This weekend, as most of the Eastern Seaboard prepares for a watery wallop, as everyone else brawls over nonperishables in Giant, bookworms are preparing to live out a deep and soulful dream. A Laura Ingallsesque dream. A dream that involves hot chocolate and fuzzy slippers, and showcasing one’s literary dedication by self-punishing one’s eyesight.
Reading. By. Candlelight.
It’s so romantic that my power’s out!
“Everything is cozier in candlelight. When the real world goes fuzzy, the world on the page grows sharper. When there is nothing else we should be doing — no vacuums can be run, no treadmills can be run upon — it is easier to retreat, guiltlessly, into reading “The Chronicles of Narnia” for the 27th time, spooning ice cream from the carton (it will melt, anyway) and watching words flicker on the page.”