readers, oh so valiant.  Then she brought out the big guns: 

Let me get this straight, you’ll read the whole Twilight series, but you refuse to even give this book a try? ……………………………  Yeah, I had nothing. 

Grudgingly, I took the book, vowing to stop reading the minute I spotted a misplaced prayer.  And what do you know?  I read it all the way through.  And I liked it.  I did.  As a matter of fact, it was perfect anecdote to stressful days. Alexander paints a vivd picture of life on the frontier. Her historical fiction, set in the Colorado Territory, is full of imperfect characters–ones you can’t help but like. 

And for the record, I absolutely loved the thing that finally stole Dr. Molly Whitcomb’s heart.  *sigh*  

That said, if you’re looking for good, clean fun–for a sweet romance–for a story you can trust will end on a high note, but still draws you in–consider Beyond this Moment {by Tamera Alexander}…

It’s true, I am a hopeless romantic.  The key word being hopeless.   *le sigh*

This fact was only reinforced as I read My Life in France, by Julia Child.  Loved it.  I loved reading of Paris, marketplaces, and culinary delights (though it made me terribly hungry); I loved reading of clever Valentine’s Day cards, photography, and adventures (misses too).  And I loved reading of tables filled with good food, fine wines, and the company of friends.  

It’s the best of life, my friends …

Of course, I did chuckle a bit toward the end. She wrote of going to their summer home in France for the last time. The people who had made it come alive, were no more; so she traveled with her niece and her family, to hand over the keys and say goodbye. She wrote quite matter-of-factly. C’est la vie!  Therefore, she could not imagine what could possess her niece burst into tears one day. Alors!  I understood fully.

Personally, I like to think us romantics make the world a bit brighter … when we’re not crying, naturally.

It’s also a People’s Edition of Dickens’ Old Curiosity Shop and Hard Times, published by Estes and Lauriat of Boston, 1882.  So there is that …

October 6, 1847 a book titled “Jane Eyre” was first published in London.  Written under the pseudonym Curer Bell, this coming of age story was an immediate success.  It was such a success that the author was called to the publishing house to make herself known.  So it was that Charlotte Bronte was credited with her work.  A woman of all things!   Of course, this would never do for many critics.  Once they knew ”he” was definitely a she, the book could do no right.  All the same, Charlotte Bronte was greatly admired by many.  She created a powerful work of realism.  She managed to condemn some injustice, while seeming to embrace others.  In doing so, she proves we may hold prejudice unawares; and just because a prejudice holds us back, doesn’t mean it has to keep us down.

Take this piece, for instance; speaking of Paris: 

…It is more than great, it is immense.  Why?  Because it dares. 

To dare; progress is at this price. 

All sublime conquests are, more or less, the rewards of daring.

… Deeds of daring dazzle history, and form one of the guiding lights of man.  The dawn dares when it rises.  To strive, to brave all risks, to persist, to persevere, to be faithful to yourself, to grapple hand to hand with destiny, to surprise defeat by the little terror it inspires, at one time to confront unrighteous power, at another to defy intoxicated triumph, to hold fast, to hold hard – such is the example which the nations need …

And so my hope for you, dear readers, is this – that you would dare.  Dare to love … dare to laugh, and dance, and celebrate … dare not only to dream, but pursue your dreams … dare to stand up for the powerless … dare to read an immense work of literature, for you just never know the great heights it might take you!

So to all of you who support writerly-types, thank you!  You are every bit as important as the one who pens the tales.  You are the guardians, the champions of fine story-telling.  If it weren’t for the likes of you, we wouldn’t have the likes of this upon our bookshelves …

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.
Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole,
filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it
to sit down on or to eat:
it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
It had a perfectly round door like a porthole,
painted green,
with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle.
The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel:
a very comfortable tunnel without smoke,
with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted,
provided with polished chairs.

-Excerpt, The Hobbit