Category Archives: Reading

The Book Of Thank You ~ Post Three: Thank You Mrs. Carter

20 Wednesday Jul 2016

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The year was 1971.

Mrs. Carter was my 7th grade home room school teacher.

She was grandmotherly both in nature and appearance and was always neatly dressed in a sweater and skirt. She wore gold rimmed glasses and spoke with a British accent.

Mrs. Carter introduced me the concept that reading could be fun. She was also the first person that I can remember who ever read to me.

Looking back, it’s been hard to for me to remember the first book that she read to us. If I had to make a guess, I’d say the book was THE MOUSE THAT ROARED.

It was read to us in small doses as class time permitted. Sometimes we got to listen to her read for five minutes. Sometimes we got a full half hour.

We all enjoyed listening to her lovely British cadence. I was struck by the confident manner she showed to us as she read. She seemed to actually enjoy reading aloud in front of others.

I wondered if I would ever be able to read a story to someone else.

My first introductions to reading aloud in front of others was in school and always tinged in awkwardness and embarrassment, I’m sure we all remember that uncomfortable feeling.

When I was six years old, my Father would make me read him a story from my German book of Grimm fairy tales. Then, the purpose of reading was all about practising my German and had little to do with sharing joy.

The first books that I remember reading in their entirety on my own were the TRIXIE BELDEN mystery series when I was nine years old. After that I read CHERRY AMES, STUDENT NURSE and then the NANCY DREW mysteries. I was twelve years old by the time I finished them.

As my children were growing up I tried to make it a point to read to my daughters from time to time. I read them the CHRONICALS OF NARNIA and the HARRY POTTER series. My impression of Hagrid was very well received.

Then there was the time that I was reading a particularly touching Christmas novel THE TIMEPIECE by Richard Paul Evans to my youngest daughter. While I was overcome with teary emotion, my daughter handed me one tissue after another as I wept inconsolably while reading the final chapter.

Good times.

Indeed, the joy of sharing a book with someone else can be a very good thing.

Thank you Mrs. Carter.

 

❤

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 138: Beware Of Backwards Thinking

09 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by in Books, Culture, Feminism, Reading, Society, Writing

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As International Women’s Day drew to close yesterday my thoughts were drawn to an unfortunate encounter I had with a book in the mid-seventies.

I was seventeen.

To read it now, one would think that this book was written centuries ago during the dark ages.

For the most part, the 1970s were about social change, the sexual revolution and freedom of expression.

However there was one major catastrophic blip that entered my radar.

It happened during one of my visits to Virginia. I often travelled there to spend some time with my Mother and her husband Jim.

While I was there, we went to visit one of Jim’s IBM coworkers.

Our hosts lived in the Shenandoah mountains high atop a ravine in a beautiful wooden house. They were obviously comfortably affluent.

The lady of the house was dressed in an appropriately 1970s stylishly long dress and her lovely blonde hair was done up in a bun. She wore an apron and when she was not preparing dinner she was knitting in her rocking chair.

Our conversation eventually revolved around to books and what we were reading. She told me that her favorite book was THE TOTAL WOMAN by Marabel Morgan.

I told her that I was unfamiliar with this book.

It was then that she excused herself and got up from her rocking chair and left the room. A few minutes later she reemerged carrying a paperback in her hands.

She handed it to me.

“Here,” she said to me.

“You can keep it.”

It was the book she had just mentioned.

On the cover was the lovely Marabel Morgan with her hair perfectly coiffed wearing a pink dress suit. It was uber 1970’s feminine fashion and of course, Marabel herself was beaming back at me from where she sat on the front cover.

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As our hostess began to explain the premise of the book, I could feel Mother begin to bristle. She said nothing, but even from across the room I could keenly sense a low growl.

Mother’s beaming countenance still had the demeanour of a graceful and happy visiting houseguest.

But I knew better.

Mother, no doubt had heard of this book before.

Upon closer examination, each chapter of this book pertained to how to have a happy marriage.

And how do you have a happy marriage?

According to the book THE TOTAL WOMAN a wife must be 100% totally submissive to their husband, and have his dinner and martini ready for him when he gets home. Further, a wife must never ask their husband for anything and thus be a nag.

Yup, just when you think the dark ages are a think of the past, some yahoo comes along and resurrects backward thinking.

Go figure.

After several appearances on the Phil Donahue show, Marabel Morgan was unceremoniously crowned as queen of the anti-feminists.

Perhaps there are some of you who think that such backwards thinking is at long last a thing of the past.

Think again.

One recent movie release, is a clever variation on this very same theme. It promotes male superiority and female submission in no uncertain terms.

I’m grateful that Mother gave me that warning shot across the bow which immediately made me wary of the backwards thinking that fills Marabel Morgan’s book, THE TOTAL WOMAN.

