The Books We Read Versus the Books We Plan to Read

I've had a copy of Nathaniel Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables on the book shelf for some time. I've been meaning to read it for just as long.

Recently, a completely random Internet search led me to a web page with information on the real-life house that Hawthorne describes in the book. It turns out that the house is located just a town or two away from where my husband grew up and where my in-laws still live. I immediately decided we would have a little adventure the next time we visit.

As I kept reading, the site described Hawthorne's relationship with the owner of the home, his cousin Susanna Ingersoll. My reading came to a screeching halt. My maiden name is....Ingersoll. My grandmother's name was Joanna Susanna Ingersoll. It seemed like it was indeed time to finally read the House of Seven Gables. I went upstairs to search along the bookshelves for my copy. Found the old green binding with the decorative gold emblems. I sat down and opened up to the first page and realized I could not actually read the House of Seven Gables.

The cover page of my book introduced me to The Prairie, A Tale by J. Fenimore Cooper (yup, the author of the incredible Last of the Mohicans).

I have never read The Prairie but it appears I am now going to start it. A misbound book and a long awaited read with another classic brought us serendipitiously together. This is the way of books.