I've been saving this book for a while. I love the luxury, the indulgence, the wealth of having brand new books, unread, sitting uncreased beside my bed.
I love Rebecca Miller's writings. I love the simplicity of her style but the mood most of all. I started "The Secret Lives of Pippa Lee" on the way home tonight, I'm only 20 pages in, but already there's a short passage I'd like to share. Ella turns 7 in two more sleeps, I think I'm in a, whatever the opposite (in terms of passage of time and looking forward rather than back) of reflective is, mood.
A few months ago, in her old life, she would no sooner have had a friendship with Dot Nadeau than flown around the room. Their friends were editors, novelists, critics, poets. Yet Pippa had never felt fully at ease in their hypercivilized company. Only with her twins, when they were young - only then had she felt fully secure in who she was. Grace and Ben had looked up at her with such certainty in their little faces, and called her Mama. They knew, so she knew. Now her babies were gone. They called sometimes, came home to visit. Occassionally they all went out for lunch together. But they didn't look at Pippa the way they once had."
I'm not sad, but I appreciate so much all I have and I know that nothing stays still, so I need to cherish it all the more.