It’s easy to get swept up in what is thought to be popular, trendy and right.

But in the end I hope you will agree as I differ with another one of today’s popular trends:

It’s not about the bass…

It’s about the R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

~.~.~.~.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 126: Homage To Trixie Belden

25 Wednesday Feb 2015

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The first books that I loved to read were the Trixie Belden mystery series written by Julie Campbell Tatham.

It was the summer of 1968 when I was introduced to the series through a friend of mine. After I read the first one, I wanted to read them all.

But that was easier said than done.

The only store that I could buy them for myself did not carry the entire series of fifteen books. It was hit and miss whenever a new shipment of books came in.

Sadly for me, it was mostly miss.

Another one of my favourite book series was ‘Cherry Ames, Student Nurse’. This was about a young woman who trains to become a nurse just as the Second World War is about to break out. Subsequent books chronicle her nursing adventures in the years that follow, including the discovery of penicillin.

Good stuff!

Several years back, I attended a ‘pinning ceremony’ for my daughter just days before she received her degree as a registered nurse. The guest speaker spoke at length about how she also read the Cherry Ames series of books when she herself was a young girl. It was this series of books that inspired her to become a nurse. She is currently head of nursing in one of Toronto’s major hospitals.

This was an incredible lesson for me on the positive power of books in a young person’s life.

Last month, I found a Trixie Belden book on a used book counter.

As I read the back of the cover, imagine my glee when I realized that this was one of the few elusive Trixie Belden books I had not been able to find as a girl.

Oh, the serendipity…

I’m sure that Trixie is still the curious, mischievous little sleuth that she was in 1968, and that her neighbour and best friend Honey is still as lovely as ever.

However, it is truly a lifetime since I’ve last visited them. I am much older now and have two grown daughters of my own. Hence, hopscotch and jumping rope are no longer my forté.

I look forward to seeing them again very soon.

I hope they recognize me.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 123: Confessions Of A Forgetful Reader

22 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by in Books, Friends, Reading, Work

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Every now and again, I have an epiphany.

The word Epiphany, as per Wikipedia…

Epiphany (feeling), the sudden realization or comprehension of the essence or meaning of something.

My epiphany happened at work while I was sitting across the table from a co-worker, Miss H.

She and I were discussing the subject of reading.

“I don’t get to read much anymore,” she told me. “By the time I get the kids in bed I’m too tired.”

“I used to read a lot too,” I admitted. “However, I’m really frustrated that the majority of books that I’ve read over the years have all melded together and I can’t remember them anymore.”

Then I let out a deep breath and wearily confessed my fears…

“I sometimes wonder if all that reading was worth my time and effort.”

I could instantly sense Miss H.’s back stiffen. She then looked at me and said…

“Yes, but you did enjoy reading them, didn’t you?”

With that comment, I was stunned into silence.

She was right of course.

As I was leaving work, I spotted Miss H. by the exit doors and walked over to her.

“I want to thank you for what you said to me.”

“No need to,” she replied.

“I know what it’s like. Why just the other day I was trying to remember that book … you know the one, written by… what’s his name, and it was about, uh… you know that guy and the thing he did.”

We both laughed as we walked outside and went our separate ways.

Today, I learned this lesson:

Reading isn’t always about the plot, or to gain knowledge or insight. Sometimes, reading can just be about having some time to myself.

Reading can also bring people together in ways that they never expected.

For example, When Miss H. and I left work today we were both smiling.

Imagine that!

Thanks Miss. H.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post Ninety-Nine: Lessons From My Father… *Respect All Books*

29 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by in Books, Crafts, Family, Family Stories, Reading, Stories

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In the years that followed after losing my Father to cancer, I wanted to take stock of all the lessons that he had tried to teach me in life.

Did I say teach?

Drum into my head might be more accurate.

It took me years to remember what some of those lessons were.

Ten years later, slowly, very slowly one of the lessons has finally risen to the surface.

Today, as I took a newly purchased book out of my shopping bag, one of those lessons hit home as I remembered a similar scene with my Father.

The scene was of me coming home after my first day of school in grade two. I had just brought home several new school books which had just been assigned to me by my teacher. They included an elementary reader, math, and geography book.

My Father led me to the kitchen table where he had just placed my newly acquired text books. He had gathered a pencil, scissors, and ruler along with a large piece of heavy paper. His preferred choice of paper was usually a recycled piece of wrapping paper, a unwanted street map, or an old poster. However, I do remember times when a newspaper, or the funny papers would do in a pinch.

He would sit me down, and with pencil and ruler he began to measure and mark the big sheet of paper laid out before him.

