I read a lot as a kid (young man) as I grew so did my love of books, words, and the worlds that words build in the mind’s eye of the reader.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to be a binge reader. I mean if I read a book by Hemingway I would read as many in a row as I could. John Steinbeck was a favorite. I read the Grapes of Wrath, but The Red Pony was one of my favorites as was The Pearl. I loved the worlds opened to me through books. Some times filled with great tragedy others great love many filled with both. I wanted the love, skip the tragedy. I didn’t realize the linking of the two were not simple literary devices, but more a reflection of reality.
John Toland’s biographical work on Hitler and The Rising Sun were more than “good reads” they were used to feed the history bug in me. I was interested in the world as it was just before I was.
Today, I read all the time, but books are a rare pleasure. Technical journals and articles take my focus more than I would like. And the world is moving much faster these days; or at least it sure feels like it. Distant memories pass by like whiffs of smoke, lying in a field of grass in Ohio (before chiggers) and looking up at the stars. A strand of timothy in my mouth and the smell of dew and wildflowers filling the air. Little did I realize how precious those days would become.
Unfettered thought. No concern of the economy, world events or unemployment statistics; my thoughts were consumed with more pressing matters. Would I finish that homemade butterfly net I had designed in my daydreaming. A spare 1 inch dowel I had spotted in dad’s shop, a discarded pair of pantyhose with a run down the leg, and a hanger I could “appropriate” without notice to clip, bend and serve as a frame. That makeshift net was quite the site with both legs filling with air as I chased butterflies in the early autumn fields. I’m sure mom got a laugh as she looked out from the kitchen window.
I don’t own a kindle, or nook, as much a fan of Star Tek as I am, I hesitate to give in to the technological lifeless feel of plastic in my hand. Instead I prefer the tactile feel of leather and the sound of crisp pages turning one after another. I like the smell of a book, new or old, there is something soothing about a book.
As for Walt Whitman, I have no idea what he once said. I don’t think I ever read him.
