“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.” ― Groucho Marx
Our intern is on sabbatical. And I’ve just returned from a quick road trip to Vegas to see Rachel and John Mayer—both keep me where the light is. Thirty minutes from now World Book Day and the Bard’s birthday will officially end. Not before I have something to say about it.
Hemingway said “There is no friend as loyal as a book.” Clearly, Ernest never met Rachel or some of my other faves. But I feel you Hemmy. I just finished The Bartender’s Tale yesterday and already I’m missing the flinty Montana bartender, Tom Harry. I feel like I know him and his likeable boy Rusty. I’m going to miss Tom’s wisdom—to learn from the worst of [his] past rinsed away by the passage of time.” So sad to see my friends go. I had to remind myself of one important truth when I felt semi-verklempt as the sun set on Gros Ventre and the Medicine Lodge: if I miss my quiet friends, I can access them. Easily. They will always be there for me.
On a day meant to celebrate authors, illustrators, books and glorious reading, I’m up late night to say I’m grateful for fictitious friends, new and old. And for all the ones I’m sure to make at future dates. How awesome is that?