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Dear Reader, I just loved reading all the wonderful library memories readers emailed in honor of National Library Week last week. Please do take a moment to thank a librarian for all they do. More readers share their library stories… “Good Morning Suzanne, I love reading your blog every day. I always enjoy your stories and when you share readers' stories. I have always been a fan of the library. As a teen, I was that nerdy kid who would use the library as a reason to drive the car. I would ask to borrow the car to go to the library, and I would pick up my friend and we would ‘really’ go to the library and spend time just browsing and reading. Now, as an adult working in circulation at my local library, I love the interaction with the patrons. I love comparing our thoughts on books and other subjects. There have been job opportunities open up in our library system that are not dealing directly with the public. I have always passed by these opportunities to change positions because I know that I would miss that interaction. I want to be the person that helps make it a good experience when patrons come into our library. Thanks for listening. Have a wonderful day.” “The Bookmobile came to my South Ozone Park, NY, school in 1952 when I was eight years old. It was an exciting day! My class entered the bus and signed our names in script (a requirement) to be eligible for a Library card. I have loved the Library ever since. I was lucky to have shared my love of books for 24 years as I became a public Librarian.” – Millie S. “My first memories of going to the library in our small country town are that it was something I looked forward to every Sunday. We had a small branch library in an old school. That same old school was where I would be dropped off for Sunday school each Sunday. I can hear the clatter of that old wooden floor as we all scrambled out of our class to rush to the one room library on the top floor, to grab our books before the parents arrived to pick us up. This was the pre-computer days when you still took the card from the back of the book you were checking out, simply wrote your name on it, the librarian stamped the date card, placed it in the book, and you were on your way. I now have the privilege of working in our main branch library as a Children's Librarian. That old school library has long since been torn down, but it still holds a special memory.” – Tena G., Youth Specialist, T.B. Scott Library Merrill WI “By the time I started junior high, my family had moved at least a dozen times. It was hard to be the new kid in a school or neighborhood, but I never felt like the newbie in the library. Each library had old friends like Dr Seuss, ‘Make Way for Ducklings,’ or ‘Little Women.’ But it also had new friends and experiences. Story hour for our younger brother and the summer reading programs were offered in libraries across our country. In one town the city library shared property with the elementary school and we walked each week to a real library. In another, the library held an annual book sale and for just a few dollars we feasted on books that belonged to us. Thank you, librarians for enriching my family’s life.” – Susan V. Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends. Suzanne Beecher
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Kismet: A Novel | |||
A CHAMPAGNE FLUTE FELL IN ONE FATEFUL BLOW. Glass pieces shattered all over the ground. Looking around, I knew: the scene was just one more sign of the damage I'd done. The wedding I'd now singlehandedly destroyed. Those fallen, misshapen specks were nothing compared to my sister's piercing glare. Oh, Jo. Her blue eyes soaked with tears, her pure bridal white a reminder of my own sins. She looked at me with so many questions, but I couldn't find the words to answer even one. Next to her, Ben stood with his cheeks pale, fists clenched. My husband's wedding ring shone against the setting sky; each time it caught the light felt like a kick to my soul. A cry. The reflection of all my mistakes, painted like a sunset in his eyes. I had devoted my entire life to these two relationships. These two perfect people. The introduction of a stranger had ruined them both. Well, not quite a stranger. Not exactly. I may have been born a half, a part of a pair, but I knew now that I'd have been better off alone. Maybe we all would have been. Together, it seemed like our only shared destiny was destruction. Waves crashed, but the sounds around me muffled. My ears popped, my senses muted, as if the entire beach town had been submerged under the swirling, salt-filled ocean. If we held our breath any longer, we'd surely drown. 'Til death do we part. ~Welcome ~ Welcome to Joanna and Dave's Wedding Week! We are so glad you have chosen to celebrate with us all week. Below is a schedule of optional activities, should you wish to partake in early wedding fun. SUNDAY June 28 MONDAY June 29 TUESDAY June 30 WEDNESDAY July 1 THURSDAY July 2 FRIDAY July 3 SATURDAY July 4 SUNDAY July 5 SUNDAY CHAPTER 1 THE FERRY PULLED INTO THE FAMILIAR DOCK. The one I'd come to associate with cold cheese pizza and sweet tea vodka sodas, bonfires in backyards and moon gazing on a starlit beach. Sand under fingernails, damp hair. Even the mosquito bites felt beautiful. "You ready?" Ben asked me. "I can hear the bells already." My husband grabbed my hand and squeezed as the deck crew tied us in, a synchronized dance practiced to perfection. A gentle rock that might cause the uninitiated to lose balance if they weren't holding on to the paint-peeling handrail. For a moment, bliss. And then reality crashed back full force like a tidal wave. Kids ran and parents scolded as passengers crowded their way down the just- too-steep staircase, disembarking with duffel bags and brightly colored coolers bursting with groceries that would somehow still need to be replenished before the end of the trip. Hosts greeted their arriving newcomers with hugs and red Solo cups—God forbid someone stay sober on the Island for the three-minute walk from the dock to the houses. The Fourth of July weekend smelled the same every year. As the chaos unfolded, I peered over the ferry's edge—we liked being the last ones off—and caught sight of Jo walking down the dock, wagon in tow. Her hair was golden from an early start to the summer sun. Jo had that inherent sense of style money couldn't buy, despite how hard one might try. She told me fashion was just in the hips, as if all attractiveness came from a confident walk and posture alone. Today, Jo was outfitted in an effortless wide-brimmed hat that I could never pull off and a midi white sundress billowing in the breeze. (continued on Tuesday) Love this book? Share your review with the Publisher
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