What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up?

As a child, I hated it when well-meaning adults asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. There were so many possibilities! How could I ever choose just one path to follow?

At various times I wanted to be a teacher, an animal trainer, a veterinarian, a scientist, a professional athlete, a circus performer, a singer, a dancer, a Wall Street executive, a news reporter, a fashion designer, a hair stylist, and a writer…among other things.

Adults, however, had different career paths in mind for me. I should become a doctor some said. Others saw me as an interpreter for the United Nations. My piano teachers, of course, felt I should pursue a career on the concert stage.

Throughout my life I have had commitment issues — and I think it began as a child simply because of all the possibilities I saw around me. Again, I ask, how could I ever choose just one path to follow?

I couldn’t do it then, and I still can’t do it today. Of course, I’m all grown up now, my 9-to-5 working days are behind me, and I love being who I am and where I am in my life.

Yet the end of one year and the beginning of another is always a good time for reflection, an opportunity to look at who I am — and who I want to be. Maybe the question has changed a bit. It’s no longer “What do you want to be when you grow up?” but “Who do I want to be as I grow older?” 

Changing the what to who helps a lot, because I do know who I am. I’m a wife and mother, a grandmother, and a great-grandmother, and I love our family. I’m happy to be married to the love of my life, and I enjoy our time together. I often say that growing old isn’t fun, so we should at least do it with someone we love.

Some folks say a woman should never talk about aging or admit to being old, but my husband and I do it often. At least once a day — usually far more often — we look at each other and say “We’re just old married people.”

We like being old married people together.

So the who of who I want to be is easy. It’s the what that still stumps me. I’m an artist, a musician, a linguist, a cook, an author, a business owner who loves pampering my Perfectly Posh customers, and an avid needlecrafter with an overflowing stash of yarn. I tend to be a bit geeky at times. I love computers. I love history, too, and I suppose I could be described as somewhat nerdy.

I think overall I just love life. I enjoy learning new things, doing new things, discovering new ideas and new ways of thinking. So, even though I’m all grown up now, I still don’t know what I want to be. All I know is who I am, and I love being me and sharing my life with my husband and our family. I look forward to making 2019 a very happy year.

Happy New Year to All!

 

Dressed in Rags

I’ve been doing a bit of cleaning, sorting, and organizing lately. Today I’m facing the challenge of going through my closet in our bedroom. Oh, what a mess!

Right now I’ve got about half my wardrobe on the bedroom floor, and little by little, I’m going through those clothes, figuring out what to keep and what to donate. It’s not an easy process because I have a lot of clothes. In fact, I have a lot of very nice clothes. I don’t wear them, though.

Right now, I’m dressed in a pair of flannel lounge pants. One pant leg snagged on something a while back, and it’s now turned into a rip that goes all the way up past my knee. I’m also wearing one of my husband’s discarded T-shirts. He’s hard on his clothes, always burning them when he’s welding or soldering, always dripping paint on them, always smearing them with grease, dirt, grass — or whatever.

When they reach the point where he no longer will wear them, I grab them. They’re huge on me, and I love the comfort. I also love the fact that they’re already ruined, so I can go to my easel, paint a landscape in oil, make a mess, and wipe my hands right on my shirt.

Needless to say, I must keep all my worn-out, paint-stained, over-sized shirts, and yes, I must keep my comfortable ripped and torn lounge pants. This is how I dress each day; this is what makes me feel my best.

“Clothes make the man” — or the woman, we’re told, so what does my preferred choice of attire say about me?

I suppose my clothes say that I’m an old woman who doesn’t much care how she looks, but maybe they also say that I must be a bit crazy, eccentric, and creative. Maybe they do say, “Hey, she’s an artist.” And most of all, I hope they say, “Well, at least she’s comfortable.”

Yes, I am comfortable. Comfortably weird, I guess. People who come to the door during the day probably walk away shaking their heads when they see me dressed in my rags, but you know what? I don’t care.

There comes a time in every woman’s life, I think, when she stops worrying about her appearance, or more to the point, stops worrying about what other people think of her appearance. I remember reaching that point years ago when I strolled out to the mailbox wearing cowboy boots, sweat pants, an oversized coat, and a hat that didn’t match anything. Did anyone stop and stare at me? Nope. I was just a comfortable old lady going to get the morning mail, and at least I was comfortable — and warm.

Warmth. Comfort.

Those are the key words for me and my fashion style. My raggedy old clothes fit just fine by those standards.

