My father built floor to ceiling cupboards along the walls when he closed in the garage of my childhood home. The top shelf of these storage units was four feet from the ceiling, just enough space for a fourth grader to comfortably nest. I would climb to that top shelf with a blanket, a pillow, a flashlight, a jar of marshmallow fluff, and a book. Everything a ten year old girl needs for happiness.
And I was happy when I was holed away in my little nest. It was my space. My quiet time. My place where I could be wholly myself with no roles to play. And as the only girl in a family with four boys, it was a safe place for me to be girly.
But mostly it was about the books.
I loved to read. I went through several books a week, often reading an entire chapter book in one sitting. I loved the Little House on the Prairie series, Little Women, Little Men, and the rest of the Louisa May Alcott books, Kidnapped, Heidi, The Swiss Family Robinson.
I loved to read. Past tense.
Somewhere along the way I lost the joy of reading. Maybe all those years of mutlitasking caught up with me, because now when I sit down to read, I can’t just read. I have to be doing something else at the same time. If I try to read without some other distraction, my mind will find one anyway.
Maybe the the ability to enjoy a book has been educated out of me. Oh, I can plow through a book in record time if it’s for school. But the intensity of reading for data, studying for exams, and culling information for papers has left me impatient with florid writing styles that take their time in revealing information. Give me the facts, preferably in a bulleted format.
I suppose I could also blame this on chemo brain, which is a very real condition that makes it much more difficult for those who have endured chemotherapy to retain and quickly process information. But in truth, this situation began a long time before I knew I had cancer.
The frustration in all of this is the fact that the love of reading is tied up in my self image. I think of myself as someone who loves to read. I present myself to the world as someone who loves to read. The amount of money I spend on library fines and book stores would suggest that I’m the kind of person who loves to read.
What I love, it turns out, is the potential of a good book. Oh, and the cover. I love to judge a book by it’s cover. There’s nothing like finding a great cover paired with a well written blurb on the back to get my fingertips tingling. Oh, this is going to be good.
And it is, usually. For the first 20 minutes. If I make it that far. But odds are my toddler will climb to the top of the bookshelf, or I’ll realize it’s 6pm and I haven’t figured out what’s for dinner yet, or I’ll notice the polish on my toes is chipped, and this is just taking too long anyways.
What I really want to read is:
I was sad and my life was a mess
I got my hands on an unrealistic amount of money
I went to Italy and ate a lot of food
I went to India and met a very wise redneck from Texas
I went to Indonesia and fell in love
bulletpoints.
See, was that so hard?
But I hate that. The snob in me is cringing at what I just wrote. The snob in me wants to analyze Eat, Pray, Love, to argue about it and disect it and, and, and, … but that means I have to come up with the attention span I had in fourth grade – an attention span long enough to actually finish a book.
I love books. I love the idea of books. I want to love reading books. I miss loving reading books. I want to love reading books again.
Has anyone else lost and refound their book mojo? How did you do it?
Of course they are that beautiful azure blue, but that is just the color.
She speaks with her eyes. I’ve seen her express love, joy, fear, sadness. Her eyes flirt, play coy, she laughs with her eyes. Her eyes are curious, studious, they narrow when she’s questioning, widen when she’s accepting. She is learning so much about communication right now, new words every day, but she already says so much with those amazing blue eyes.
I recently heard a quote that really resonated with me:
Life is not waiting for the storm to pass, it’s learning to dance in the rain.
I love the way this is stated, and it’s one of those life lessons that I really want you to understand. Your life is never going to be perfect. There will always be something that is not quite right, sometimes worse than others. You can’t just tell yourself that “things will be better when…”, or I’ll get on with my life after….” Live Now – regardless of what’s going on in your life.
Besides, dancing in the rain can be a lot of fun.
Kissing in the rain is pretty awesome too – but, you’ll wait another 20 years to find that out. Right?
As I”m writing this letter I’m sitting in a big hospital recliner as the chemo drips into me. It’s not my favorite way to spend an afternoon, I’d rather not have to deal with this at all. But it’s not all that bad either. It’s nowhere near as bad as my imagination made it out to be back when I was diagnosed. It’s interesting how the imagination tends to run towards best case and worst case scenarios, and spends very little time in the middle ground where most of reality exists.
An imagination is a wonderful thing – and I hope you develop yours and put it to good use. It is also a power that can be abused; be sure to use this power for good and not evil. Let your imagination run free as you are generating new ideas, but when it comes time to applying these ideas to real world applications, then it’s time to do some research. And by research, I don’t mean disregard everything that doesn’t support your point of view. Seriously. If you come across evidence that disproves your theory, chase it down. Do not ignore it. It is so important to educate yourself on the whole issue; failing to do so will damage your credibility. And lets face it, there will be times in your life when your credibility is all you have to offer. Take good care of it.
/lecture
Sorry about that, sometimes I get on my soapbox and prattle on about things not one else really wants to discuss. But then that’s why I have a blog.
You had your first overnight stay away from us this month. Daddy and I went camping with friends and you stayed with Grandma for two nights. That must have been a lot of fun for you. I’m sure Grandma enjoyed it as well. Grandma is awesome and all, but still, three days and two nights away from you wasn’t easy. You, on the other hand, seemed to think it was pretty cool. Good for you.
