The Habit of Reading

So, here I am staring down the road at the advent of another school year and wondering, as always, where the summer went. When I was a kid growing up in Michigan, the summers seemed to stretch on forever. Perhaps it was because we lived at the western edge of the time zone where the sky clung to every last drop of pink dusky light. Around the time of the summer solstice, sunset wasn't until nearly ten o'clock.

Or maybe it was because, outside of caring for my big white rabbit, Whiskey, and weeding the garden, there was nothing I had to do and nowhere I had to be each day. For the most part, my time was my own. I spent a lot of it playing kickball in the street with my friends, swimming in the pool and reading through the stack of books I brought home from the library every few weeks. Growing up in war ravaged England, my parents had only attended school until they were 14. Still, they recognized the power of books and established the habit of reading in us at an early age. As I got older and began working, the summers seemed to shrink. Those lazy days spent reading, swimming and playing kickball had gone forever.

While I haven't played kickball since I was fifteen and rarely swim much anymore, I still go to the library. During the course of the school year, I go to the library every day. I am a librarian, after all. And no matter how busy I get, I usually find time to curl up with a book each night before turning out the light. Some habits we just never grow out of.

A Book Quiz

I found this little book quiz on somebody else's blog. I'm not sure how any of these questions correspond to the book titles but, hey, it's kind of fun. Anyhow, all you book lovers might enjoy it. Check it out. I was, The Giver, by Lois Lowry -- one of my favorite YA books by one of my favorite authors. Not so bad I guess.

New School Year, New Books

So, here it is the middle of August and those obnoxious back to school ads are beginning to pop up on t.v. and in the circulars left on my driveway (pure litter). When people look at me I can see the question forming in their brain, the hated question -- "So, when do you go back to work?" Cringe! I'm not ready to think about that. Honestly, I haven't checked the calendar. It's not foremost in my thoughts. I'll wait until I get that letter from my superintendent, then I'll think about it. Now leave me alone.

Still, one of the nice things about going back to work in the fall is opening the new boxes of books that arrived over the summer. For me, it's like Christmas and my birthday rolled into one. I love the bright, crisp dust jackets, the stiff feel of the spine when I open a book for the first time. I love to drool over the new picture books, savor the poetry, pore over the stunning new nonfiction books with their beautiful photographs and drawings. Children's books have come a long way over the past thirty years.

Maybe one day I, too, will have a book in a box that some librarian is opening for the first time. Maybe. Of course, I still have a lot of work ahead so I can't let myself dream about anything until I have the legwork done.

So, back to my manuscript. Where was I? Oh yes, trying to write some paragraphs in Middle English. I must be nuts. Thank God for my son's Chaucer glossary. I just wish it worked in reverse. I can only use it to look up the meaning of Middle English words. How to say "pair of wings" in Middle English? Anybody know? How about shoe? After trying every known combination and then some, I'm convinced that the people of the Middle English period all walked around barefoot.

So it goes, as Vonnegut might have said.

Ta Da!

Well, he did it! Derek scaled Mt. Kahadin, touched the sign, posed for a quick photo or two and then scrambled down as fast, yet as cautiously, as he could over the treacherous outcroppings of slippery rocks. It stormed his whole time on the mountain, with 50 mile per hour wind gusts and sideways rain. He was, he said, genuinely afraid.

My husband hiked the last 100 miles or so of the AT with him, including Mt. Katahdin. Four other people joined them -- Derek's friend Cheeze (from Wisconsin), Lonah (that's loner but with a Maine accent), Halfway ('cause he hiked half the trail last year) and Retro ("cause of his twenty year old hiking equipment). Is Derek happy? Yes, of course. Happy to make it through relatively unscathed. Happy to finish what he'd set out to do, a journey lots of people begin but only an estimated ten percent actually get around to completing.

Now he has to reacquaint himself with walking horizontally over land again instead of over land that slopes, twists and curves precipitously up and down and around again.

The photos were all taken in Maine. Most of them feature Mt. Katahdin but some were taken a few days before Derek reached the summit.

More of Maine

Last I heard (about 2 weeks ago), Derek had just entered the state of Maine and was atop a mountain somewhere looking down on the world. The tops of mountains apparently have better cell phone reception than most other sections of the trail. Also, the view is better.

Upon our return home, my husband spent several days getting ready for Maine himself. Not only was he going to pick up Derek and drive him home, but he wanted to hike The Hundred Mile Wilderness with him. He left on Monday, July 29th. I last heard from him on Wednesday, July 31st (also from atop a mountain). Apparently one of his new hiking poles had snapped and he was surprised by how difficult the early part of the wilderness was. He said it was comparable to skiing a steep, icy mogul field with bad equipment. I can only guess he more than likely has absolutely no cell phone reception or he's hurt or a little of both. It's hard, waiting to hear, but what other choice do I have? I have a feeling everybody is fine and, in fact, having a good time. When they can call, they will. So, here I sit....waiting and wondering..

Following Your Heart

When I majored in English and French some years ago, I did so out of a love for language and literature, not because I was thinking about a career. Maybe I should have been thinking about a career but I was 17 at the time and had no clearly defined vision of what I wanted to be. Honestly, how many teenagers do? I knew I didn't want to spend my life parked permanently in the suburbs with 3 kids and a station wagon -- what all the women in my neighborhood did back then, with few exceptions.

So, off to college I went, not really certain what road I was going to take. But I enjoyed learning and that was fine. I took liberal arts courses - ecology, French 18h century literature, poetry, 19th century American lit., Shakespeare, creative writing, oceanography, art appreciation, sociology, nature study, math, western civilization etc. After a while, I noticed the way various fields of knowledge intertwined and complemented each other. I made new friends, studied, partied and learned a few hard lessons in love and independence. Time was suspended. One day, while home for Christmas break, an acquaintance of my dad's asked what I was majoring in. "English and French," I told him.

He frowned and said, "You'll never get anywhere with that." He went on to tell me I should be thinking about the future -- about taking classes that would help me get a job. "

Like what?" I asked him. And he told me. Like accounting, business or nursing. "But I'm not interested in those things and I faint at the sight of blood," I said.

"Well, you'll never get anywhere with English." I let it drop. What was the point of arguing with somebody who suffered from tunnel vision? Flash forward 25 years into the future. It's Easter. and we're at my brother in law's house for dinner. Our sons are with us. A friend of my brother in law - a rich guy with a 100 foot yacht and a huge lavish house -- asks my eldest, Derek, what he's majoring in.

"I'm majoring in English and minoring in political science and music," he says.

The guy frowns. "You'll never get anywhere with that," he tells him. I don't remember how Derek responded - or if he even responded at all - but I think he thought the guy was arrogant. What business was it of his, anyway? Lately, Derek has been thinking about pursuing a career in writing. I wonder what he'd say to that?

If all the artists of the world listened to the naysayers, we wouldn't have any writers, painters, dancers, sculptors, musicians, actors etc. Think how boring and sterile our world would be then. Yes, it's tough to make a living in the arts but it can be done, even if it means taking side jobs to keep a roof over your head and the wolf from the door. And just because you elect to go into the arts, it doesn't mean you're taking a vow of poverty -- almost, perhaps, but not necessarily.

Not too long ago, a high school student in my art class asked me if I thought it was a waste of time for him to go into art. Apparently a few guidance counselors and family friends had been advising him to pursue a more "sensible" field. "It might be hard," I told him, "but you have to listen to your heart and make your own decisions about your life. After all, you have to live with yourself a long time." He thanked me and walked away. I wondered, if I'd given him wise advice. I hope so.