You know how when you're reading a really good book with a really good narrator you sometimes let that slip over into your reality and you start hearing narration in your head as you just go through your life? No? Yes? It can't just be me. Except I like to pronounce it "Na'RAY-torrr," as though I have a British accent. Narrator is one of my favorite words to hear spoken in a British accent, followed closely by "yogurt." (They say, "Yah-gurt.")
I finished THE GREEN MILE this weekend. It's the best book I've read in a WHILE. I was tickled to learn from the book's forward that the story was first published as a serial novel in 6 installments. I liked the movie a lot when I saw it in the theatre back in 1999. I watched it on tv last week and decided I simply must find the book. After striking out at the library, I found it (actually, Marcus found it) on iBooks for $5.99, so I bought it on my iPad. I started late Friday evening and finished Sunday at 12:58am. It's a 498 page book. I read over 250 pages on Sunday. I literally could not put it down. Marcus and Dean went on about their business while I devoured the story. It was one of those rare instances where I think the movie just about did the book justice and where seeing the movie first actually helped me enjoy the book more. I could see Tom Hanks and that small, sad cell block called The Green Mile. It was sad but wonderful.
All day, I've found myself hearing narration for everything I've done, almost as though I'm planning out how I'd write it in my memoirs. (Or on my blog.) I don't mind--it makes me aware of things. I thought of how nice and crisp the air feels today in this first official week of autumn. I made a strong mental note of exactly how Dean's long, lean body felt as I carried him to the car on our trip to the park. He flopped down dramatically and said, "OH, Mama, you've got to CARRY me!" I obliged, even though I should have made him walk. I obliged because he's cute and cuddly, but mostly because I'm painfully aware that this will probably be the last autum that I'm able to lift and carry him with ease and regularity. He's getting heavy, this boy. I thought of how I use the same fabric softener as my mom, just because it makes my clothes smell like her house and how the bedroom with my grandma's furniture in it smells exactly like HER house and how much I never want that smell to fade. I wondered why on earth I bought the ugly pink shirt that's been sitting unworn in the top of my closet since March, and finally decided it was never going to look any better, no matter how much time passed, then threw it into the "donate" bag.
Sometimes it's nice to hear that narrator in your head, reminding you to drink in all the details.