I hate when that happens

One of my favorite things is to sit on our deck in the morning or evening with a glass of iced tea and the dogs and read a book. Sunday morning was gorgeous so I indulged, grabbing a book of the “TBR” shelves for good measure.

I must have picked up A Simple Twist of Fate: Bob Dylan and the Making of Blood on the Tracks at a closeout sale of some sort because I was reading the hardcover released in early 2004 but it had that brand new feel. As I was reading, I was a bit surprised I hadn’t read it until now, particularly since Blood on the Tracks is — and always will be — one of my favorite albums. I was enjoying it so much that I was 100 pages in before I headed back in the house.

Later that day I was going to add it to Goodreads. When I clicked on the title, Goodreads said it was a book I’d read. I knew that was wrong. After all, I’d certainly remember that. To prove the Goodreads entry was mistaken, I went to the book lists I keep here — to learn I’d read the book in March 2008.

Granted, it’s six years but I would have sworn on the proverbial stack of Bibles that I’d not read the book. And it wasn’t like any of it sounded familiar as I was reading. I attribute that to my memory more than the quality of the book. Yet I am still scratching my head that an essentially new copy was in the TBR bookcase, especially since I know it hadn’t been sitting there for six years.

Oh well, it still was an exquisite way to spend part of the morning.

I could stay with you forever and never realize the time

Bob Dylan, “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,”
Blood on the Tracks

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