Grinder’s Stand

Last August my husband and I made a trip to Tennessee. We visited family in Columbia and spent time in nearby Nashville touring The Hermitage, the home of President Andrew Jackson. As a lover of presidential history, I’ve visited several presidential homes and had previously taken a daughter and grand-daughter to The Hermitage. This was my husband’s first visit there, however, and I enjoyed sharing it with him.

As we drove home from our Tennessee trip, we passed a sign pointing the way to Grinder’s Stand. I let out an exclamation. I hadn’t realized how close we would be to this historic site. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to make a stop that afternoon, but we agreed that on our next trip to Tennessee we would definitely go to Grinder’s Stand — or Griner’s Stand, as it’s sometimes spelled.

You might not be familiar with the site and its controversial place in American history, but I’ve read often about the stand on the Natchez Trace and the events that took place there in October, 1809. Although no one knows for sure exactly what happened or how it happened, Meriwether Lewis — of the famed Lewis and Clark expedition — died at Grinder’s Stand.

But did he die from a self-inflicted gunshot wound? Or was his death a tragic political assassination?

The book Suicide or Murder? The Strange Death of Governor Meriwether Lewis by Vardis Fisher is only one of many books about that perplexing night at Grinder’s Stand.

Another excellent resource is The Jefferson Conspiracies – A President’s Role in the Assassination of Meriwether Lewis, written by Pulitzer prize-winning author, David Leon Chandler.

Meriwether Lewis arriving at Grinder’s Stand — Larry Janoff

My opinion? I’m still undecided, and in truth, we’ll never know what really happened. The mystery of that night at Grinder’s Stand will remain.

For more about the death of Meriwether Lewis, check out the Lewis and Clark Trail Heritage Foundation or listen to “How Meriwether Lewis Might Have Died” from NPR. You’ll find many additional resources online, as well.

History is fascinating, and it’s even more so when we can visit places where important events took place. It’s quite a drive to Tennessee for us, but no matter. I’m looking forward to our next trip. I can’t wait to actually set foot upon the grounds at that old stand on the Natchez Trace.

 

 

You are My Inspiration…

If I were ever to compile as list of all-time favorite movies, well, it would end up being a very long list. And if I were to compile that list in chronological order, beginning with the first film I ever dubbed a favorite, it would probably start with Pillow Talk, the 1959 romantic comedy starting Doris Day and Rock Hudson. There were several other very well-known actors in the film, including Tony Randall, Thelma Ritter, and Nick Adams.

I saw the film when it was first released, and maybe it was a bit too sophisticated for a nine-year-old girl, but no matter. I loved the movie, and I still love it. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen it over the years, and when I watch it I can recite most of the lines right along with the cast.

Like a lot of older movies, Pillow Talk wouldn’t make much sense to today’s generation. It’s about a party line, which has to do with landline phones, and what in the world were those? 

I thought Rock Hudson was swoon-worthy, and what I really liked most about the movie was the music. Oh, I adored all the quick quips and witty dialogue, too, especially the wry comments from Alma, the maid.

“If there’s anything worse than a woman living alone, it’s a woman saying she likes it.”

But back to the music, or first, a quick synopsis of Pillow Talk: 

In New York, the interior decorator Jan Morrow and the wolf composer Brad Allen share a party line, but Brad keeps it busy most of the time flirting with his girlfriends. They do not know each other but Jan hates Brads since she needs the telephone for her business and can not use it. Coincidently Jan’s wealthy client Jonathan Forbes that woos her is the best friend of Brad and he comments with him that he feels an unrequited love for Jan, who is a gorgeous woman. When Brad meets Jan by chance in a restaurant, he poses as a naive tourist from Texas named Rex Stetson and seduces her. But Jonathan hires a private eye to find who Rex Stetson is.

Yes, my swoon-worthy Hudson played a composer, and as music was always a huge part of my life, I loved it any time it was an important element in a movie. And for the wolfish Brad Allen — the role Hudson played — music was a tool for seduction. He had composed a song — Inspiration — carefully leaving a pause that could be filled in with the name of whatever woman he was singing to.

I’ve done a bit of browsing and can’t find for sure who wrote the song. Frank de Vol is credited for the film’s music, but whether or not that includes the different songs performed…well, I’m not sure on that.

