Weird Brushes with One's Past

Once upon a time, many many moons ago, I read the entirety of Sherlock Holmes. I remember lying in my bed at night reading and reading and reading - long before my bad taste in historical romance ruined my reading. I loved Sherlock Holmes. This explains my love for House, my love for CSI, my love for Bones and X-Files. The use of deductive reasoning, the use of forensic science, the use of logic to ascertain what is happening is eminently attractive to me. Data data data.

I had a yearning to go see Sherlock Holmes, thinking it was mostly my love for Robert Downey Jr, but while in the theater I remembered that I knew these stories. I remembered I knew the big bad. I had forgotten how much I knew but clearly my soul remembered and urged me to the movie on an impulse when our other plans fell through due to bad roads. After the movie, which I enjoyed despite the mating rituals of the teenagers sitting next to me, I rushed home and found my old leather bound Sherlock book waiting for me to rediscover him in my bookcase. This book has traveled with me from my childhood - from the house I grew up in to my house in Syracuse to my apartment in Ravena to my flat in Albany to my house in Utah - with my total loss of memory it was in my life. Unfortunately no one wrote in the front pages so I have no idea how I got it or who got it for me.

I am settling in to read it again and am feeling just a touch nostalgic about the fact that my young fingers traveled these pages years ago. I LOVE Holmes.