random act of bravery

The subtitle here could be: Bloggers! They're just like us. (Except with better footwear.)

Tonight I went to a book club hosted by a blogger I have long admired. It was lovely - all gingerbread and tea and generous spirits. I'll admit to lying awake last night much longer than I should have, lamenting my lack of clogs and the perfect vision that has long kept me from the glasses I believe would complete me. I should not have worried. These women - and one man with the most fabulous hair - were terribly kind and humble and welcoming, and that we were discussing Little Women only made the evening that much warmer.

Reading Little Women gives me the same feeling I have when peering in windows of the brownstones in my neighbourhood. I like best the empty, well-lit rooms, filled with bookshelves and carpets and photographs of faces I can't make out. Rooms that look as though someone is just about the enter them. It is always Christmas in Little Women. Someone is always pinning a flower to someone else's coat. There is no shortage of love in that book.

I filled the time between work and book club in a Chinese restaurant at a table for one with vegetable dumplings, soft, slippery blocks of tofu, and a pot of grassy tea all to myself. They were playing carols and I careened through the last few pages of the book and relished every moment of my solitude. It's strange how finally being content in my aloneness has allowed me an even greater appreciation of the company of others. A year ago I would have been too afraid to step into a little shop and open my mouth among these creative, intelligent, well-shod women, but tonight I hitched up my tights and just grew a pair. I hope Jo would have been proud.