No Kindle Inflames my Passion!

"I could not live without books."

"So many books, so little time."

"...books are keys to wisdom's treasure. Books are paths that upward lead. Books are friends. Come, let us read."

I have loved books and reading since I was a very little girl. Walking into the library never fails to give me a little frisson of excitement. I cracked the code quickly and became impatient with the repetitiveness of Dick and Jane; I wanted to move on! I never liked Dr. Seuss because of the repetition when I was a child, though I like the cadence of the prose as an adult. Reading is the activity that I enjoy above all. I could read and do virtually nothing else.

For some reason, even with two voracious readers as parents and frequent trips to the library, none of our children are the readers we are. I stood before our crammed shelves one day with a daughter, pointing out to her the merits of various books when it dawned on me: those stories are not a part of her the way they are of me. And they likely never will be. This realization broke my heart.

The various experiences and the infinite wisdom I've gleaned through books are invaluable to me. My child, whom I love so much, is bereft without even knowing it, and this breaks my heart. How much will this diminish her life? She may never know or care, but I do know that my own life would be greatly diminished without the vast storehouse of information I've read and pondered and stored up for many, many years.

Lately I have been reading for escape. I just finished Cold Comfort Farm, a brilliant and hilarious book that sends up the overwrought English countryside novel popular between the wars (much as the Jeeves and Wooster books do). Lately my life has seemed difficult and bleak, and to get myself out of this mood, I have been reading. Real printed paper-between-covers books.

I cannot imagine using yet another electronic device to read when it is so easy and inexpensive to read a book. You don't have to plug it in or recharge it; it doesn't cost hundreds of dollars plus a fee to read, only a short trip to the library. I have been told that a Kindle stores 1500 books (but since length varies so much, who can tell?) but that's a load of money too, since it costs about $16 to download a book. Who needs this gadget? Not I.

In ninth grade, I took a Power Reading course. It was a proud moment when my teacher stood before the class and said that I had completed the highest available materials in the course by semester's end. (One other boy, my crush for a couple of years, had overcome the material at the beginning of the class, but he decided to finish it anyway.) I'm zipping through novels and biographies at the rate of several a week, just to keep ahead of what Winston Churchill called "the black dog."

At least it's working, even if I don't get much else done.

Just give me the words printed and bound. I am happy with these treasures.

Road Trip

I went on a road trip with my friend Kacie last weekend. She had to drive to meet her family at the National Order of the Arrow (Boy Scouts) conference at Indiana University in Bloomington. Her son was receiving a prestigious award. She didn't want to make the trip alone, so I agreed to go with her.

We were near the Flight 93 site in Shankstown, Pennsylvania, so we went over there. Now I have been to all three memorials from 9/11. It is still very makeshift, but very touching for that. Hundreds of mementoes are there, left by those who have visited. There are park benches with the names of the victims engraved on each, and granite headstones with messages too, presumably from families. The actual site of the crash is across a field and is fenced off. It is very rural. Living near Washington, D.C., I can only imagine what plot those brave passengers foiled. How many lives did they save? Amazing.

We went on to the Workshops of Gerald Henn headquarters, where there is a small gift shop. The company is going out of business and I wanted to add to my daughters' pottery collections before the stuff was completely unavailable. Lo and behold, their warehouse was open, and I was able to garner a whole bunch of stuff far below the retail price! I was very satisfied with my purchases. I love this pottery because it is of such high quality. Now my girls will have some kitchenware that will be passed down to their kids, as well as serve them well throughout their lives.

We went on to Fort Wayne, Indiana where I had the best chocolate I've ever eaten in my life (DeBrand, check out their website at debrand.com) and made the acquaintance of my friend's niece, a very precocious ten-year-old who reminded me a lot of myself at that age. On Sunday, we drove to Bloomington, and made the mistake of stopping at a White Castle burger place for lunch. The worst food I have ever eaten, bar none. The thinnest piece of meat possible, gray, on an over-steamed bun. No flavor. I took three bites, as did my friend, and we gave up and ate the fries only. We should have asked for our money back. Eeeuuww.

Kacie went to the festivities at IU Sunday night while I stayed in our motel talking to family. I love cell phones! On Monday we drove home over I-70, a route I had not taken since 1984 when we moved to Maryland. (Well, technically, I did take it in 2008 when we drove to Utah, but it was in the other direction.)

All in all, we had a great time. I'm glad I did something different for a few days, and I'm glad I could help my friend. I would not have wanted to make that drive alone. And I'm really excited to have gotten my hands on more pottery!

A Day Late and a Dollar (or More) Short

Guess what. I've been scooped again.

Annette Lyon, a Utah writer, just published a book: Their, There, They're, a grammar guide.

I went on Amazon and looked at her chapters. It's definitely got a Utah slant (she has one section on Supposedly/Supposably, and it's only in Utah that I have ever heard this error. That is also the only place I've heard the remark, "He was bein' really ignernt to me." People use the term "ignorant" to mean "rude."). She has a lot of the same things I have on Mrs. Clark's Grammar Rant, which has yet to see the Internet light of day, mostly because I do not know how to set up a website.

