Our Book Club was started by two women, in their twenties at the time, and me. They worked together, and I was the book-loving sorority sister of one of them, who was kindly invited to the first "meeting." We read "The Book of Ruth," by Jane Hamilton.
We have continued to meet since 1997 -- that's fifteen years this year. In that time several other members have come and gone, but the three, and then four, of us have stayed constant. We have mostly continued reading together, until these last several months. And oh, the books! So many John Irving novels, Fannie Flagg and Wally Lamb, some fiction that nobody liked except me, some enlightening non-fiction, some historical easy-reads, of course the Twilight and Hunger Games series, and lots and lots of others along the way. We've done spa-days, dinners out, a wine tasting, New Year's parties, a road trip, and impromptu baby showers for each of us.
We met last night because one of us is moving to Ohio. It's unexpected. So we poured the red wine and talked until nearly midnight on a school night. (Over the years, as you can imagine, our meetings have grown less and less book-focused.) And we laughed and laughed, at our twenty-something selves, at the absudity of life sometimes, at people we've known, at our shared and separate stories, some that we've told over and over again.
I know I've said this before, but I am so grateful that these women are my friends. I'm glad we got together again. There's a renewed need to be more regular about gathering, I think. But we're going to miss you, Stacy.
1 comment:
That sounds like a great group and I'm jealous of it. I wish I had a group like that.
Post a Comment