With several long straight lines here and a couple of notches there he would then take the scissors and carefully cut along the pencil drawn edges. He finished off with two neat folds along the top and bottom. Then there would be another two more, one to the left and then the right sides.

…and VOILA!

We now had a book cover.

Father would then take the front cover of the school book and slip into into the neatly measured front flap. Then he would do the same with the back cover.

In teaching me the importance of these homemade book-covers, I learned many different things.

First, it taught me that books are to be handled with both care and respect. I still have books that Father gave me. The ones with these sorts of covers are still in their prime. The other books are not so lucky.

Secondly, it is indeed a noble thing to take care of something that does not belong to you. I was always proud to give all borrowed books back to the school at the end of the year, intact and with a minimal amount of blemishes.

Last, I learned that you can take something which is otherwise considered useless and unwanted and turn it into something with the potential to be both useful and meaningful. That accounts for the used wrapping paper, old street maps, and last weeks Saturday comic section from the newspaper.

And there you have it. It only took ten years to sort this particular lesson out, but it finally hit home.

I only hope I don’t have to wait another ten years till I figure out the next lesson.

Post 70: JOY STORY

23 Tuesday Dec 2014

Posted by in Books, Christmas, Family, History, Reading, Stories, Teaching

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A long time ago my Father told me about a book he had once read.

The book had been required reading for his teaching degree.

He told me the following story, and he told it well.

To this day I can remember how it’s profound wisdom humbled me.

The only thing that my Father could not remember about this story was the title of the book and who wrote it.

Should you recognize this story and happen to know it’s title and/or author, please let me know….

This story begins with a family living high in the rural mountains. A farmer lived in a small house with his wife and son.

They raised chickens and goats and owned several cows.

They lived off the land.

In the book, the young boy talks about the family preparations for Christmas.

This young boy is anticipating the impending trip into town which will be made the following day. The journey into town will be a long arduous trek down the mountain made with a horse and a donkey.

Anticipation of this trip…

…brought him joy.

Tomorrow morning, he told himself… everyone will rise very early. Mother will have my clean clothes all prepared.

The next day, as Father and Son prepare to leave, Mother handed her son the list of items needed to do the Christmas baking.

The list was simple and short.

He opened a piece of paper and read what was written on it.

Sugar, flour, spices, oranges, nuts, vanilla.

As he read her list…

…he felt joy.

Warmly bundled they began their long journey down the mountain. The trip into town did not happen often but when it did the boy really enjoyed the time he spent with his father.

As they meandered through the crunchy snow on the downward trail…

…he felt joy.

Upon arriving into town they entered the dry goods store with shopping list in hand.

The young boy always enjoyed wandering through the store. There was so many lovely things to look at, so many practical things to wish for.

Just being inside the store…

…brought him joy.

Once all the items had been procured, Father and son returned to the horse and donkey and begin their long slow trip back up the mountain to their home.

Outside, it was much colder now. But the boy was comfortably at ease in spite of the cold weather because of all his warm clothing. He was grateful for his Father’s old coat and his Mother’s knitted sweater, mitts, hat, gloves and socks.

And as he thought of his Mother knitting beside the fire…

…it brought him joy.

At last, Father and son arrived home again.

The newly purchased items were ceremoniously carried inside the house and presented to Mother.

The boy reveled in his Mother’s happiness and he felt blessed to have such wonderful parents.

And as his mind acknowledged the love he had for his family…

…he felt great joy.

In the next two days the smell of his Mother’s baking filled the entire house.

His senses were filled with cinnamon, nutmeg, orange and vanilla.

And as he helped his Mother prepare the dough for baking, he marvelled at how silky the flour and butter felt as he ran it through his fingers.

And this too…

…brought him joy.

As he watched the cookies warming themselves in the oven he thought his heart would burst with Christmas joy.

It was Christmas Eve, and he was truly happy.

Then, the young boy thought to himself:

I can only imagine all the children who are more fortunate than I…

…These children whose parents can provide them with money, expensive clothes and toys, and big fancy houses filled with beautiful furniture.

These children who have a hundred times the possessions that I have…

Just think of how much happier they must be than I am right now…

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 44: Regrets, I’ve Had A Few

01 Monday Dec 2014

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We’ve all had regrets in life.

My first major regret happened when I was seventeen years old although I did not realize my missed opportunity until a decade later.

On a Friday in November 1976 during my grade twelve world religions class, our teacher announced that he had an extra curricular activity that he wanted us, his class, to participate in.

Our mission was to find our way downtown to St. John’s Anglican Church that Sunday evening where the Dalai Lama would be making an unprecedented appearance.

Did I go?

No.

I had never heard of the Dalai Lama, nor did I have any interest in learning about the Buddhist religion.

Older and wiser now almost forty years later, and I have yet to forgive myself.

Several years back I told a coworker this story.

