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Old Books

 I started to read The Count of Monte Cristo sometime in fall and had to pause many times for lack of time. Over Thanksgiving break, I made it to the half way mark and hated putting it away. This is the first time in decades, I have experienced the joy of being transported to a different place and time by fiction. 

I used to think that phase of my life is over but it is not. Just that I read many of the classics before I had access to the internet and long before I had the responsibilities of being a mother and the sole provider for J. Access to the internet remains and can be distracting when you want to zone into a book but J is now grown up and busy with her own life. I have more time on hand than I have had in a while. Having experienced the joy of reading Dumas yet again, I now have my list of classics I'd like to re-read and add to it the ones I long wanted to but could not get around to it. 

Maybe there is a reason that we return to old books in a way of coming full circle in life. The last couple of decades, my reading has led to me to interesting discoveries but not once to a book that made in indelible, lifetime impression. It is likely that sort of impact is possible only on the young, impressionable and unjaded. I was none of that. It is heartening to relive the joys of reading from childhood and youth again - as if some parts of life remained pristine, untouched by chaos. 

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