Currently Reading

Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection is a gem of a read.  So much to consider.  She's a researcher and specializes in what she calls "wholeheartedly living."  Her earliest research is on the subject of shame and how it keeps us from loving ourselves and others.  Lest this put you off, we all have shame.  And her approach is lighthearted and often humorous.  One of my favorite quotes from her book is

Wake up in the morning and think, "No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough," and ... go to bed at night thinking, "Yes, I am sometimes afraid, but I am also brave. And, yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable, but that doesn't change the truth that I am worthy of love and belonging."

There is so much in the book, and I'm scribbling notes on the pages, with lots of "a-has!"  I guess 'the work' is never done, is it?  I reach a certain understanding and ease with myself, and time passes and it feels as if I need to learn an entire new set of lessons.

For a lovely easy read, as in a break from intense introspection, I am on the 3rd book in the series of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith.  The NY Times calls the protagonist the "Miss Marple of Botswana."  Well, I never liked Miss Marple much, but I love Precious Ramotswe: she is a kind and generous woman, and one smart cookie.  To read a book set in such a forgein country as Botswana is a treat indeed:  the flora and fauna, the climate, the customs, all brand new to me and I love it.  Reading the books makes me want to travel there.

I also just finished a fascinating book called The Bolter, a true story of Idina Sackville, cousin of Vita Sackville-West, written by Idina's great grand daughter.  Married 5 times, and a child of the British aristocracy, it is a story of people with way too much money and time on their hands.  Granted, they lived through the trauma of World War I and II, but their endless frantic search for parties, sex, drugs and alcohol reminds me very much of the neuvea riche celebrities I groan over today.  Kenya was their English playground, first occupied by the British as a protectorate, and then an independent state.  Many of the truly scandalous were obliged to skip their tiny island (and London in particular) and head out to the wilds of Africa where they could largely carry-on un-noticed.  Interesting from a historical perspective, I grew exasperated with their endless child-like behavior.  Never mind, they all died in the end.  Some had better deaths than others.  They were boorish and they drank took much and shot up too much morphine.  Then they died.  The end.  Oh, and yes, they had sex with anybody and everybody.  Yawn.