I love to lose myself in a good book.  This week I read Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier for my book club.  Rebecca was written in 1939 and Hitchcock made it into a movie in 1940.  The book is a classic, as it is certainly timely today and I am really looking forward to discussing it with my book club pals.

I didn’t know the book when it was suggested, but it seems many readers know it and have read it several times.   I was well into the third chapter before it held my interest.  The book is set in France and England in the ‘30s.  It is a story about a very young woman and the much older, wealthier man she marries; his family’s estate and his previous seemingly successful and powerful wife.   The story is riveting; I couldn’t put it down and can’t wait to watch the movie.

I find nothing more captivating than losing myself in a good book.  When I carry the book around with the hope that I will have a few minutes to get back to it, I am thrilled. I am present with one part of myself, but then I have an eye for when I can get back to the story.

I read to experience other people’s lives, different locations and times in history.  I like to think about how I would handle the challenges that are presented. Rececca was great fun; I loved thinking of myself as the mistress of the English manor home.

Then when I finish a book, I continue to relish the story and the experience of having slipped into that life for a brief moment in time. This past weekend I had the pleasure of visiting my mother-in-law’s lake house.  One morning we were out in her motorboat water skiing and taking the kid’s tubing.  I was riding in the boat, but in my head I was lost in the 1930s in the English countryside.  I find it a delicious pleasure and can’t wait to find another good book to transport myself to a new and different location.