In addition to Inspiration, there were other great songs:

• Pillow Talk
• Roly-Poly
• Possess Me
• You Lied

The film has become a cinema classic, and in 2009 it was added to the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress. This list acknowledges films that are “culturally, historically, or aesthetically” significant and worthy of preservation.

I’m glad it’s been given this recognition. It truly is a classic film, and anyone who has seen it will probably agree that romantic comedy doesn’t get any better than Pillow Talk.

What films are on your all-time favorites list?

Lucky Stars

“Thank your lucky stars.”

That’s an expression I’ve heard a lot, and when I was growing up I think I really wanted to believe in lucky stars. I do remember wishing upon a star one summer evening, and my wish did come true, but as I grew older — and wiser, presumably — I stopped thinking much about stars at all.

On those rare occasions as an adult when I’ve been in the country at night, I’ve been amazed at the number of stars there are in the sky. I know, too, that the stars we see are only a small part of the vast, infinite universe.

I’ve never been to a planetarium, and that’s something my husband and I added to the “Grandkids” list. That’s a list of things to do and places to go that we put together in hopes of learning more about what our young grandchildren are interested in. Some of the items on the list — like growing food — got a resounding “No!”, but the planetarium trip sounded good to the two oldest boys.

The Arvin Gottlieb Planetarium in Kansas City — part of Science City — offers several different shows, and we’ve talked about going there. So far, we haven’t made time for it yet. Weekends are busy for young families, and it’s been impossible to coordinate between two sets of parents and our own busy schedule.

The proposed visit to the planetarium not only caught the interest of the grandsons, but also that of my husband. He was, in fact, the one who suggested adding it to our list, and for years he’s been talking about maybe buying a telescope for one of the boys.

The simple truth is that he wants a telescope for himself. It’s something he’s always wanted, but like so many other things, he’s never gotten around to actually buying one. Lately, though, he’s been doing his homework, researching telescopes, learning the differences between refractive and reflective, reading reviews of different models, and comparing prices.

It’s time, he has decided, to get that telescope he’s always wanted. So, this year, that’s going to be part of our Christmas gift to ourselves. We don’t really buy presents for each other. We buy presents together. This year I want a cruet set for the salad dressings I love to make. He wants a telescope.

It will be an exciting purchase, and I’m delighted he’s finally going to get something he’s wanted for a long, long time. And a trip to the planetarium is definitely in our future plans — the near future.

 

One of Those Days

Have you ever had one of those days? Yes, of course you have. We all have them from time to time. Even someone like Mary Richards whose life always seemed perfect once had one of those days. 

Mary Richards was the character played by Mary Tyler Moore in her popular television show which ran from 1970 through 1977. I imagine it’s still around somewhere in re-runs.

I remember reading the story behind “Put On a Happy  Face” — the episode where all went wrong for Mary. The writers had apparently heard a few comments about Mary’s seemingly-perfect life. Her hair was always perfect. She was always smiling. Others around her had problems, but nothing ever went wrong for her.

So, they wrote an episode in which she’s getting ready for the annual award banquet only to have one problem after another — a stained dress, a sprained foot, and — for once — a bad hair day.

The moral of that story, you see, is that, yes, anybody can have a bad day.

I certainly had one yesterday. It was actually comical because for some reason, nobody wanted to take my money. Well, that’s not really true, I guess, but it’s how I was beginning to feel.

It started when I headed out to finish up Christmas shopping. We wanted to pick up a few more gifts for grandkids, and yesterday the weather was as nice as it’s going to get this week. The temperature was close to 50 degrees (Fahrenheit, obviously) and the day was clear. Not sunny, but not gray and gloomy, either.

A perfect day to finish up my shopping. And also a perfect day to fill my car with gasoline. I’m normally very good about having gas in my car. When it gets down to the half-way mark, I head for the station and fill it up. But lately, I’d slacked off because the weather was cold, icy, and snowy.

So I pulled into the service station, put my card in the slot, and back came a message saying “Sale not allowed.” What was going on? I hurried inside and asked what the problem was. Turns out that particular pump no longer had a hose attached, other than for diesel. I hadn’t noticed.

“Just use a different pump,” was the response from the clerk. Sounds simple enough, right?

It wasn’t. One pump had a big OUT OF ORDER sign pasted across it, another was also roped off for some reason, which left only one working pump. I pulled in, tried to pump the gas, and got nowhere. That pump had gas, but only low octane. My old Celica is classed as a “high-performance sports car” and a regular gas pump won’t even fit. It’s got to be premium.

