At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen

Before I delved into this book I read some of the reviews; not something I normally do, but I was curious. Some criticized it for not being historically accurate, or in casting an incorrect light on WW2. To me, the books was not about World War 2 or many of the events that lead up or resulted from the war. It was about the lives of people during wartime, yes, and how they coped and lived and how life still went on in spite of it all. In fact, one of the characters observes that very thing - that life continued; girl continued to want to dress up for their men, that parties took place, regardless. Maddie was a rich party girl, living a spoiled elite society life with her husband and their best friend until they take things too far and are banished from their home, cut-off from society and most of their money. They decide, on a whim, to adventure to Scotland to correct the wrong they did by proving the Loch Ness monster really did exist. Once in wartime Scotland Maddie quickly discovers that she had been living a life of illusion. She discovers strength in herself she did not know existed and she discovers unpleasant truths about her life and her past. I like her growth as a character, and I really liked the friendships she formed. As Maddie grew and changed she saw behind the façade of her marriage and her life. Monster's can often hide in plain sight.
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Peace and Reflection

February 8, 2015 

This morning I am feeling peaceful, yet reflective. Every tiny thing brings a memory – the trill of the morning birds, sweet, singing their songs, seemingly to my human ears, purely for my enjoyment. The fresh, cool air streaming in through the open back door (48 degrees cool). The slant of sunshine pouring in through the glass, sliding across the counter, diving through the bottles of wine stored there; jeweled prisms refracting, casting beautiful glances across the kitchen. The early morning fog floats above the ground; the dewy grass shines diamond rainbows where the sunlight catches dewdrops through the mist. It’s a beautiful, calm start to Sunday. 

                                                                                             

The slant of the sun triggers quick thoughts, memories of moving into the house originally. Steve asleep on the mattress in the bedroom; the bed frame leaning against the wall. A variety of boxes scattered around the house; me, an early riser always, prowling through the newness of the house and familiarizing myself with my settings. One of the first things that caught my attention was the light streaming through the brand new glass on the oversized sliding doors. The moss was not so thick in the trees, a large oak branch flung its arm across the yard and the sun played tag with the extending fingers of the tree. The quiet was beautiful – we were farther off the road, and peace and tranquility were mine in that brief moment in time. 

The cool morning air reminds me of so many summer days at home in New York I cannot name them all – pressing my nose to the dusty metal screen in my grandmothers upstairs bedrooms – breathing in wood dust, morning air, sweet cool air. Of sitting on the back porch at the lake, the sound of frogs chirping, burping, splashing; the cast of a fishing line as someone cast on the lake; the sound of a motor starting, then stopping as the fisherman moved their boats to another sweet spot. The clink of the flagpole as the flag danced and furled in the early morning breeze. Beautiful moments in time fleeting as they pass, yet forever destined to be reminders of the story of my life.