Meandering Thoughts (#5)

April 5, 2021, will be the one year anniversary of this blog. But if I continue my pace of one post a week, I will end up celebrating with my ninety-ninth post. Since I prefer that numbers align neatly, I will be forced to take action. Therefore, I will be writing up something extra during the next two weeks. So, what should I discuss? The subject of my 100th post will of course be an "anniversary" piece. Next week's will most likely address another special event happening that Saturday. So, that leaves the topic of tonight's post and the extra one to be determined. 

And, thanks to an inspiring event this past week, I am all set. 

That floating post, to be published some time over the next two weeks, will be a book review.

And tonight's will uncover some of my reasons for doing it.

(Seriously, my treadmill has several stats it records during my routine: time, distance, elevation traversed, and calories. When they don't end in zeroes, especially the time and distance, it drives me nuts.)  

(I found this painting beautiful, especially the colors, but also amusing, for some reason. There are more paintings of women reading at this link. It includes one of my personal favorites, Jove decadent by Ramon Casas. And one of a nude woman reading. I am sure we have all done that at one time, right?)

Among my daughters' early forays into PBS children's shows, I endured a series called Sid the Science Kid. The only thing I have bothered to remember from it was a quote the main character, Sid. He would repeat in every episode: "Did you hear the one about the kid that wanted to know everything about everything?"

That sums up my curiosity. It has been both a blessing and a curse.

When I was a child, the internet was not available. Books were my only means of satiating my craving for knowledge. So the library became a sacred place. I would leave it carrying ten to fifteen books at a time. My eventual initiation into the adult section (which happened some time before the six grade) was more important to me than my high school graduation. My first time stepping into a college library was overwhelming (that happened during my sophomore year of high school). I would not return until college. And when I did, it was thrilling and intoxicating. Too bad I was too inexperienced to fully appreciate the full potential of its treasures. Now that I am decades removed from those milestones, I regret how my immaturity and idleness squandered precious opportunities for intellectual enjoyment. 

But as reading nonfiction has fed my intense curiosity, consuming fiction has sustained my imagination, supplying a constant stream of fodder for my daydreaming.

Yet, another blessing, and its corresponding curse.

There have been so my stories from my adventures into the children's section of the library. But one in particular still tugs at the edges of my memories. A snippet from a book whose title I have long forgotten. A tale of a boy detective, hunting down the truth to a mystery. And he gets caught. Literally. In a whirlwind of autumn leaves on dimly lit sidewalk. On his way to the library. Was it a supernatural force, or an overreaction to a natural occurrence? I do not remember. But clearly, to this day, nearly thirty-five years later, I can still sense the chill I felt from the moment I first read those lines. Fiction had sunk its claws deep into me. And I never fought it.

Then there was the time my mother brought home a thick book, an English translation of a foreign work. The phrase "the Japanese Gone with Wind" still bounces around in the recesses of my recollections of the book (it was included in the novel's foreward). My mother warned me not to read it. I was the obedient child in the family, rarely breaking rules. So, decades later, I am still amused that I made a decision to sneak a peak. It was historical fiction about a famous samurai from medieval Japan. Loving history, and interested in warfare, I buried my face deep within those folds. And I immediately lost myself in that beautiful, musty embrace. But my mother returned it before I could finish it. Like that neighborhood friend who moves across country just as you realize your deep feelings for her, I was devastated. Although there would be other books, I could not shake those long tendrils of young, lost love. So, I searched for the book. It was difficult, I am ashamed to admit, because I had forgotten its name. At one point, I even asked my mother about it. But she could not remember the title. With every visit to the library, I would walk up and down those stacks, reading off book covers. In that way, I discovered other works of fiction. But still not my dear lost friend. That was, until that fateful day, when my eyes caught a thick book, with a single word for a title. A word that turned out to be a name. The name of a famous samurai. I had rediscovered a lost love. Right then and there, within those stacks, without a care in the world, I delved right into those pages. Nostalgia can be a powerful force, some times inspiring, and other times, disappointing. Make it about first loves, and it can prove devastating. Well, I am happy to say it was just as thrilling as I remembered it. And more so, because now I could finally finish the tale of Musashi as told by Eiji Yoshikawa. 