Oh, well.

I know I could not hold a candle to Eats Shoots and Leaves, the wonderful grammar book written by Lynne Truss, an Englishwoman and therefore a higher authority than I, but I was trying to make my little light shine.

Move on, dear. Move on.

No County for Old Women

So, a friend of mine wants me to attend the Relief Society Book Group. The book this month is Emma, by Jane Austen. A classic, right? You'd think the regional (meaning bigger than most of the others) library in my town would have several copies, right?

You'd be wrong.

Not finding the book in the stacks, I went to the online card catalog. I typed in the word "Emma" as the book title. Simple, huh?

Ninety-eight different titles came up. Beginning with "The Wonderful Adventures of Emma," or something like that.

WHAT THE?

I scrolled through five pages of book titles, none of which was simply Emma, to the last page. Then came the videos. FINALLY, there it was: my library was in possession of ONE large-print copy. No others. And it was checked out.

This library does, however, have available copies of Hello!, People, and InStyle.

I had to order the book to be sent from another library.

Now, keep in mind that in the county where I live, the median household income is $105,000 per year, the highest in the nation. And we pay the taxes to show for it.

Yes, this is a cranky post, and I really do try not to be cranky for various reasons, not the least of which is that I believe in purging one's life of crankiness, but this really dumbfounded me. It shows I'm getting old. I should've gone to Borders and shelled out the $15 for the book. It would have been easier on my blood pressure.

Wearing a Crown

My dear husband was thinking of me this past Saturday as he pursued yard sales. This is quite a hobby for him, and I have to say that quite a few articles in our home, including one of my favorite sweaters and his easy chair, have come from yard sales. Not to mention a lot of books.

I had received an email suggesting that I had done a poor job on an article I wrote, and I was pretty upset. I went off to exercise class and Wes went off to yard sales. (Side note: I have found that I do not like to attend yard sales with him. He follows the same route every Saturday, and I would like to try different neighborhoods. And he tends to whip the car around, in what feels to me a very dangerous way, when he sees a Yard Sale sign. And I get bored with them much earlier than he does.)

When I got home, there was a new book waiting for me on the kitchen table: Crowns, which is a photo-essay on African-American women in their Sunday hats. I was so touched. I needed that little gift (which cost a whole dollar). It made me feel loved.

Back when we first moved to the Washington, DC area, we drove down Georgia Avenue on a Sunday. I was fascinated and amazed by the African-American women in their hats and perfectly-coordinated outfits. I had heard of the book, and I had always wanted to read it. I love hats. I have a few, but I hesitate to wear them because I feel I'm calling too much attention to myself.

Anyway, I eagerly sat down and began reading the fascinating stories of these beautiful women and their gorgeous hats. Some of them were hilarious. I was impressed with the dignity and pride of many of them. What a great legacy and tradition.

So I went up to my room and took down my big lavender Nordstrom hat box. I dusted off the top and lifted the lid. I took out a cute black and natural straw and put it jauntily on my head. I wore it with a black T-shirt and khaki shorts. And I felt great.

I love hats. I think I will overcome my shyness and wear them more. The Crowned ladies have inspired me.

A Comfortable Home

I once wrote an article about what makes a house a home. I think that a chiming clock (the kind you wind up, not electronic chimes), the occasional smell of fresh bread baking, and a piece of Belleek china (or some other little thing that is the best quality of its kind) are necessary in every home.

My home means a lot to me. I am home alone for the second day in a row, nursing a head cold and trying not to get a sinus infection. I love being here all by myself. The light came through the skylights in my living room this morning, bathing it in a golden glow. Then came some thundershowers. It was nice to sit here with chocolate and a book, cozy on my comfy couch, with not a lot to do, listening to the clocks mark the hours with their gentle ticking.

A home is a refuge from not just the elements, but the cares of the world. Making it a pleasant and inviting place is not a priority for many people any more, but it still is for me. I know my children like coming back here.

So we continue to do things to make it more enjoyable, attractive, and safe. We have a few landscaping projects to do, and need a new driveway, and we need to get some furniture reupholstered. It will probably never be done, but that's okay. It's home.

Time Marches On

I talked to my dear friend Lisa yesterday for almost two hours. She just turned 50. We have known each other since our husbands were undergraduates and she was a law school student in the early eighties. We each had boys a couple of months apart in 1983, then went on to have girls (she had four, I had two). When we moved east in 1984, Lisa and her family moved to New England. Last year, however, she moved back to Los Angeles. (She and her husband, and Wes and I, are all from Southern California.) We have kept in touch for 25 years. It's been very interesting.

When we were young, I'd say things like, "In 20 years, we..." and now it's coming true. We shared stories about frustrating in-laws, kids doing stuff of which we don't approve, turning 50, siblings, aging bodies, books we've read, etcetera. Funny, how inside your head you stay about 25, but the years march on and your body ages. Lisa gets the unvarnished me, and she still likes me. I'm grateful for that!