I love books.... I just LOVE books. I love to read. To escape. To go on an adventure. To experience a wide range of emotions. To be somewhere else, altogether. Even if its for a few moments each day.
I've always been a reader. {This passion has not wained in the slightest in all my years}. So much so that I have lugged around books from my childhood through umpteen moves. Two huge duffel bags to be exact. Now, one of my girls is reading some of my favorite teen novels. She's gone ahead and scribbled her name in her 6th grade swirly scrawl, right under mine. The little heart with the arrow through it, too. I actually still get giddy when I touch these books.
I have spent an absolute small fortune on books for the kids and myself. We packed and moved roughly thirty five boxes this past year. Twenty or more, of which contained books. Oh good gracious!
We've since sold or donated a majority of them, because, well darn it all....my kids are just not readers. I cannot fathom it. Oh, okay, my son may be an exception. He can and has flown through books in a matter of days. And that makes me smile. A lot. I love that when I do manage to get him interested in a book, he will not readily put it down. I even bought a "manly" book for myself, in the hopes of better understanding the opposite gender and with the intention of passing it along to my boy. It was a great read, and my son did thoroughly enjoy it. "Where Men Win Glory" by John Krakauer. Actually, an awesome read and I would say we both highly recommend it.
I have read so many incredible books. Fiction and non- fiction. Romance and mystery. Christian and secular. Historical and fantasy. I can't get enough. I could list them all for you , but that would be tedious and boring.
I try so hard to encourage the kids to read, God knows they've seen my nose buried in a book every day of their lives. I usually have four or so going at once; The Bible, a novel, a devotional, and some sort of teaching literature.., be it on finances, health, marriage, etc.., Sometimes even two novels at once.
Nothing makes me happier. Literally. I can and have spent 7 hours in a book store. Goofy, I know, but we all have that one thing that just does it for us. I don't believe the kids will ever be there. Not that their hopeless, and I don't think its today's world either, if you want to take into account the technology. My kids don't have even 1/4 of the gadgets. No video games in the house, the teenagers just got phones this past year. No iPads. So its not like their time is being sucked up by these things. They've all been read to in the womb and the rocking chair. There has been a lifetime of example and books aplenty, in every basket and on every shelf. So there goes that theory. There just does not seem to be the desire. So I guess it may be safe to say we're either born lovers of literature or we're not. I won't be forcing them to read, because they are all excellent readers and students. But that doesn't mean I'll stop wishing they'll someday fall in love with the art of reading. Maybe they find their lives all together satisfying and adventurous. Who knows?
As for me, my books are my dearest friends. I cherish them beyond words. I have even learned to let some of them go. Just like friendships, some you keep forever; close by, within arms reach, on that not so hard to reach shelf. Others, you set free, to bless others.
Sometimes, out of nowhere, I'll see a particularly familiar scene in my minds eye and I have to wonder, is this a real memory or from a novel I've read? I actually have a very vivid memory, of a house in a field, and a certain second story window and a set of sheer curtains. There's a garage in my view with cabled wires running from the window where I'm standing to the other roof. The dust and the wind are blowing up in swirls. The sun is blaring in my eyes. there's a car speeding off. I can smell the dirt and feel the sun, hot, on the sill. There's an intrepid feeling of loss and sadness. An unimaginable emptiness and sorrow. But, I can't recall when or where this happened to me. So I'm trying desperately to remember which book it was. I love when that happens. I've experienced a whole slew of emotions because someone else put words on a piece of paper. I've been to other lands, exotic and thrilling. And all across this beautiful country of ours. I've been loved and abandoned. I've been the abused and the abuser. The chased and the forgotten. I've been the beautiful heroin and the savaged beast. I've been the father and the mother, the daughter and the son. A princess and a diplomat. I've lived in a brownstone in early 1900's New York city and even a castle in Austria. Eaten out of trash cans and feasted on caviar and champagne. The adventures never end!
Then there's the other spectrum, where your actual life dare intrude on your precious escape. When for countless moments, I'm not in the writer's creation..., I'm in my world. My life. I'm actually lost in my own story; be it something in my past or a conversation... a certain situation. My eyes keep skimming across the lines, my hands keep turning the pages. But I'm not there. I'm in another story, the one God created for me. My story. I find that fascinating.
The only difference is that I can simply turn back the pages of a novel, to where I was last coherent and pick up where I left off. If only life could be so simple. If only we could, just as easily, with the wisp of a wrist, turn back the pages of our lives and maybe, not necessarily re-write our stories as much as possibly, let's say, interpret them differently.
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