Page 16 of Authentically, Izzy
I’ve poured out my soul in the most authentic fashion possible. I don’t know that I’ve ever laid bare my heart like this, except for a sleepover at Lucy Lawrence’s in eighth grade where I wept like a baby over watchingBambi. I don’t think I’d really expressed my grief over Mom and Dad in such a real way. My tears ran like a hydrant. Needless to say, Lucy never invited me back again, but she did give me her copy ofBambi.
Expressing my effusive genuineness is a definite measure of Brodie’s forbearance, Josie’s level of commitment to this charade,and the entire usefulness (or lack thereof) of online dating communities.
Whatever the case may be, let the pages fall as they may, but I must say I feel incredibly happy at voicing my passion to another human being (even if that human being is merely my deceptive cousin). Josie deserves the verbal diatribe after all the false hopes and forbearance she’s inspired.
And I sorted out a few things about my own heart in the process.
I love my life. I love the long walks and the mountain views. I love working with books and helping people find new stories to enjoy. I love our family, though I wish we were closer in proximity—especially you two—but your absence has spurred me into realizing I need at least one physical friend outside my family. That sounds pitiful, but I’ve been fairly satisfied with coworkers, fellow congregants, and my family in filling that social piece of my heart. However, with you both physically in two different states from me, I miss the physical connection I had with others. And Josie doesn’t count, because her physical connections include more slaps to my arm or prods to my back than hugs (especially when the prodding is toward single men, regardless of age).
Books are excellent inspiration, but very poor conversationalists... and nonexistent huggers. I think I shall try to attend the next booksellers convention and, perhaps, take an in-person business class or maybe start with a seminar at the community college. The online bookshop community has been wonderful for gleaning all sorts of business knowledge, but no real friends. I still have the grand hope of owning my own bookshop someday. Maybe. If I can get past the idea of bookkeeping, math, and negotiating.
I think—as strange as it may sound at the age of thirty—I’m beginning to realize who I am and what I want. Or, at least the realization is beginning to emerge.
Penelope, I hope your performance as Flower Girl #1 was astounding. I have no doubt it was.
Luke, I just wanted you to witness my personal growth through words. I know how you love to talk about emotions.
With love,
Izzy
PS: Penelope, be wiser than your older cousin. Know your own heart as best you can before you attempt to discover whether another heart will match yours. It may take longer, but it keeps the scars and self-doubt to a greater minimum.
From: Luke Edgewood
To: Izzy Edgewood
Date: March3
Subject: Emotions?
What are emotions?
Luke
PS: I cried duringBambitoo. They used the wordtwitterpated.
***
Heart-to-Heart
Date: March4
Izzy,
I’ve been called many names over the course of my life, some less flattering than others, but “Josie” has not been one of them.
Your matchmaking cousin sounds similar to my grandmother. Do you think there is a clinical diagnosis for obsessive matchmaking or do we chalk it up to overeager, loving family members with too much time on their hands? I think I prefer my grandmother making hand-knit sweaters in her spare time than attempting to knit up my future. Ah, that was an awful pun, but you get my point. Though I used to have a wealth of sweaters.
As far as books are concerned, I don’t think I could have voiced my opinion as colorfully as you. Books have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and, yes, there is so much life in them that many times I have to remind myself that the characters on the page are not flesh and blood. I carried such agitation around inside me as I readThe Count of Monte Cristoin my earlier days that my mother scolded me and threatened to take the book away before I could finish reading it. But I felt the injustice of Edmond’s plight viscerally. Needless to say, her threat cut me to my core and I endeavored to guard my sarcasm, though I failed miserably at brightening my countenance. My wrinkled brow inspired the nickname the Blighty Mastiff, which was affectionately reduced to only Blighty and is a term my brother calls me to this day.
I am sorry to hear of your parents’ passing but am glad to know you feel them near you when you read. It’s no wonder you’d find such solace and enjoyment in books. In part, I feel your reasoning quite well, as I lost my dear father not too long ago and he loved the written word. Perhaps there is something to a genetic love of books. My family, particularly my grandparents and parents, provided continual inspiration on that score. I suppose one could say that I lived among books and lovers of books, which may be why Ipresent as such a quiet sort when it comes to speaking words. I’ve been much more accustomed to seeing them.
And, yes, I find nature a sure connection to a heavenly realm. It’s why I love my home so much. The air is clean, the breeze is constant, and the horizon never fails to remind me of my place in the world.
Would you mind giving me more details as to your blue mountains? My Google search has mostly landed me within the Blue Ridge Mountains of the eastern United States, though a few in Scotland arose as well.
Your comrade in bibliophilia,