Yes, my car is old, but I love it. They don’t make Celicas anymore, so I’m holding on to mine.

At least I had enough gas in the car to get to Wal-Mart, my shopping destination. I gave up on getting gas and headed on to the store.

All went fairly well — at least as well as it can while shopping in a place that has a habit of moving everything around every week or so. Grocery shopping there can sometimes be challenging, but I wasn’t getting groceries. I was there to shop for presents, and I knew what I wanted to get.

Then as I strolled past the jewelry section, I saw a lovely display of watches. Our youngest grand-daughter is almost twelve, and I didn’t recall ever seeing her wear a watch. To be sure, I quickly called her mother and verified that Kaylee didn’t have one.

The one I found was perfect. Slender, delicate, brushed silver. Yes, absolutely perfect, and the price was reasonable.

But, guess what. I couldn’t buy it. I got up to the check-out, the clerk scanned it, and then she frowned. She called a manager who scanned it and frowned.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not available for sale,” she told me.

What? My mouth dropped open. “I just got it off the shelf,” I pointed out. Seriously, folks, why have something on the shelf if it’s not for sale?

No matter when or where I’d found it, it wasn’t for sale, she didn’t know why, but I couldn’t purchase it and that was that.

I paid for the rest of my items, took my cart to the friendly greeter, and asked him to watch it while I went back to find another watch. I did find another just like the first, and this time I asked a “Wal-Mart associate” as they’re called to scan it before I went to the check-out. She wasn’t actually from the jewelry department but from the fitting room area, but it’s always so hard to find a “Wal-Mart associate” I considered myself very lucky to have found her.

She scanned the watch, reported the price, and said “No problem.” No problem for her, but when I scanned it at one of the self-checkout registers, up flashed the message “Not available for purchase.”

I hate those self-checkout registers, by the way, but let’s talk about those another time.

I turned to the friendly “Wal-Mart associate” who was there to assist, asked her what the problem was, and after trying to scan it herself, she called her manager — who turned out to be the same lady from the previous register. Oh, she was snooty!

“I’ve already told her it’s not for sale,” she said with a huff. “She was just over here a few minutes ago.”

I politely pointed out that this was a different watch. She’d already kept the first one. So what was the deal? All I wanted to do was buy a watch, and would somebody please go with me to the jewelry department — since there wasn’t a “Wal-Mart associate” in the department — and help me find a watch that was actually for sale?

Snooty lady wasn’t happy about it, but she went with me, and I picked out another style. She scanned it and although I wasn’t sure that really told us anything, she trotted off, and I headed back to the self-checkout. That watch was for sale. I bought it.

Next I went to get my shopping cart with all my presents. Yes, it was still there, and I think maybe I was lucky on that. The greeter was chatting with another customer, and although I tried to get his attention several times to let him know I’d returned for my cart, he obviously didn’t hear me. Or maybe he was just ignoring me. Oh, well. I got my cart and headed out the door wondering how long it would be before he noticed it was gone.

Now, in case anyone reading this works for Wal-Mart, I want to say that I’m sure there are many wonderful “Wal-Mart associates” who are helpful and courteous.  Maybe the associates I dealt with yesterday were also having one of those days.

I don’t know. It was just frustrating that I couldn’t fill my car’s gas tank, and I couldn’t buy a watch I wanted. Later, my husband and I drove to another station and he kindly put gas in the car for me, and meanwhile, I’ve decided that I don’t like the watch I bought. I still have the receipt, of course, so I’ll return it, and I’ll probably venture to another Wal-Mart store in the area to see if they have a better selection. If so, I just hope whatever watch I pick out really is for sale.

 

Real Springfield Cashew Chicken

My husband and I both love Chinese food, and Springfield Cashew Chicken has long been my favorite on the menu. Once my husband tried it, it became his favorite, too, replacing his usual order of General Tso’s Chicken.

Now, depending on where you live, you might not be familiar with the Springfield variation on chicken with cashews. That’s because it was created in Springfield, Missouri — about 130 miles from where we live.

Funny thing, as much as we love the dish, we had never eaten it in Springfield until last Friday. I knew, of course, that the delicious recipe originated there, but it was only quite recently that I learned more about its creation — and about Yin Wing “David” Leong.

A few months ago, we drove to Tennessee to visit family near Nashville. On our return trip home, we were both getting a bit hungry. Why not stop in Springfield for Chinese food? I grabbed my phone, did a quick Google search and was surprised to learn that the original home of Springfield Cashew Chicken was still open and serving food every day. The thought of visiting the restaurant and having the original version of Springfield Cashew Chicken right from the source… oh, how my mouth watered at the thought.

