Buying books makes me happy.
Positively, absolutely, I can feel it in my bones, happy.
And today, after work, I went to Barnes and Noble. I had a strict three book policy – but walked out with four. And as soon as I got home, I got comfortable in my pajamas and opened the cover of the first book I picked up when I walked into the store. And I didn’t stop until I finished it. Some three and a half hours later.
Julie and Julia by Julie Powell
I think this book changed my life.
It’s the memoirs of Julie. A year in the life of a married secretary at a government agency who decided, on a whim, to make every recipe in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Volume 1). And she was going to make all 500+ recipes in a year.
I love to cook, so this story was right up my alley. I’m terrified to think about eating, let alone cooking, the majority of the things she described. Bone marrow sauce on steak? Calf Brains? Kidney? Liver? No, thanks. I’m not quite brave enough for that much food adventure.
But Julie was. As was her husband, Eric.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about the story just speaks to me. It speaks to me of a life I wish I had. A life I know I still can have.
Julie was twenty-nine when she began her adventure and changed her life. I’m nearly twenty-seven. The only actual similarity in our lives is our addiction to Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I’m enough of a dork that I literally squealed when I discovered her secret). At twenty-seven, I feel old. It’s ridiculous, I know. In this day and age, many people wait until their thirties to settle down and get married and have a family. But I feel as if i’m nearly thirty and my life has not yet begun.
This book was, for Julie, the story of how her life began. In her twenty-ninth year.
It gives me hope.
And… for those of you who don’t like to read (why are you reading a blog, anyways?). They made a movie.
Guess where I’ll be on August 27th?
