Reading: A Love Story

I've got a few things on my mind today and since none of you are here to sit and chat with me about them, I thought I'd do a little blogging instead. Presently, Sam's in dreamland, laundry is in the wash which means the smell of Mountain Fresh Gain is in the air, and a batch of just-baked cookies is cooling on the counter. I bet you wish you were here. And, well, I wish you were because I could use the company, but then I'm still in my pajamas and haven't brushed my teeth yet, so, on second thought, it's probably better that you're not here.

Anyhoo, I'm currently pondering this blog post on The Monica Bird. The post is called "Date A Girl Who Reads":

http://themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her

And now, I'm going to quote a little of it for you in case you don't make it over there to read it yourself...

I like this quote:

"It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does."

And this one:

"She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots."

And this one, too:

"Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads."

What a lovely way to describe those of us who wear corrective lenses because we've spent years with our eyes trained on small type under bedcovers with flashlights long past our bedtimes. I'm also a fan of the romanticizing of those of us who prefer the smell of old musty bookstores to espresso-scented Barnes and Nobles and feel our spines tingle when we stumble into hole-in-the-wall used bookstores and then subsequently lose ourselves there for hours upon hours.

So, I'm pondering these things and wishing that I had more time to read, wishing I was more disciplined about reading, and wishing I read what mattered rather than celebrity sightings, coupon blogs, and JCrew magazines (I realize these don't really classify as "reading"). I'm also lamenting the time I waste looking for deals online, checking email, and wandering around on Facebook when I could be using the very limited quiet time I have to read something that has real value.

I'm wondering how to get back to being a "girl who reads." The precious couple hours I have a day while Sam snoozes are so quickly swallowed up by the taking of showers (somewhat important), the picking up of toys (something of an effort of futility), the Facebook stalking (I just scrolled through all your vacation pictures from 2006). Seriously, I could be reading things that have weight and value and make me someone you want to chat with at parties. But, more than wanting a little intellectual stimulation and a few interesting ideas to bandy about at a dinner party, I want "the world and the worlds beyond it." I want the escape hatch that Narnia and Avonlea offer, the invitation to imagine and believe and wonder.

I've been settling for television and Facebook and magazines. I'd like to hope that I'll be "reciting Keats under my breath" in my old age rather than Michael Scott from "The Office."

Thanks, Monica Bird, whoever you are, for reminding me to read. I needed that.

Michael W. Smith Was Right

Today I'm feeling thankful for Facebook (honorable mentions: Nutella, Target and anti-aging cream.) Facebook, while a bit of a time-waster, doubles as the portal through which I am able to see the goings-on of friends that live farther away from me than they should.

Currently, as I type this, I'm missing my favorite chemist Chrissy in New Mexico and reminiscing about her magical cooking skills that make lovely things out of almost nothing. I'm also pondering what my friend Lyndsay, who works for a non-profit clinic, is doing today in Old Mexico and I'm imagining her healing the sick and eating tacos, the likes of which Taco Bell can only dream of. There's also Amanda and her brood of 3 under 3 who I would pay money to hang out with right now. And then, of course, there's Alexis, sun-tanned creative genius, in sunny San Diego where everyone has good hair and surfing is a prerequisite before breakfast. My dear friend Abigail is in Kentucky when she really should be here drinking tea with me and discussing the future betrothal of our children. Lydia and Jen are in Georgia where I grew up and there are days where I spend considerable thinking power trying to figure out how we can move back down to the Deep South just to be near those childhood friends. Additionally, there's Traci (queen of healthy eating), Steph (my clever friend), Rebecca (the wise one); all in Nashville living lives that should include me. Ha. Atleast, in my opinion. Frankie in DC (my fellow bibliophile), Leigh (the Swede), Jessica (who loves the weather channel and China). Oh dear. This list could go on and on, but I'm running out of my allotted blogging time (set by Sam the Taskmaster).

What's the deal with people I like being so far away? In light of this problem, I find myself pondering what it might have been like to live 50 years ago when things were simpler and people tended to stay in their hometowns and had never heard of Facebook, Twitter or Skype. They had 3 digit phone numbers and wrote letters and had ice-cream socials and rarely drove as far as the next town. Maybe I'm over-simplifying those people and if Mad Men has taught me anything, it's that life 50 years ago might not have been as innocent as it might appear.

Basically, I'm just wishing for the days when you didn't find yourself stalking friends online to see what they're up to because they live next door and you accidentally overhear their conversations on the telephone line you share. I wish I could walk over to Amanda's house right now and let Sam hang out with her boys (which might include some crazy pacifier swapping and maybe even a little group crying) while we talked on the porch about the weather. And how great would it be if I could walk over to Chrissy's this evening to borrow an egg and be entertained by a story or two about what three-year old Ina had to say today.

Like I said, I'm thankful for Facebook, but at the same time, I wish it didn't have a reason to exist. It makes it possible for me keep up with the people that I love but I'd so much rather it didn't have to.

This is the point in the blog when I'd like to take a moment to let out a big 'SIGH.' Ok, I've done my whining and now I'm wrapping up this post so that I can venture over to Facebook to stalk my friends.

Friends o' Mine, you are missed.