Springfield Cashew Chicken, you see, varies greatly from one restaurant to another. Two restaurants in the Kansas City area which served it with the delicate sauce I love are no longer around, and of the three Chinese restaurants here in Harrisonville, only one serves the Springfield variety. It’s got a thicker sauce than I like, although my husband enjoys it. Usually I opt for Shrimp Fried Rice instead.

So, the thought of trying the real deal was exciting. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen. We were literally side-tracked by a tornado that came along, and although it was small and did little damage, it still delayed us — not to mention that it frightened the bejeebers out of me. I’m not sure what bejeebers are, but that storm was scary.

I was so scared, I never even thought of taking any photographs. I’m usually quick to take pictures of the skies and clouds. Later, though, I found this video from an intrepid storm chaser. Yes, that cloud alone was enough to frighten me out of my wits.

Needless to say, once the storm was over, all we wanted to do was get safely home. Stopping in Springfield was no longer part of the plan.

Afterward, however, we started talking about it. A lot. We actually planned to go when my husband took a bit of vacation time, but so many other things came up that we never had a chance.

But then, on Friday, my husband found himself getting off work at 8:45 AM. He’d put in a lot of overtime hours during the week, so it was a very short workday for him. He called to let me know he was on the way home and asked, “Want to go to Springfield for lunch?”

He arrived home about 45 minutes later, I grabbed a jacket, and off we went to Springfield.It was a nice drive, one turn from I-49 onto Missouri Highway 7, and from there, a straight shot to Republic Street and Leong’s Chinese Restaurant.

We arrived at the restaurant around 12:45, and the parking lot was packed. We were both quite hungry and quite eager to try real Springfield Cashew Chicken. Would it be as delicious as we hoped?

Oh, my goodness. I can’t begin to describe it! I started eating before I thought to take a photo, so I grabbed a photo of my husband’s plate, too.

I had mine served with an eggroll.

My husband went for the crab Rangoon with his Springfield Cashew Chicken.

We not only ate our lunch at the restaurant that afternoon, we also ordered two more for take-out. And just thinking about it now is making me so hungry for real Springfield Cashew Chicken. It’s definitely much better than anything we’ve found in our area. I have a feeling we will be making more trips to Springfield.

When we first entered the restaurant and were seated at a table, I took a photo, knowing I would want to share the experience here on my blog. I noticed a man seated at another table, but what I didn’t know when I took the shot was that this is Yin Wing Leong himself. He is 98 years old now and still comes into his restaurant most days to greet his customers and thank them for their business. It is his son who is now the executive chef of the restaurant.

After we returned home, I spent a little time reading about Leong, how he got the name “David” from an Army officer who couldn’t pronounce Yin Wing, about the racism he faced when he first tried to open a Chinese restaurant here in the Midwest, about his willingness to share his special recipe with friends who also wanted to open restaurants. His children didn’t understand that and criticized him for helping rivals. Leong explained to them that treating people with kindness was the secret for living a long and prosperous life.

The life of David Leong: From the bombing of his restaurant to success with cashew chicken

The story of Yin Wing “David” Leong is worth reading, just as his famous cashew chicken is worth the drive to Springfield.

If you’d like to try creating your own Springfield-style Cashew Chicken here’s a recipe I found. I will definitely give this a try.

Springfield Cashew Chicken — All Recipes

 

 

Looking Forward to Lunch

Today is going to be a busy day, and I’m looking forward to it. Even though it’s cold, I’ll be getting out and heading to Raymore, Missouri, to attend an art league luncheon. We’ll have meats and cheeses catered, and members will be bringing side dishes and desserts. I’m bringing my Florida Orange Cake, which is always a favorite.

I’ve loved orange cake since I was a little girl. Each year for my grandfather’s birthday, my mother would bake an orange cake. Throughout the years, even though my mother is gone and my grandfather passed away fifty years ago, I’ve carried on the tradition of baking an orange cake on his birthday in June.

And then, once my husband tasted orange cake, he decided that was what we wanted for his birthday each year, as well. So, now I bake an orange cake in June and in November.

Well, why not bake another in December? After all, oranges are a traditional part of Christmas foods and festivities, so when I was asked to bring a dessert for our luncheon, I knew exactly what it would be.