With the arrival of Amazon, I was able to purchase my own copy of the book. In the decades that I have owned it, I have read it at least four times. It holds a special place on my bookshelf.

(With all this nostalgia, I wonder if this is the best moment to share that time during my freshman year of high school, when I discovered a book containing late nineteenth century erotic tales, nestled between the mattress and box spring of a bed sitting in the third floor room of my house? Stories that would make Fifty Shades look like a reader for first graders?  Hmm... maybe not.)  

Why all this backstory? What does it have to do with my upcoming blog post? Well, it is against this intense connection to reading that what I am about to say will have any significance or force. For the past several years, I stopped reading books with any meaningful regularity. I probably averaged about four to five books a year, and mostly they were nonfiction. The internet has been one reason. The ease at which I can obtain knowledge and answer questions with just my fingertips is astonishing. But it is also a double edged sword. And I became lost in all that information (and misinformation). Surfing the web also took me away from works of fiction. Yet, it is not the only reason. Reading books is a habit that must be built up and reinforced. I never struggled to begin that habit, and, throughout elementary school and high school, I maintained it very well. However, as college rolled around, I read less for enjoyment, and more to satisfy someone else's requirements. Over time, I had to force myself to find a book to delve into for pleasure. The old habit slumbered.

But it never died. Strong suggestions would arise from people I respected. Some of them came from online sources, but a few came from good friends. Two fiction titles were shared with me in January of 2020. When talk of a lockdown came in March of that year, I sprung into action, and picked them up from the library (along with at least six others), just three days before the library shut its doors for nearly six months. But resurrecting old habits takes time and effort, and all those books, save one, remained unread, to this day (the were returned some time in the fall, when the library allowed patrons to return). Yet, a habit is built from steps, and that one book was consumed in a matter of days. The experience felt good. It reawakened something in me, a pleasure I had long repressed. 

It became an inspiration to draw on.

Six months would pass before I would be able to experience that sensation again. In fact, it occurred this past week. This time the book was a work of nonfiction, and it had been sitting on my Kindle for two months. It was late Friday afternoon, and was heading out to drop my eldest daughter off at the dance studio. For some reason, I decided to grab my Kindle. When we arrived for her ninety minute class, I decided to hang out in the parking lot. There was still sunlight about. My windows were down, allowing the cool, brisk early spring air to flow into the car. Nestled on top of the center console was my Kindle. Picking it up and turning it on, I found myself looking at a title page covered with a bright neon green bar at top. It was a book about a forgotten historical event that occurred in the United States during the 1920's. The title was The Radium Girls (The Dark Story of America's Shining Women), written by Kate Moore. 

Once again, I found myself immersed in a sea of excitement and pleasure. The book itself has been great, but more important for me, has been the experience. Navigating through those pages, imagining those women's stories in my mind, ignited many emotions. However, the one that stands out right now is the joy that comes with reading a book. Articles and online posts are great, but they are short, both depth and breadth. But a book. No, a book lasts runs deeper, travels further, lasts longer. While reading a book will produce an eventual ending, the process itself is its own adventure. The act of finding time and a place to read becomes part of the journey. Sitting down and losing yourself turns into its own reward.  

And so picking up Radium Girls has become the second book to reignite my reading habit. It has also inspired me to begin reviewing books. One of my favorite bloggers made book reviews a regular part of his postings (he also included regular interviews of people whom he admires, something I have considered doing for a host of reasons). I think it would be a great addition to my blog. It would motivate me to read more, to write better, and build up my blog. Also, it will provide me that third post I need to make 100 posts by my one year anniversary.

But, like all my goals, it will have to endure my procrastination if it wants to see the light of day.

In the meantime, I find an image, publish this post, and link to it on Facebook as quickly as possible. 

I still want to get some reading done before I go to bed...