A vacation, for me, must meet at least one of a few criteria.
- A meaningful experience.
- A visit with one or both of my children and their spouses.
- Relaxation and time "off the grid."
- Warmer weather than my current hometown.
I’ll take any one of the above and optimally, all of the above to call it a success. The one non-negotiable item, however, is a good book. I can’t call it a true vacation unless I’ve devoured a good book.
And when I say book, I mean a printed work of fiction or nonfiction, on sheets of paper bound together within covers. The kind of object that needs a physical bookmark. The kind of object that absorbs your affection for its form while also absorbing sunscreen, splashes from the pool, raindrops, food stains, and spilled wine. The kind of object that is always in airplane mode and does not need to be stowed during takeoff and landing. The kind of object that can be passed along limitlessly and enjoyed until if finally falls to pieces.
It’s called a beach book. A single inquiry of female friends, any good beach book suggestions? usually results in more titles and authors than can possibly be consumed. Generally, a good beach book is a light read, a bit salacious, well written and not too long. You can dig in to read and put it down without too much angst to participate in vacation activities. It should enhance the vacation rather than overtake your agenda.
I happened upon my latest selection by chance. Given a few options by my book club buddies I couldn’t find any of the titles at the locally owned bookstore. Forced to browse (oh, please, twist my arm) I was pulled in by covers (pastels are often a good choice) and titles. I flip each book over for signs that it’s a part of a series; I dislike being dropped into the middle of characters with backstories previously defined. I read reviews and the source of the review. I finally pick up a book with a dark, artistic cover. The reviews positively glow, and oh, there’s one from NPR, nice. Just under 500 pages – enough for a good week of off and on reading.
I spent my vacation in Key West, with periodic detours to 1920’s London. I was a voyeur into the lives of a widow and her spinster daughter, renting out the top floor of their upper class home to “paying guests” (certainly NOT lodgers as that would be low class). I watched a forbidden romance bloom and grow, I agonized over the traumatic events and consequences that followed and brought home 100 unread pages to thoroughly enjoy on my final Sunday of vacation. I also swam, napped, ate great meals and enjoyed evening activities with wonderful friends.
