Friday night I said an emotional and bittersweet goodbye to my book club. We met for dinner, and they gave me a sendoff I wasn’t quite expecting, presenting me with the book journal that documents every book we’ve read together (136 books!), and which Julia has been keeping for the group for many years, another small journal in which they had each written a heartfelt message to me about a special memory they have of our group, and a ridiculously large gift card to Powell’s bookstore in Portland (a book lover’s wet dream; it’s the world’s largest independent bookstore, and takes up an entire city block).
A little over thirteen years ago, a handful of us moms started a little book club as an outcropping of the MOMS Club we belonged to. Our first book was Memoirs of a Geisha, and our first discussion took place on the playground at a local park while our kids played. I had only two kids back then, and Joey was just a baby. It wasn’t long before we started meeting at each other’s houses in the evenings, without kids, and with food and drink. I’ve been allowed to be the coordinator of the group for all these years because I’m a control freak, which these ladies kindly refer to as my “organization skills” Many women have come and gone over the years, but three of us are original members, several have been in the group for ten years or more, and several more for five years or more. There are stay-at-home moms, teachers, an accountant, an actuary, an attorney, a real estate agent, among others, and we come from diverse backgrounds and run the gamut on religious beliefs, political leanings, and parenting philosophies. Despite all the differences – or maybe because of them – we’ve remained a strong core group. There has never been a month without a book, without a discussion, or without a volunteer to host the discussion. Several years ago we started a tradition of having a holiday dinner in December in lieu of a book discussion, with a gift exchange of – what else? – books.
My friend Laurel, sums up our group perfectly: we went from passing around nursing babies to passing around reading glasses.
Every book we’ve read – even the ones that sucked – generated a good discussion. We followed published questions to guide our discussions, but we invariably sidetracked into discussions about our own lives and experiences. And isn’t that the true magic of books – that they provide such rich opportunities to not only escape from real life, but to see other perspectives and experiences and reflect on our own? My daughter Daisy has often asked me why we call it a “book club” when it should be called a “life club.”
I am so grateful to have been a part of such a dynamic group of women and readers. I will miss them.