I love to read while I’m waiting in line.
I love to read while eating.
I’d read in the tub, if I took baths.
I even read while I’m reading; cross-referencing of course.
It’s a habit from being an only child.
My birth name was chosen from the book by Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind. The Breeder liked how it looked in print.
I was eleven when I went to the Berkeley Public Library on Shattuck Avenue to borrow it, only to be told that it was “Too big of a book for such a little girl.”
I rode my bike home fuming.
I’d show that librarian… It was my first spite-read, when I was given a copy to borrow, by a nice neighbor.
We didn’t have a TV when I lived in Berkeley, this was the full-blown hippie-era.
The Breeder had a box of comic books that we would read over and over again.
Her comic books. Donald Duck. Scrooge McDuck. Little Lulu. Zap!, Womenz Comix. The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.
I loved Fat Freddy’s Cat.
In Hippie-school, Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Madeleine L’Engle were passed around, as well-worn paperbacks with yellow pages and bent covers.
I read Alive! and Chariots of the Gods then. I had The Encyclopedia of Cats practically memorized.
Friday night dinners-out, I didn’t like to sit around the adults when they would have their coffee (and talk and talk and talk and talk).
I’d happily go wait in the car and read. I spent many after-dinners in the backseat of the car with Judy Blume, Nancy Drew, and Little House books.
When my dad lived in Hawaii, I read the paperback Helter Skelter, my first foray into true crime!
Funny that, I realize when by reading Dave McGowan’s Programmed to Kill, and Operation Gladio by Paul K. Williams, early serial murders and 80’s Euro-terrorism both were constructs of the same evil, the C.I.A., which now has it’s own section in my library.
One thing about moving so much in my life, are the books that have been lost along the way.
I loaned my copy of Ba-ra-kei: Ordeal by Roses to Harry Dean Stanton, and never received it back.
Never loan books out.