In the theme of my previous blog, this blog invites the delight of reading and the experience of loving books. I wanted to share it here. It came from my journal blog and am re-posting it because as I re-read it today, I was shivering again with joy about the bookstores I've visited. Enjoy only after brewing something warm to sip...it's a chilly one in Calgary tonight!!
I find that I miss my page-ed friends when I am too busy to read, or when my other interests seem to take a priority. I find I begin to miss the smell, the feel of the paper, the weight of them in my hands. I miss the solace of finding myself walking through the pages – experiencing places I have never been (or will ever go), developing new ideas from a concept laid out in words, testing my theories and beliefs based on a new emerging view, or traipsing through an English mystery so strange, eccentric and frightening that it yearns for pots of Earl Grey Tea and Shortbread cookies to comfort me.
Delightfully, I am a cat-parent. There is nothing more charming than adding a warm, purring cat to nestle with you in your cozy den, blanket wraped around you as you wind your way through a juicy novel. Flick on a fireplace and get your spouse to make you a latte and, well… it’s an escape that I think could compete with a week on the beach to relax.
Bookstores themselves are intoxicating. I have spent many a day in Chapters, which I love. But I also find that second hand bookstores with their messy mazes of cluttered columns of tomes give a type of mysterious realm. I have been in some bookstores that were so strewn and unorganized that they were like being in another world. I’ve often read about bookstores and been so enraptured with the shelves and mazes of books that I’d wish to be there… and when I’ve stood in such a book store, am lured in a type of hypnotic state to wind around and around and around – looking for nothing in particular but to just experience the mess of words in leather and paperback covers.
One such bookstore in Winnipeg completely distracted me from reality. Two actually. One was organized and very eclectic; inviting couches that looked like they came from my grandma’s basement were tucked throughout. It was weird and wonderful and creepy. Another was just a fire hazard. But it appeared to have been there forever and it was so dusty, dirty and ugly that I was drawn like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t look away or peek in; I just had to be part of it. Incidentally, I bought books in both; two out of print books from my youth! Very exciting.
Last week I went through ‘Audrey’s Books’ in Edmonton as it was just down from my hotel. It was a neighbourhood bookstore for me when I lived in Edmonton and delightfully as a book member there I had a $21.00 credit. I took full advantage of that; spending two nights after work leisurely wandering the shelves – scanning for a treasure. I found a couple. Not sure if they’ll be good or not, but I had reason I wanted them, so for that moment; it was enough.
And treasure hunting is just another aspect. Just like the two out of print books I found in Winnipeg or the treasure hunt of finding ‘something’ that interested me to spend the $21.00 credit on, the hunt is part of the experience. Years ago I read a book that a friend referred to me called, ‘An Italian Affair’, by Laura Fraser. It was very fun to read. And I found a type of commonality with the author and loved her style of writing (second person). I decided that I needed to own the book, not just borrow it over and over from the library. There I began my search. I wandered into every second hand bookstore, the thought of that book on my mind. I needed to seek my ‘holy grail’. It wasn’t a necessity, but it was a hunt. Two years ago I received a package, wrapped in thick, brown paper in the mail at Christmas – I opened it up and there it was… no sender identified. It was a mystery, which ensued for quite awhile. The whole thing was as exciting as many books I had read!! I found out later that a friend from the Yukon (whom I love dearly) knew of my quest and found it online, ordered it and sent it anonymously. I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!
While on my quest one time, I found a book for a friend in Ottawa. I had been invited to go to visit him and we were going to spend time in Montreal. As a thank you, I wanted to get him something special for letting me crash and for taking me on an adventure. While on my quest for, ‘The Italian Affair’, I came across a very old, very banged up copy of a book called, ‘La Famille Plouffe’. Since this was a family name, I thought it an unbelievable find. I had zero idea what it was about, as it was in French. I presented it to him as a thank you gift and he was delighted. Books can be a great gift – especially when they are eerily personal. And how a book so perfect to a situation or time can eerily find their way into your life, without you even expecting it.
I often find this… I will have something going on in my head – life and I’ll come across a book that perfectly fits / speaks to where I’m at. It amazes me really. Like I’m being lead to a certain place in that bookstore at that precise time to find the answer. Some say it’s the ‘Universe’ leading you there. I like to just imagine it as a mystery – delightful happenstance.
I love poetry and art books. Books that have word pictures and actual pictures. I love biographies and mysteries and the occasional tear-jerker (occasional… many times I find these dramatic stories too hard to handle in a world that proclaims sad on every news channel and news paper). I love books about words and books. Oddly. I love cookbooks and historical reads. So vast my love of book genres that it is difficult to say I love only this type or that.
I love talking books to people. I love sharing what I’ve learned from books. Book clubs are especially fun. A friend invited me to one just today and I am anxiously considering it. I love that books seem to ignite discussion, “Oh, I just read the best book”, “Did you read….?”, “What books are you reading?”, “I just came across this great quote (idea, story).” It’s just delightful, really.
Books can be shared together. For example, I am reading a book to my husband, ‘The Know it All’. We’re slowly getting through it. We’re kinda into a few TV series (including Iron Chef, 24, and some British Commedies) so sometimes those seem to absorb our time more that the pages of the book. My mom and her best friend (before she passed away) used to go to the park, pack a picnic in a fancy cookie tin, and my mom’s friend would read to my mom. Then they would discuss it. A very personal / best friends only book club. My Friend and I, when she lived in Regina, would send each other books in the mail. We would always wrap them in brown paper, and my creative friend always included new coffee recipies on a card with instructions on where / when / how to read the book, “read from start to finish – no interruptions, have Kleenex on hand, make a vanilla latte”. She, of course, read the book first and wanted to share that joy with me. Then, after I read it, we discussed it. I remember reading, ‘The Notebook’, and after it was over and I had cried all my 8-glasses of daily water intake out my tear ducts, remember discussing the book with her and how she felt after she read it.
Even writing this blog note about books makes me wish I was speeding towards a comfortable chair and cracking open the pages where my latest bookmark (a photo of my husband gently and longingly kissing my cheek) marks my spot. I imagine the cup I would find to house a hot ‘Wonderful White’ tea (that I am QUITE into these days from Teopia), and of course, settling into my read after plucking the cat up from her dozing sleep to a spot beside me. I shall do that when I get home. I shall, I shall, I shall.
