Books, Food, Beverages and More - Bringing My Books to Life

Have you ever finished a book and thought, “I wish I could actually live inside this story for a little while”? Same. That is exactly why “Books, Beverages and More” was born.

This is the place where pages meet real life, where a recipe simmering in chapter three becomes something I am actually making in my kitchen, where a destination a character longs for becomes a trip worth planning, where the world inside the book spills right out into mine. Whether it is a novel that wrecked me, a classic I finally got around to, or a film adaptation I cannot stop thinking about, I find a way to bring it home. Pull up a chair. Pour yourself something good. Let’s bring these stories to life together.

Now, I absolutely loved “The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires.” Grady Hendrix managed to do something I did not think was possible: make me laugh out loud and then immediately look over my shoulder. Set in 1990s Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, this book is essentially “Steel Magnolias meets Dracula,” and honestly, that description does not even do it justice. It follows Patricia Campbell, a Charleston housewife who suspects her charming new neighbor is something far more sinister than just a bad addition to the neighborhood. Her book club, bless their hearts, is the only one who believes her. The men in her life? Not so much. And that right there is where Hendrix does something really clever: the scariest thing in this book is not always the vampire. Sometimes it is the way the world simply refuses to listen to women.

So what do you pair with a story soaked in Southern Gothic atmosphere, dark humor, and just enough blood to make you set the book down for a second? A deep, full-bodied red wine. Something bold and a little brooding, maybe a Cabernet Sauvignon or a dark Malbec. Nothing delicate. This book does not do delicate.

Of course, I could not just open a random bottle of red and call it a day. I needed something with a little more intention behind it. So I did what any reasonable book blogger would do: I went looking for Vampire Wine.

And guess what? It exists. Vampire Vineyards is a real winery with a genuinely fun and dramatic website, complete with wines dressed in Dracula capes. I am not even kidding. It was exactly the kind of find that makes this whole segment worth doing. I was fully ready to place my order, cart loaded, cape-wearing bottle and all, until I got to the shipping. Twenty-two dollars. Listen, I love a good theme, but there are limits.

So I did what any resourceful Southern Book Club member would do. I headed to Wegmans.

And honestly? I am not mad about it. I landed on a beautiful bottle of Vergers Du Soleil 2019 Rosé. Now I know what you are thinking. A rosé for a vampire book? Hear me out. There is something poetic about sipping something blush-colored while reading about a charming, dangerous man nobody wants to believe is a monster. It felt very Patricia Campbell of me. And it was lovely.

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My next read was “Home Before Dark” by Riley Sager, and if you have not heard of it, here is the quick version: Maggie Holt inherits a supposedly haunted house called Baneberry Hall, the same house that made her father famous when he wrote a bestselling memoir about the terrifying things their family experienced there. The catch? Maggie was a child when it all happened, and she does not remember any of it. She returns as an adult, skeptical and determined to renovate, but the house has other ideas.

The story unfolds in two timelines, weaving between Maggie’s present-day investigation and excerpts from her father’s book, and the whole time you are asking yourself: what actually happened in that house? What is real, what is embellished, and what has memory buried on purpose?

That question, what does the past actually hold, became my way into this one.

Maggie spends a lot of time sifting through old photographs, trying to jog her memory and piece together a truth that someone clearly tried to keep from her. So I did the same. I went upstairs, pulled out my old photo box, and started digging.

And there I was.

Pennsylvania. A little girl in a full cowgirl outfit, completely owning the moment. I could not help but smile. Look at that television set in the background. And that old black rotary phone sitting right there like it belonged in a museum. Things have certainly changed. I have certainly changed, though I would argue the cowgirl spirit is still very much alive.

There is something quietly powerful about holding an old photograph. It does exactly what Sager writes about: it pulls you into a moment you had almost forgotten, makes you question what you remember, and sometimes surprises you with how much the past still feels like you.

This next photo stopped me in my tracks.

It is my sweet mom, holding a baby. I am honestly not sure if that little one is me or my older brother, but looking at it, I realize it does not really matter. Because that right there is just who she was. Present. Loving. Steady.

My mom did not have an easy life. That is the truth of it, and it makes me sad to sit with. But here is the thing that still amazes me: the way she was treated never became the way she treated us. She loved us fiercely and openly, and we always, always knew it.

She was also someone who quietly showed up for others. She served on a board that supported people with intellectual disabilities. She went door to door collecting for the American Heart Association. She just gave. Not because anyone was watching, but because that was her nature.

She was an angel here on earth.

I miss her more than I know how to say. But finding her in an old photo box on an ordinary afternoon? That is its own kind of gift. Maggie Holt would understand.

And then there is this one.

This is me and my brother Bruce. Bruce had Down Syndrome, and he was, without question, one of the great loves of my life.

We did everything together. Childhood adventures, grown-up memories, all of it. Bruce had this way of moving through the world that I have never seen in anyone else before or since. In his mind, I was famous. Not because of anything I had done, but simply because he loved me so much that he could not imagine a world where everyone else did not feel the same way. He assumed strangers knew me. He bragged about me to people we had just met. To Bruce, if you mattered to him, you mattered to everyone. I have never felt more seen in my life.

If you had met Bruce, the first thing you would have noticed was the smile. He was smiling 99.99% of the time. It was just his default setting. Joy, right there on the surface, always.

He was also, without fail, singing Christmas carols. January. July. Did not matter. If Bruce was in the room, there was a good chance “Jingle Bells” was not far behind. On weekends he had his rituals. Lawrence Welk was non-negotiable. He would plant himself in front of that television, singing along and dancing like nobody was watching, and honestly it was one of the most purely joyful things I have ever witnessed.

His favorite shows were a whole personality. “I Dream of Jeannie.” “Dallas.” “Knight Rider.” He loved them all with his whole heart, the way Bruce loved everything, completely and without reservation.

Now. I will say this. If you pushed him, if you really got under his skin, that sweet smiling Christmas carol-singing Lawrence Welk dancer would disappear in about three seconds flat. And in his place? The Incredible Hulk. Full transformation. Bruce did not do anything halfway, including getting mad. But here is the thing: it never lasted. The smile always came back. It always, always came back.

But what I miss most? His hugs. Bruce was a hugger. The kind that meant something. The kind you could feel for days. Love you, Bruce. Always.

Well, that is a wrap on this edition of “Books, Beverages and More,” and I have to say, this one surprised me a little. I sat down to talk about vampires and haunted houses, and I ended up in a photo box, face to face with people I love and miss every single day. That is the magic of books, isn’t it? They have a way of opening doors you were not expecting to walk through.

From a dark red wine and a charming vampire in 1990s South Carolina, to a dusty photo box and memories that still make my heart full and a little bit tender, this segment continues to be one of my favorites to write. Because it is never really just about the book. It is about where the book takes you.

I would love for you to join me on this adventure. Pick up a book. Pour yourself something fitting. And then ask yourself: how can I bring this story into my own world? You might be surprised where it leads you. Maybe it is a recipe, a road trip, a playlist, or maybe, like me, it is a quiet afternoon with an old photo box and the people who shaped you.

Whatever it is, I want to hear about it. Drop a comment below and tell me what you are reading, what you are sipping, and how you are bringing your books to life. I will be right here, ready to read every word.

Happy reading, happy sipping, and happy adventuring!

KathieyV