Bank holiday Monday, a day off for some in lieu of Christmas day. We’re now in that strange period between the end of one year and the start of another. There may still be a few hangover events from the festive break, with visits to relatives or a trip to the pantomime if it is still on. Perhaps you are off to the shops, lured by the thrill of cheap purchase or to take the stuff back that didn’t fit.
What else is there to do other than eat the leftovers, there’s so much left in the fridge, or watch repeats on TV? For me I have picked up a book. ‘The Maias’ by Eça de Queiroz is a long one, recommended from the pages of a newspaper and I am a couple of hundred pages in. I have the feeling though that I have read it before.
Does that matter? I have read many books over again, though with this one I am not certain. The characters and the settings seem familiar. The occasional dialogue or setting invokes a distant memory yet for the life of me I cannot recall how the plot ends.
I could try and check but how? Instead I could just read it and enjoy it.
Reading the book is redolent of how I feel about Christmas. Each year now feels the same, though I can’t fully recall what happened last year. I have distant memories of things that may have happened though I cannot be certain. As I get older my memories have become intertwined, woven into the fabric of a story that has elements of truth held together by fantasy.
My memories are a book, quite a long one and I am several hundred pages in. Much of it I feel like I have read before but does that matter? I could just read it and enjoy it.