I love that you are so adaptable. I keep hearing that kids need routine and they need things to be the same all the time, but that doesn’t seem to be the case with you, my little adventurous one. Adaptability is another one of those life skills that will take you places, and make your life a lot more interesting, fun, and easier too. The adaptability makes it easier for us to travel with you, which means more adventures for you, too.
We spent this past weekend in Bellingham, and we had a wonderful time. Your adaptability makes it so easy for us to travel with you. You love and adventure, and so do we.
You love to dance and you get to bouncing and swinging around whenever you hear music. Tonight you figured out that you could make yourself dizzy by spinning in circles. You spent the longest time spinning and giggling and falling down, then getting up and doing it over again.
You are learning so much every day and your vocabulary is just exploding. You can say all different parts of the body: Eye, nose, ear, toes, foot, belly. You know one and two. You are getting better about using the sign for thank you when we give you things. You love to give hugs and kisses, and you warn us that we are going to get a kiss by announcing it first. And you are so loving and sweet to your dolls and stuffed animals. You give them hugs and kisses, and rock them and sing and talk to them. You try to share your cookies and water with them too. You are becoming such a sweet little girl.
You bring so much joy to our lives. Being your mother makes me want to be a better person. You inspire me.
I’ve fallen so far behind in writing these letters to you that I need to combine two months into one. In fact, it’s almost time to write your 16 month letter. I guess I’d better make this a good one.
It would be really easy for me to blame this on the cancer, fatigue, etc., yadda, yadda, yadda, but the truth is that your mama is a procrastinator. Seriously. I even procrastinate on going to the bathroom if I’m watching a really good show, then I have to do that goofy potty walk/run to get the the bathroom and hope that I make it in time so I don’t have to change clothes before I get back to my show. I even procrastinate on doing things that I want to do, especially if it involves something complicated, like getting off the couch.
Ok, I’m not that lazy. But I have been avoiding things that involve thinking lately – and I suppose writing these letters qualifies under that heading.
You are changing so much every day; you ‘re just full of surprises. You have started arguing with me. When I tell you “No touch” you put down your foot and firm up your face and firmly announce “touch!” You have also discovered the word “no,” and you back it up with a shake of your head. You’ve even been using yes and no correctly in context to the TV. You were watching Ni Hao, Kai-Lan the other day and Kai-Lan asked if you had ever seen a dragon; you shook your head and said no. Then Kai-Lan asked if you would like to see a dragon, and you nodded your head and said yes. That just blew me away.
We’ve had a busy couple of months. Earlier this week we spent the day on the Adventuress, a 133 foot long, 3 masted schooner that just happens to have the 2nd largest main sail on the Pacific Coast. This is a mighty ship. You did quite well on that trip, despite the fact that we wouldn’t let you run around on deck. Little Miss Independent, you like to run free; you are such an adventurer. You don’t want to hold our hand when we walk, you want to explore everything untethered. You are frequently disappointed in that endeavor. But, as you learn to listen to us, and obey us, you’ll get more freedom – even if the thought of letting go of your little hand still terrifies me.
You enjoyed our trip to the zoo so much that we ended up buying a membership. I’m hoping to make good use of that membership, Mommy needs to log some long hours walking anyways. Daddy and I had more fun watching you than the animals.
At times you looked more like you were cheering on your favorite sports team – or even your favorite rock band.
And you certainly didn’t mind pushing Daddy’s head around to get a better look. He’s getting used to you grabbing his ears and eyeballs, and he really loves carrying you around on his shoulders. It’s a good thing, because it’s your favorite place to be.
Your other favorite place to be is at the book store. You love books, and the kids section of the book store has BOOKS! and also TOYS! which means you can spend hours running back and forth from the BOOKS! to the TOYS! until you completely wear yourself out and crumple up into a big pile of fussy and we take you home for a nap. Actually, that happens several days a week.
You love your books at home too. In fact we have a couple fabric books that week keep in your crib because we discovered that when you wake up in the morning, you will entertain yourself for an hour or so by “reading” your books to Molly and Peanut. One of my favorite experiences each day is snuggling a little deeper into my pillow in the morning while listening to your sweet voice babble away to your stuffed animals. It’s a lovely way to start the day.
You bring so much happiness to our home. I’m so blessed that I get to be your Mommy.
Oh, how I wish I had a picture of my dad in his old soccer referee uniform. The one that hadn’t fit for more than fifteen years, but he put it on anyways when his team needed a rally.
My dad had a way of diving in and making our interests his own. When we got into theater, he started quoting Shakespeare, and kept doing so long after we had moved on to other pursuits. Football? Football!? Once my brothers started playing football, my dad became a famous football fan in our town – the guy with the moose gooser – a cannon he lugged from game to game and fired off when ever the Palmer High School Football Team, the Palmer Moose, scored a point.
And yes, when we started playing soccer, he got into that sport as well. He helped with coaching city league teams, and eventually trained and certified to become a city league soccer referee. My dad wasn’t just a sports fan, he referred to himself as an “athletic supporter.” Of course, he couldn’t say that without snickering.
Years later we had all moved on, but Dad still quoted Shakespeare and dragged the moose gooser to all the Palmer games. And when the US Women’s team made it to the last round of the worlds cup a decade or so ago (And WON!), my dad was right there cheering them on. I went to visit my parents and found him dressed up in that old, fifteen years too small soccer referee uniform watching the game and yelling at the TV screen. But it didn’t stop there, he even flashed a yellow card at the screen.
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