By Anne Tyler
Maggie and Ira Moran were married for twenty-eight years–and it indicates: of their quarrels, of their exercises, of their skill to tolerate with affection every one other’s eccentricities. Maggie, a kooky, adorable meddler and an irrepressible optimist, wishes not anything greater than to mend her son’s damaged marriage. Ira is infuriatingly sensible, a guy “who must have married Ann Landers.” And what starts off as an afternoon journey to a funeral turns into an experience within the unforeseen. As Maggie and Ira navigate the riotous twists and turns, they intersect with an various forged of eccentrics–and rediscover the magic of the line known as lifestyles and the enjoyment of getting someone subsequent to you to percentage the experience . . . bumps and all.
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Additional resources for Breathing Lessons
The thought occurs and at once there I am, in shirt-sleeves and concertina trousers, stumbling sweat-stained behind the mower, grass-haulms in my mouth and the flies buzzing about my head. Odd, how often I see myself like this these days, at a distance, being someone else and doing things that only someone else would do. Mow the lawn, indeed. The shed, although tumbledown, is really rather handsome when looked at with a sympathetic eye, the wood of it weathered to a silky, silvery grey, like the handle of a well-worn implement, a spade, say, or a trusty axe.
I said to Claire excitedly. ” On the way down I had told her all, or almost all, about the Graces. ” She turned back in her seat to look. ” she said. What was I to answer? That I was overcome by a crippling shyness suddenly, here in the midst of the lost world? I drove on, and turned on to Strand Road. The Strand Café was gone, its place taken by a large, squat and remarkably ugly house. Here were the two hotels, smaller and shabbier, of course, than in my memory of them, the Golf sporting importantly a rather grandiose flag on its roof.
I have become quite the expert in matters medical this past year, not surprisingly. For instance I know that pins-and-needles in the extremities is one of the early symptoms of multiple sclerosis. This sensation I have is like pins-and-needles, only more so. It is a burning jab, or series of jabs, in my arm, or in the back of my neck, or once, even, memorably, on the upper side of the knuckle of my right big toe, which sent me hopping on one leg about the room uttering piteous moos of distress.
Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler