I am on the horns of a gift giving dilemma. Do I spend my carefully hoarded holiday funds on a gift for someone dear or do I, could I, dare I, order Mary Oliver books for mine own self? I cannot believe that I have lived my life up until this week without knowing of this poet and writer. And now that I do, I want to read read read her words.
Mary Oliver reminds me in various ways of May Sarton, whose memoir Journal of Solitude I have read and re-read throughout the years, each time gleaning some new insight or ah-hah about life’s journey. From the short snippets that I have now read of Ms. Oliver’s work, I can see that they are different in their style, however, similar in their attention to the art of writing and nature.
In a nutshell, I am smitten and I am greedy. I want to purchase book after book of Mary Oliver’s poetry, prose, and essays. I do not want to wait. No delayed gratification therapy spin is gonna cut thru this jones’ing I have for these words nor the dreamed of pictures they will paint.
What to do? What to do?
Perhaps the purchase of one Mary Oliver book versus the ten sitting in the virtual shopping cart? Sitting in their imaginary shopping cart just waiting for my finger to hit Purchase. One could suffice, maybe two, to qualify for free shipping…
Oh the dilemmas that the holiday season has placed on my doorstep ~