Over the years, the original made from scratch recipe has been lost, and I’ve started using a cake mix off the store shelf — something I never thought I’d do. The results are still moist and delicious, and I have to admit it’s certainly quick and easy.

Here’s the recipe I now use from Taste of Home:

Ingredients

CAKE:

1 package yellow cake mix (regular size)
1 cup orange juice
3 eggs
1/3 cup water
1/3 cup canola oil

FROSTING:

1 package (8 ounces) cream cheese, softened
1/4 cup butter, softened
1 tablespoon orange marmalade
3 cups confectioners’ sugar

Directions

In a large bowl, combine the cake mix, orange juice, eggs, water and oil; beat on low speed for 30 seconds. Beat on medium for 2 minutes. Pour into a greased 13×9-in. baking pan. Bake at 350° for 30-35 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack.

For frosting, in a small bowl, beat cream cheese and butter until smooth. Beat in orange marmalade and confectioners’ sugar. Spread over cake. Store in the refrigerator.

Of course, I do change it just a bit. I’ve used both yellow cake mixes and white cake mixes, and the results are equally tasty, so if I can’t get one, I get the other. And I always grab my grater to make fresh orange zest to add to the batter. That was what I always loved best about mother’s orange cakes.

For the frosting, I sometimes add just a bit of food coloring to give it a slight orange tint.

The cake is baked and cooled, and right now my cream cheese and butter are both sitting out to come to room temperature. Later this morning I’ll make the icing and spread it on the cake, ready to go to our luncheon. I’m looking forward to having a sweet dessert, and I’ve promised my husband I’ll bring a piece home for him to enjoy, too.

 

 

 

 

Night Circus

I recently discovered this book while browsing the Top 5 Tuesday: Winter Reads! from fellow blogger Christina’s Recipe and a Read blog. The book blurb she shared had me hooked at once:

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night.

But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway—a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them, this is a game in which only one can be left standing, and the circus is but the stage for a remarkable battle of imagination and will. Despite themselves, however, Celia and Marco tumble headfirst into love—a deep, magical love that makes the lights flicker and the room grow warm whenever they so much as brush hands.

True love or not, the game must play out, and the fates of everyone involved, from the cast of extraordinary circus performers to the patrons, hang in the balance, suspended as precariously as the daring acrobats overhead.

This book, I’ve now learned, was first published in 2011, several years ago. Where have I been? How did I not know about this book? I suppose one reason I hadn’t heard of Night Circus is because it’s a YA novel. I’m far from a young adult, but to be perfectly honest, some of the best books I’ve read are classed as YA.

From the time I read Christina’s post, I was intrigued. I hurried off to the library that morning and was fortunate to find Night Circus available on the shelf. As I checked out, the librarian looked at me with a rather surprised expression. “Oh, I’m reading this right now, too,” she remarked. I didn’t ask her thoughts about the book since I didn’t want her likes or dislikes to influence me in any way.

I returned home to comment on Christina’s blog and she, too, had just picked it up from the library. I started reading that afternoon, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it. I haven’t yet had time to finish — the last three days have been exceptionally busy — and I’m looking forward to picking it up and reading the rest of it.

The main attraction — no pun intended — is the world the author creates. It’s a strange world filled with unexplainable happenings, and yet it becomes so real that a reader is quickly drawn in.

This is an especially interesting read for me since I don’t usually venture into the realm of fantasy. At times, yes, I’ve been a bit puzzled, asking how and why, but as I read more, I’m suspending more of my disbelief, willingly letting go of my personal reality so that I can move about in this strange, black and white world of Night Circus.

I have glanced a bit at a few reviews of the story, and it seems that opinions are a bit mixed, but almost all readers have given kudos to the author for her lyrical prose and the way her words enchant.

Why not finish the book first and then post about it? That’s the usual approach for bloggers who share books with others. I’d rather take a different approach. I love reading along with others — like Christina — in a shared experience and then discussing the story afterward. Besides, I’m not a book reviewer. My purpose in writing this post isn’t to rate the story as good, bad, ugly, or whatever. It’s merely to introduce it to others who might be interested, others who might want to join in and read along.

In the end, I might love it, I might hate it, I might sing the book’s praises, or I might regret reading it. Until I finish it, I won’t know, but I do know that my thoughts and feelings in reading the story will be my own, as yours will be your own. Afterward is a time to share opinions, not before. At least, that’s how I feel.

Who wants to read along with me?

Night Circus