A couple weeks before Christmas 2012,
my friend Erikka stopped by my desk to give me a Christmas present.
Erikka has the distinct honor of being my first new friend in Maine,
and one of the reasons we had bonded so quickly was our mutual love
of books. That day I opened her gift to find the book “Outlander”
by Diana Gabaldon. She had been telling me about this series pretty
much since the day we met, and while I always thought it sounded
interesting I was always distracted away from reading it by other
books. However, I knew that if the books were half as good as Erikka
made them sound I wouldn't stop at Outlander and used a Barnes &
Noble gift card I had to buy the second book before I even started
the first. This was a decision I was very grateful I'd made, because
when I finished Outlander I spent about 15 seconds marveling at the
story it's cover held before walking across my living room to pick up
the second book (Dragonfly in Amber) quickly losing myself in it's
pages. While I was reading Dragonfly, Maine had a massive snowstorm.
I left for work the morning it started knowing that I might not make
it home that night – that I might instead have to rent a hotel room
in Portland if the roads were too bad to drive in. My preparation for
this possibility was to make sure that Synge (my cat) had extra food
and water, and to make sure I had that book with me. I didn't care
about extra clothes, or a toothbrush, I only need that book. When I
got around to book 4 I had put myself on a no book buying ban, but
the thought of not finding out what came next in Jamie and Claire's
story was unthinkable. I got a library card for the sole purpose of
being able to read Drums of Autumn. Afterwards I made a rule to wait
at least one month between each book, because when I read them I got
nothing else done and my life was looking a little ragged around the
edges. This past fall I finished the (then) last published book An
Echo in the Bone. I found myself staring at a 6 month wait before the
next book was going to be released, and wondered how on earth I was
going to live life between then and June 10th. I knew my
book buying ban would be broken for it, and knew it would be worth
every penny. I was sooooooo excited.
This brings me to last Sunday, two days
before Written in My Hearts Own Blood was scheduled for release in
the US. That night I finished the book I was reading and needed
something that would hold me over the day and half until I could buy
my long awaited book. So what did I do? Did I pick something short,
easy, a quick read that would really not delay me diving in to My
Hearts Own Blood? Did I maybe just pick up a book that I had already
read and would therefore be able to easily put down because I knew
what it's pages told? Did I go out and buy a magazine full of essays?
(I should note that not reading at all was simply not an option) No.
Instead I picked up a a new book that I'd had for awhile and decided
that right then I should start reading it. What book was this you may
ask? Why Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. Not short, not easy,
definitely not quick, and like I just said, not one I had read
before. And yet, even though a week later (and five days after the
release of My Hearts Own Blood) I'm only 150 pages in, and it will
take me several more weeks before I finish and am ready to move on to
a new book, I find I am ok with this.
The narrative of Anna Karenina is one
those intoxicating combinations of a captivating story told amidst a
beautiful use of language and words. Every page intrigues me, the
story constantly pulling me in making me want more, and almost every
page is marked with my pen because my eyes have seen a combination of
words so lovely I practically shiver with delight! I can see why it
has become a classic, why it's been read for generations, and why it
will live on in the future.
Possibly more on her story later, but
for now on to another topic. Today is Father's Day, and hopefully
millions of dads out there woke up to find themselves surrounded by
the love of their families and children. I wish more than anything
that I were one of those children, and that I got to spend the day
with my dad doing whatever his heart desired. But of course that
wasn't possible. I remember the first Father's day after my dad died.
Or rather I remember a couple weeks before that day, when waiting for
my mom at the check out line in Wal-Mart I walked over to a card
display chock full of cards celebrating the awesomeness of dads. I
picked one up and then was hit with the realization that I would
never again buy a card for my dad. While I obviously on some level
had already known this, I hadn't seriously considered it. And the
effect of having just done so felt like I had been punched in the
stomach. In that moment the pain of losing my dad felt as close and
new and raw as the day he died. In the years since, I have spent
every Father's Day doing at least one thing to honor my dads memory.
Once I actually did buy a card, I'd wrote him a letter in it and then
left it on a park bench. Today I woke up and danced around my
apartment to one of his favorite songs. The weather was beautiful
(and mercifully not humid), so I went for a short hike through the
woods, something he would have enjoyed. I ate good food, and spent
some time reading a good book – both things he loved. I listened to
some Harry Potter on cd (a favorite pastime for us both!), and I even
had Prairie Home Companion playing in the background as I ate
breakfast. I also tried to draw some inspiration from his engineering
mind to come up with a solution for some DIY home improvement
although I'm not sure how successful I was.
I love my dad and always will. He was
the strongest man I have ever known in so many ways. He loved me and
my sisters and my mom, and never failed to let us know it. He set an
example I think few people can ever meet. While I miss him more than
I have words to express I am so thankful that out of all the dads in
the world he was mine.
We all have something that makes us happy, gleeful, something that brings out our childlike spirit. For me the thing that does this most of all is Harry Potter. I know this post makes me sound completely "ridikulous", but I really don't care. My response to anyone who asks me if I can really love a series of books this much is...Always.... 