I find with my reading one book leads to another and then another.
Hence book piles, book walls, books falling around my house
Even this week I re-read Harold and Maude by Colin Higgins which lead me to Patty Dann which lead me to her book; The Butterfly Hours which lead me to re-read Anne Lammott’s Bird by Bird.
And on it goes like 6 degrees of separation.
Here is another trail;
Be Here Now by Ram Dass lead to Japanese Pilgrimage by Oliver Statler which lead to The Man Who Planted Trees by Jean Giono.
One more thread and then you might as well spin me around and play pin the tail on the bookworm.
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami led to Born to Run by Christopher Mc Dougall which led to Eiger Dreams by Jon Krakauer which lead to Blind Descent by James Tabor.
Did I mention that I am a reading sponge and I married a non-reader? Reinforcing the floorboards might be a required activity soon and, foisting must read books on my friends.
This leads to what happens when you try to set your friend up with your favourite book and they A) aren’t interested B) read it but give it a so so rating C) DON’T KNOW WHERE THEY LEFT IT
Argggh but that is for another day.