We have joked in the past about buying a small condo or renting an apartment for our book club. No one could use it unless their intention was to sit around and read, preferably in jammies and slippers, maybe have some snacks, and talk about books. I remember one year the three of us were at a parade of homes touring huge, too expensive residences. Each one had a library-type nook in them, and we decided that we needed a club house for our reading club.
I've been thinking recently about the club house again. We really do need one. I imagine it lined with bookcases containing all of the books we've read, sectioned off by genre or age group. There's a fireplace for cozy winter nights, smelly candles, delivery menus tacked to a bulletin board, and cushion covered couches to sink into. Elizabeth can make the quilts for us to wrap up in, I'll do some artwork for the walls, and Tina can bring the snacks. Then, as each of the girls in the family turn 16, they can be inducted into the club and receive a key to the secret location...
What makes this so alluring? Maybe it's the idea of a physical escape to go along with the mental escape that a good book provides. Or is it that all of the books we read feature a woman who rises from the ashes and kicks her antagonist in the rear? Maybe I just miss my sisters.
I have a camper. Maybe the three of us should just redecorate it with some girlie fabrics and colors, park it in the back yard, and put up a sign that says "Private, no boys allowed."