She then told me that her young daughter along with her school choir had been recently invited to sing for the Dalai Lama during his visit to Canada.

She then told me that she did to allow her daughter to go because she did not want her daughter’s Christian beliefs confused by anything that the Dalai Lama had to say.

I told her that was a very bad call on her part. There is a good chance that her daughter will have issues about her Mother’s decision not to let her sing with her school choir for the Dalai Lama.

Think of the insight she would have gained by listening to his live and engaging message on peace, love and forgiveness. His life’s experiences alone carry lessons that we can all learn from.

Several years ago, I had a problem with any parent who forbade their children from reading J.K. Rawlings HARRY POTTER series. Similarly, they were not allowed to see the movies either.

I grew up in a Baptist family. My grandfather was a Baptist Minister. All my cousins regularly attended Sunday School, no exceptions.

However, our entire family revelled in fairytales and movies even if the storyline included witches and spells and potions.

I am grateful for the fact, that all the adults in our family had enough confidence in us, their children, nieces and nephews that we would accept the offered movie or storyline for what it was:

A work of fiction.

There was never any question of what was reality and what was sheer imagination.

So began the lessons to maturely make decisions for ourselves.

And these lessons continue to this day.

I hope the same for you and yours.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 12: A Thing About Vampires… With Apologies To Stephen King

12 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by in Authors, Books, Horror, Reading

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Everyone has a fear of one type of unnatural creature or another.
It could be mummies, a disembodied hand, zombies, werewolves and worse.

For me, it’s vampires.

It all began in the early 1970’s when I went to a vampire double feature at the movies. The first movie was THE FEARLESS VAMPIRE KILLERS with Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski. This parody was subtitle: “Pardon me, but your teeth are in my neck”.

The second feature was DARK SHADOWS, the movie based on the popular 1960’s television show, starring Jonathan Frid who died not too long ago in Ancaster Ontario, about thirty miles from where I live.

There was a scene when Barnabas Collins suddenly appeared behind a sheer curtain at a moonlight filled window. Only a few seconds later, he was feasting on some poor girl’s neck. For quite a while after that, I wore a scarf to bed and tried my best to sleep with one eye open.

My bedroom curtains were sheer and hid nothing.

Okay, now fast forward to 1977. It is June and I’m on my honeymoon with my new husband in Toronto at the Eaton Shopping Center. We enter a bookstore and begin looking around for nothing in particular.

We didn’t have much money and so that ruled out buying any hardcovers.

While in the paperback section, my husband reaches for a paperback, skims the back cover, and then holds it out to me.

“Here,” he says to me, “I want you to read this.”

I take it into my hands and begin to read what it’s about. I quickly learn that it’s about… guess what? Of course, it’s about vampires. Even the title SALEM’S LOT (by Stephen King) is ominous.

I remember shaking my head NO and muttering something to Frank that I didn’t like vampires. But unfortunately, he was most insistent.

“Read it,” he insisted as he continued to hold it out to me.

It had been a while since I read a book, and I had heard alot about this new author.

Besides, within a few days we I would find myself on a long voyage out east to Nova Scotia where Frank had been newly stationed. I thought the book might help break the monotony.

We bought it.

Sure enough, before I knew it, Frank and I were on our way to start a new life in a new province. The car was filled with all that we owned, clothes, music, and each other.

I think we were in the middle of Quebec when I first opened the book and began to read it. Oddly enough, when I think back, I remember reading it while listening to Art Garfunkel’s new album ANGEL CLAIRE.

As days went by, I delved further and further into the book. It became more and more bloody and increasingly difficult to bear. Every now and again, Frank would ask me how I was enjoying the book.

“It’s bloody scary.” I’d answer. He’d give me an odd look of puzzlement, which I could never really figure out.

At long last came the day when I finally, …finally finished SALEM’S LOT.

With a deep and heavy sigh, I closed the book for the last time. No doubt the visions of glowing eyes, and bloody necks would stay with me for a very long time.

I wondered to myself how long it would be before I ever read another vampire novel again. (About 20 years – INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE by Anne Rice)

To this day, whenever I hear Art Garfunkel, scenes from SALEMS’S LOT floods my senses.

Very weird.

And of course, came the moment when Frank ultimately asked me the question that I knew he had been dying to ask…

“How did you like the book?”

“Well,” I began, “the first few chapters weren’t that gory, but boy by the middle of the book I was completely immersed in all the gory ritualistic details that make vampires the blood soaked individuals that they are.

Again, he gave me one of those quizzical looks.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

With that, I recounted several high points of the plot… the ones ever etched in my mind and never to forget.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Are you sure?”

I nodded yes.

He thought for a moment then said to me…

“Sorry, it must have been another book that I was thinking about.”