As I was telling one of my blogging buddies when she asked how my foot was, it is still broken, and as I’m not supposed to put any weight on it, I can’t even get outside and enjoy the warm spring sunshine. I would be going stir crazy if it weren’t for good friends like N. who came to visit me yesterday. We both enjoy good books and like to discuss literature. The book we talked about yesterday made her think about her childhood because it had been a favorite of hers when she was little, she told me. She said she had read it many times during her younger years, enjoying it more and more each time as she came to see the subtle nuances, delicate turning of phrases, and the unfolding personalities of the characters.
Of course, discussing favorite childhood books made her think of other things about her childhood, and I asked her many questions, trying to draw her out as I found her stories of the old days so fascinating. Alas, there were not many stories she could tell, whether because of age or reticence to share on such a personal level. Or maybe it was that her babysitter came to the door and told her it was time to go home.