When I started this blog just a few days ago, I had absolutely no idea where it would take me and truthfully still don’t. The only thing I know is that I want to read literature and write about it in a non-academic way. As I was writing the About page I started thinking about my reading experiences over the years — some good and some down right painful.
I saw a Freshly Pressed blog “Designing the Perfect Bookmobile” and it got me thinking about the bookmobile that used to come to my neighborhood and how I couldn’t wait for my parents to take me. Every Tuesday night the bookmobile would pull into the dead-end of my street at 7pm. Cars would line both sides of the street and kids, much like myself, would bound out of them and make a mad dash, dropping books and giggling all the way to its doors. Some of us would have books we were returning while others knew what they wanted and were on a mission to get it because they couldn’t the last time.
I don’t ever remember the time when the bookmobile wasn’t packed with wall to wall kids, looking for this book or that book. I would always go in with a particular book in mind, make a B-line to its shelf and if it was there yank my treasure from the safety of its shelf. And hold on tight to it as some kids could be pretty ruthless. If you put it down your newly acquired treasure could be stolen right from under your nose. Oh yeah, I was one of those kids. Not necessarily my finest moments, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Often times after I found what I was looking for, I would wander around the small, cramped, confined space of the bookmobile pushing my way pass and through the other kids — I was considerably taller than most of my counterparts, so it was pretty easy to get around them — looking for, hunting for, wanting, and needing more books. More often than not, I would come out with two, three, maybe four books — as if the bookmobile wouldn’t be back the following week. I believe the most we could check out was four.
Sadly the bookmobile doesn’t come around anymore.
I remember on multiple occasions from various relatives growing up being told, “Put that book down and go outside and play” and I would begrudgingly tuck my book away, go outside and play, and secretly wish I was somewhere reading. I did have fun playing too.
It was and still is as though I can never get enough of reading. It’s an addiction, but I guess if you’re going to have one make it reading. Perhaps that’s why I majored in English Literature. Most of the literature I enjoyed, but there was some I didn’t particularly warm up to. For example poetry and I are really not the best of friends, however, there are poets I do enjoy reading. I absolutely hated Charles Dickens in high school and when I had to take my senior seminar class in college — it was, you guessed it, Dickens. I cringed and espoused a lot of profanity. However, I can now say I have new and better understanding and respect for him. (I still think he drones on quite a bit — as if, I can really talk.)
I find it difficult to pass a bookstore without going in and even more difficult to leave without making a purchase. For example the other day, I was out running errands and made a conscious effort to keep walking past Barnes and Noble. Success! At least so I thought. Well, I stopped dead in my tracks, turned on my heels, headed for the doors, opened them, and once I did that I was sucked in to its web. (Okay maybe that’s a bit overly dramatic.) Discovered they were having a buy two get one free deal and noticed one of my favorite authors, Mitch Albom’s, latest novel was 40% off for B&N member’s. Woot! Woot! That day I walked out of there with four books and $45 less in pocket.
Oh for the love of all god, I need therapy.