Books on the brain
I don't know why I'm in such a reading/book frenzy this morning, but I was thinking about my reading patterns through the years. I was also thinking about my mother going to Aldi in Muscatine in her fur coat, but that's a whole 'nother post right there.
I started reading when I was probably four... I know it was before Tina was born, and well before I lost my hearing (1975 and 1976, respectively). I don't remember what book was my first... I'm reasonably sure it was a Little Golden Book (anybody remember those?). I still have almost all of my Little Goldens.
One thing I DO remember, though, is my first Weekly Reader Book Club book. I was five. I was terribly disappointed because the book was SO below my reading level... Mom had signed me up for kindergarten reading, and I was already reading at second grade or above. So Mom changed the level on my book club, and I started getting books that challenged me. I still have, I think, all of THOSE, too. Sweet Pickles books were sentimental favorites.
I also had the Young Folks' Shelf of Books - The Junior Classics...Eleven books of various genres, stories galore. Myths and Legends was my favorite... my first introduction to my lifelong fascination with mythology. There were sections for Greek, Roman, Norse, American Indian, Indian, and Old Legends. There were, of course, other books... Stories About Boys and Girls, Fairy Tales and Fables, Stories that Never Grow Old, Poetry. Oddly enough, I rarely if ever cracked the Poetry book. It just didn't interest me back then.
I think I was in third grade when I started reading my mom's Reader's Digest Condensed Books. Said books which, by the way, I still have. All of them. And there's a lot, as the boys and Paul can attest, having hauled them out of our upstairs library in Wilton and into the basement here.
Those books opened up a completely new world. Everything from biographies to Shirley Jackson, bestsellers to little-known stories. There is a large segment of the population that looks down on RDCB, but I'll defend them to the death. They were my saving grace as a child, my escape.
***editorial note*** I'm having massive visual distortions, out of nowhere, so any typos from here on out are due to me not being able to see the screen very well.
As I grew, I asked for books for birthdays and Christmas. My uncle gave me the Black Stallion books over a period of a couple years... a nod both to my love of horses and my love of books. I still have those, too. As a matter of fact... I still have almost all of my childhood books.
I love having my books behind me (see icon), all over the place, books in every room of the house. Literally. I'm pretty sure there ARE books in every room.
Some books, like "Traveling Mercies," are like expensive chocolates. I parcel out the riches, knowing that if I gorge myself I'll be sick. Some are to be devoured in one sitting, mainly because they're not substantial enough to fill me up. Some are too absorbing to put down... so a day is devoted to reading.
I've always skimmed, somewhat. "The Secret Life of Bees" was the first book in a long time where I made myself go back and read every line, every word. I find myself skimming again in "An Unquiet Mind," maybe because I already experienced some of these things and don't need to read them again.
I love books. I always have. I think I always will. I love the words, the feel of the pages. My secret shame is that, sometimes, with paperbacks, I would poke my fingernail through the pages at the top. Only on the right side. I think it was a nervous tic that replaced my nail-biting. With books that have thicker pages, I never think of that.
I love the spines, and the pictures they paint together. I love the covers. I love the golden edging on the pages of some of my Condensed Books. I inhale the words, smell the colors, feel the timbre of the narration.
I am a reader.
I started reading when I was probably four... I know it was before Tina was born, and well before I lost my hearing (1975 and 1976, respectively). I don't remember what book was my first... I'm reasonably sure it was a Little Golden Book (anybody remember those?). I still have almost all of my Little Goldens.
One thing I DO remember, though, is my first Weekly Reader Book Club book. I was five. I was terribly disappointed because the book was SO below my reading level... Mom had signed me up for kindergarten reading, and I was already reading at second grade or above. So Mom changed the level on my book club, and I started getting books that challenged me. I still have, I think, all of THOSE, too. Sweet Pickles books were sentimental favorites.
I also had the Young Folks' Shelf of Books - The Junior Classics...Eleven books of various genres, stories galore. Myths and Legends was my favorite... my first introduction to my lifelong fascination with mythology. There were sections for Greek, Roman, Norse, American Indian, Indian, and Old Legends. There were, of course, other books... Stories About Boys and Girls, Fairy Tales and Fables, Stories that Never Grow Old, Poetry. Oddly enough, I rarely if ever cracked the Poetry book. It just didn't interest me back then.
I think I was in third grade when I started reading my mom's Reader's Digest Condensed Books. Said books which, by the way, I still have. All of them. And there's a lot, as the boys and Paul can attest, having hauled them out of our upstairs library in Wilton and into the basement here.
Those books opened up a completely new world. Everything from biographies to Shirley Jackson, bestsellers to little-known stories. There is a large segment of the population that looks down on RDCB, but I'll defend them to the death. They were my saving grace as a child, my escape.
***editorial note*** I'm having massive visual distortions, out of nowhere, so any typos from here on out are due to me not being able to see the screen very well.
As I grew, I asked for books for birthdays and Christmas. My uncle gave me the Black Stallion books over a period of a couple years... a nod both to my love of horses and my love of books. I still have those, too. As a matter of fact... I still have almost all of my childhood books.
I love having my books behind me (see icon), all over the place, books in every room of the house. Literally. I'm pretty sure there ARE books in every room.
Some books, like "Traveling Mercies," are like expensive chocolates. I parcel out the riches, knowing that if I gorge myself I'll be sick. Some are to be devoured in one sitting, mainly because they're not substantial enough to fill me up. Some are too absorbing to put down... so a day is devoted to reading.
I've always skimmed, somewhat. "The Secret Life of Bees" was the first book in a long time where I made myself go back and read every line, every word. I find myself skimming again in "An Unquiet Mind," maybe because I already experienced some of these things and don't need to read them again.
I love books. I always have. I think I always will. I love the words, the feel of the pages. My secret shame is that, sometimes, with paperbacks, I would poke my fingernail through the pages at the top. Only on the right side. I think it was a nervous tic that replaced my nail-biting. With books that have thicker pages, I never think of that.
I love the spines, and the pictures they paint together. I love the covers. I love the golden edging on the pages of some of my Condensed Books. I inhale the words, smell the colors, feel the timbre of the narration.
I am a reader.