ON NOT-READING

[A little intro here--I've recovered from the flu/virus that laid me low when I first wrote this post. I still have times when reading is difficult because my eyes are tired or my brain is too full of information. But the rest of what I say is still valid. Hope you enjoy it this time around.]

Let me say right up front--this is not a plea to get you to give up reading. It's not even an example of good or right behavior.

The best thing I can say for myself and today's post is this: It's a confession.

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There was a time, especially early in my life, when I could've been chosen as the poster child for reading, had there been such a person. Reading was natural to me, but only after I'd learned a few rudimentary rules, such as:

• Learn to pronounce words by "sounding out" the letters. (This rule was intended to free up adults who huffed--some even rolled their eyes--every time I asked how a word sounded. I must've asked too often.)
• Learn the meaning of words #1: by the context--though I doubt that context was used by those who advocated this practice. (Again, this was a rule to benefit adults; but in hindsight, it benefited me, as well.)
• Learn the meaning of words #2: by looking them up. (Well-meant advice, but in practice it meant that I had to stop reading, find the dictionary, then find the word in the dictionary, and read the meaning. Then return to reading, if I could find my place, and try to insert the meaning of the word I'd just looked up. I wasted a lot of years doing this, believe me.)
• Listen for outside voices--a common occurrence was "Get your nose out of that book, young lady, and finish the dusting." (My savior in this instance was my Aunt Sara, who taught eight grades in a one-room school; her blessed rejoinder to my mother was, "Oh, let her read. It's so good for her. And she'll get good grades in her studies." God bless Aunt Sara! Getting good grades was probably my parents' main Goal in Life for their daughter.)
• Read only when (1) in class; (2) alone; (3) riding in the car; or (4) wherever I could find a hiding place so I wouldn't get snagged for odious household tasks.

[I'm sure you've already twigged to the fact that I was an only child, thus the only family slave, er, no, helper. That's it, helper. As I matured, more or less, I could see that my contributions to the family welfare by washing or drying dishes, picking up my clothes, putting away toys and books, or running errands (I loved going to the store to buy a loaf of bread or something equally simple) would free my mother's time to do other things I wasn't old enough or strong enough to do.]

Once I was well-established in the smooth operation of the family, I had to find time to read. Homework was always a good excuse, except I didn't have much. Most of my work was done at school during elementary and junior high. (Yes, I know that's old school talk.) 

One place I could always read was at Grandma Jenkins's house. My mom would take me and my current book when she went to visit Grandma; then the aunts would start showing up. I'd sit in a corner and read--everyone admired how good I was, to sit quietly while they all talked at once (seven women all talking at full-on volume at the same time is quite a scene). What they didn't know was that I could read my book and listen to their conversations at the same time. I learned a lot about life just listening to their gossip, er, no, conversations. This knowledge stayed inside me until I began writing novels--then it became an internalized  encyclopedia of human behavior that fed into my characters.

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From the above, you can glean the benefits, the advantages, even the joys of reading. 

Now we come to the last several months. I've written before about my penchant for re-reading--like visits with old friends, those rereads. Last year I went through two or three series of books that I'd read at least twice before.

Once I got the flu, or virus, or both--whatever it was--once I got sick, I didn't have the energy to read. Didn't even have the energy to watch videos, though they were at least easier to sustain; and I could always fall asleep to a video if I needed to.

As of the coming of Spring, I have been basically back in the game. Not ready to train for a marathon or paint the barn before breakfast, but I am taking up life where I left off last winter. Except for one thing--I can't read for more than a few minutes.

This new condition is not due to lack of materials--I've bought at least four books (one an anthology containing three novels) and had a couple given to me for my birthday. The anthology and one other are fiction. Two are biographies. One is a self-help book. And the other is the story of the founding of Pepperidge Farm (including recipes).

You can see I've covered all the bases--fiction, nonfiction, cookbook . . . .

It's also not a problem with eyesight or other physical limitation.

So, you ask, what do I do instead of reading? I watch videos--online church services; online art tutorials (hundreds, literally, to choose from); sewing/quilting tutorials. Detective series, old movies, classic films. All free. All available at the touch of the computer keys. My daughter and I are partial to British detective series.

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I look forward to holding a book in my hands and reading words printed on the pages. Reading demands that I use my imagination to help the writer create the fictional (or real) world of the book. Videos have helped me keep my mind active, and I'm grateful for that, really I am. But books--! 

Talk to you soon--if I'm not lost in a book . . . .