I’ve always been an avid reader.  I remember making the trek all the way across town to the Boise Public Library(!) to check out a slew of books.  My eyes were often bigger than my available time, and I’d come to the checkout counter, barely able to carry the stack.  I remember one specific time that Mom made me Put.Books.Back (GASP:  the Horror!):  it was like saying that I had too many friends and I must reject some.  The pain was excruciating.  Obviously.  Which could explain why I check out PILES of books currently.  Because I’m spiteful like that. 

I also remember in grade school aching to graduate to the big kids section of the library.  The books were separated/segregated into picture books/easy readers and the Big Kid Books known as Juvenile Fiction.  Finally one day I told the librarian that I wanted to check out a book from that area of the library:  these other books were too pedestrian.  She made me get a book (Moby Dick, I believe) and read out loud to her to prove that I could handle it.  Psh:  easy challenge.  I remember her being a little surprised (obviously she didn’t recognize my literary genius as my parents and aunt had, which added to my humble nature) and finally allowing me access, meaning I could check out ANYTHING.  Sweet Freedom!

Yes, I’m a geek.  And I’m still a geek.  But I can’t decide if I’m a getting-smarter geek or a dumbing-down geek.  Geekdom can either make you a better, stronger person, or it can create an obsessive, non-communicative lump.

Lately, I can’t read “good” literature.  I’ve checked out the latest Barbara Kingsolver, Nick Hornby, Anne Rice, Margaret Atwood, and countless other “recommended” “top pick of the year” “masterpiece” reads.  And I can’t read them.  My mind goes blank, my eyes cross, and I realize I’m simply turning pages to turn pages:  and when I have so few moments of silence that I can do something I want to do without the demands of the Little People Nation, turning pages for closure isn’t one of them.

What am I enjoying reading?  Young Adult Books.  I’ve worked in the Young Adult section of a library, and let me tell you, YA is really where it’s at.  Yes, there’s gunk, but there’s also a lot of truth there.  Lately I’ve enjoyed “The Hunger Games” and it’s sequel, “Graceling” and it’s prequel, Septimus Heap, and many other reads aimed at preteens/teens/those who don’t use semi-colons (do as I say; not as I do).  I can’t decide if I enjoy it because it’s simple and my sleep-deprived brain can comprehend it, because it’s entertaining and exciting in non-adult, non-refined ways, or because it speaks truth where adult read either allude to it or avoid it altogether.

A friend recently introduced her daughter to the young adult section of the library, and she was fairly horrified:  “I wanted to go back downstairs to the nice, happy children’s section!”  Another friend mentioned she’d rather have her daughter read “Twilight” than “The Hunger Games” (which deals with kids killing kids for national entertainment’s sake).  But oh, I say there’s room to read both.  There’s truth, it’s ugly, and teens would rather look at the ugly and explore it rather than adults who’ve been banged up by the truth too much and prefer to run away or stick their heads in the sand.

So it may be as I age that I continue to read the YAs, or it may be that my reading level has peaked, and you’ll soon see me checking out Frog and Toad under guise that it’s “for the kids”. 

Required Reads | 5 Comments »

Which, I know, doesn’t sound like that big of a deal: 10:30 on a Saturday night – in my former days, I was gearing up to go out at this time. But now I’m not: 10:30 means either being comfy in bed, or pretending to be awake watching a show with Hubby but really dozing and waking up with a “whahappened?” on my lips. Not that I can really remember his explanations: I’m usually focused on my immediate list of things to do:

Fold blanket
Get upstairs
Take out contacts
Brush teeth
Wash face
Take vitamins
Pajamas
Bedbedbedbed

But tonight it’s 10:30, and all the boys are up. Who are all the boys? That would be

– My husband, standing up in front of the tv, flinging his wrists in a syncopated rhythm. Bring on the tendinitis.
– My brother, sitting on the couch, making appropriate “OH!” and “Aw!” sounds as Hubby either syncopates correctly or incorrectly.
– My eldest son who at my last visit was standing in his bedroom window, blinds behind him, smashing his face up against the pane. He’s been in his room for over an hour: obviously, the nighttime calming routine didn’t work out so hot this evening.
– My dog, who is pacing the floor, nervous because he should be slumbering on his pillow next to Hubby at this point, or at least sitting on his pillow chewing on his toenails (a very important part of his nighttime regime – makes me want to throw things at him, which might be why it’s good he’s on the other side of the bed)
– My cat, who is looking for a comfy lap to sleep on, but can’t get there because the nervous dog is heading off his every attempt – if the dog doesn’t get to be comfy on his pillow, the cat should definitely not be comfy on a lap
– My youngest son who is currently engaging in measuring how much stretch is left in his womb room: not a lot, let me tell ya.

They’re all up.

It’s now 10:41. The eldest son has emerged from his room, thinking he was very cute. He was not cute. I shared that opinion with him. His current wailing lends me to believe that he does not think I’m cute, either. That’s okay: at this point in my life, nothing is deemed cute after about 9:15pm.

Required Reads | 3 Comments »