Phyllis Theroux’s The Journal Keeper – A Memoir is a delightful read. Like having a relaxing sitdown with an older more experienced writer, like talking with your mom or a beloved friend on a spring morning with a cup of tea. In fact, I find her words to be so inspiring that it’s difficult for me to read the book . . . each time I start, I’m inspired to rush to my laptop to jot down words of my own.
On page 40, Theroux writes about a trip to Charlottesville:
We walked around the University of Virginia quad designed by Jefferson. It is winter now, stacks of wood lie by each student’s door. The ivy on the serpentine brick walls is withering, the garden, laid out in pie-shaped triangles, are bare. Something in me doesn’t like to take the time to describe what I’m looking at: the slender student bent over her book in Starbucks, the little snow-suited baby waiting patiently to be scooped up by its mother in the restaurant, the bundled-up Tibetans downtown sitting before their table of trinkets and prayer flags. But another part of me wants to develop a more physically observing eye. This sabbatical from writing has given me the space and time to cultivate my eye for its own sake.
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