Take Me By The Hand Down Memory Lane....

There's a reason why I'll crib, rant and rave about the lack of space at home for all the books that I'll want to buy throughout my lifetime, but still never switch over to e-books for good.

Each book has a history. It goes beyond savoring the smell of a new book or sneezing from the dust of an old one. I've always inscribed my books and made people who gifted me books do the same. They might not be the book inscribing kind but even a few words scribbled has been mandatory for me.

Along with the date and the location that I find when I open an old book, I also rediscover myself from those days of yore.

Recently I re-read a book after a long while and found an inscription by my BFF2. It was given on the occasion of my birthday and a nickname was mentioned that'd fallen into disuse but used to be the norm years ago.

That's the magic of a book...it not only takes you places with what the author's words have woven but each book carries a piece of your history in it as well.

Red dislikes too many trips into nostalgia but it suits me just fine.

Sometimes nostalgia is the only thing that helps you get a grip on the present.

Over and out.

Curveballs...

There are times (unfortunately they come around waaay too often) that curveballs get chucked your way.

Whether you've stepped up to plate or intend to play or not, a curveball comes whizzing along.

Now you can either duck or play it but I guess you can only duck so often. It's your best bet to try your hand at it at least once. Strangely enough these curveballs are vested with the genetic make-up of heat seeking missiles and tend to follow you around till they go KABLOOOEY! on your or another target. But a KABOOM's a given!

I know it seems tres cryptic but there are times when vagaries keep rattling in your head and it would take too much effort, history and detail to explain it to another individual. So a mysterious blog post kind of takes the edge of the whirly-gig that's been sent after you.

Or the oddity of the prose here could arise from zip, zero, zilch sleep and not nearly enough of stimulants in my blood on this fine and chilly Saturday morning.

Naah...vagaries are better. Vagaries of madcaps are even better sounding.

But I'll be damned if it doesn't feel good to get this stuff out of my head.

PS: On an entirely unrelated note and in my usual digressing fashion-books will take the cake over their movie counterparts any day. A person's prose and thoughts sometimes ought not to be portrayed over the visual medium...the grizzliness gets diluted. It's better in the recesses of the mind where things fester more under the mortar and pestle of our thoughts...

Here endeth the lesson