Wednesday, January 27, 2010


As a child, I loved to read. I loved it. I read everything I could get my hands on, and, with very few exceptions, I was allowed to read anything I wanted, with never a mention of reading levels or something being too mature for me. I read things that were too old for me (Outlander when I was 14) things that were about right (All the Chronicles of Narnia at 9 - 12) and things that were too young for me (The Mary Poppins books at 13). I was picky about the genre of the books I read, but that's alright when you're young. It's probably what kept me away from the Stephen King and Tom Clancy on the shelves. I loved fantasy and romance, as well as silly books that made me laugh. I loved the written word, and was highly encouraged in this by my mother, who had been reading to my sister and I since we were infants.

I read a great deal up through high school, but tapered off once I got to college, and very nearly stopped when I got married. Marriage makes you poor, and I could no longer afford to go to the bookstore and buy whatever by heart desired. This year though, I have rediscovered a beautiful thing: The public library.

I have become a frightful addict to this institution. No more than two days goes by that I am not in the library, returning, borrowing or picking up one of my many holds. I know the librarians by sight now, if not yet by name, although, if this habit of mine continues, I could see that happening very soon.

Somehow new steps have been added to my routine. When I walk out the door, I check, not only for my keys and cell phone, but for my library card as well. My daily internet rovings include The Nest, Facebook, Blogger, and now Goodreads and the Public Library Site, to look for and reserve new books.

I had forgotten how much I adore reading. With this new, constant stream of literature, my mind, which had begun an alarming descent into slushy disuse, now buzzes with activity, thinking of what I have been reading, what will happen next, and when I will get a chance to sit and read a bit more. Reading not only transports me while I read, but throughout my day. It is, cliche though it may be, an escape, but more than that, a tool for keeping my mind busy as the monotony of the day drags on. It is something that is indescribable to a non-reader, but those who have found themselves lost in the written word understand.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Elfland is waiting.

What I am reading now: I, Robot (audiobook) by Isaac Asimov; Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin; Elfland by Freda Warrinton

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