My Secret Life as a Literary Critic

I thought this would be an excellent title for my memoir. Since retirement I have been reading as if my life depends on it. Too much time actually as I am a slow reader. This year I will hit at least 100 books. I am slowing down as of late, too much life interfering with my schedule of doing nothing but lay on the bed and read. The bed is the best place for several reasons. First, all the dogs can lay on the bed with me and not fight for attention or make me get up and down letting them in and out the door into the back yard. Second, it has fairly good light all day into the afternoon.

I am getting fat. I have to start exercising and eat less. My book reading may suffer, as will the my dentist as I will have less cavities to fill as I will no longer be stuffing my mouth with ALDI carmel chocolate sea salt nuggets .

I have read some excellent books and I have started a book diary where I jot down my impressions and how I relate of not, how I like the characters or not, how I find the story line sophomoric or challenging, literary or trash. My favorite line so far has been kill me if I ever begin a book by this author again.

My favorite book this week has been RULES FOR VISITING by Jessica Francis Kane. I have not actually written my opinion in my book diary as of yet as I am too bust jotting down memorial sections of the book that spoke to me.

I would like to be a better friend to the friends I already have. I have lost many recently, Barry, Cathy, Faye the other Barry. Last week I found out that the woman I considered a mentor and a very good friend, one who encouraged me to be better, do better, stay in school, is dying.

I do not return phone calls and I would ashamedly call myself a fair weather friend at best.

More on this later. When I begin my memoir.

One of my best friends who thankfully has not kicked the bucket yet, a written a memoir about growing up gay in central Kentucky. I purchased the book and received it last Thursday and began to read it immediately. It was not a memoir that I would be mentioned in. It was about his frustrations of being gay and bullied. More sissy than gay back then. I loved him, he was my Greyhound Bus buddy. I woke up this morning after possibly dreaming about him all night, (he had a classic Facebook marathon posting last night about our Orange King President in town last night) which caused me to feel that I had to write him a letter immediately.

The feeling passed but I need to read the book and not skim it looking for references to me.My memories are different from his, as I am not as devoted to keeping a diary (journal, more manly) as religiously as he did. So my impressions and memories are wildly different as I like to think as my time in our hometown as idyllic and perfect, which I realize is my defense.

I could never be so brave.