“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.”
The morning is lovely but already hot. It will be in the mid 80’s. I’ll be doing deck work while the back is still shaded. On my to-do list cleaning the chairs sweeping the deck. The potted flowers are beautiful. Their colors are popping after yesterday’s rain. Nala loves lying in the shade on the deck.
I am always amazed at how quiet my neighborhood is on Sundays. There are kids on my street, but they disappear every Sunday. The quiet reminds me of my childhood Sundays when everything was closed, families went together to church and Sunday dinner was special. My bike stayed in the cellar. We hung round the house. I’d read the funnies and watch movies. My father sat in the chair by the picture window and read the paper. My mother was in the kitchen making dinner. The menu always included a roast of some sort, gravy, mashed potatoes and a veggie or two. It was always the best dinner of the week.
During the summer we stayed up late on Sundays. The rest of the year my mother used the pretext that Monday was a school day so we had to go to bed early. I begrudgingly went. I’d try to read a little, but my mother would keep telling me to turn out the light and go to sleep as if I could fall asleep at will. I hated Sunday nights.
I have favorite books. When I was a kid, I loved The Wind in the Willows. I loved Mole, Ratty, Badger and Mr. Toad, but I loved Mole the most. I still have my copy of the book. When I read Little Women, I loved the March family, especially Jo, the renegade. The book was a Christmas present. It was a Whitman book with a hard cardboard cover and a colored front of Jo sitting on a lounge and reading. I read that book twice. Robert Lewis Stevenson’s novels were on the favorite list. I read Treasure Island first, but I remember when we went to Maine one year for vacation. There was a small room off the kitchen with wicker furniture and a bookcase filled with books. A Child’s Garden of Verses was one of those books. I read it from cover to cover then read it again. It was as if my life had been captured in poetry, my imagination tapped and my dreams brought to life.
The sloth in me is strong. I have to get moving.
keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
July 14, 2024 at 6:16 pm
I loved to read as a kid, Enid Blyton, Richmal Crompton, Frank Richards all brought joy to the austere days after the war.
I have finally progressed to using a Kindle as well as the joy of a hard back book. My taste tends to be non fiction and 20th century European history. The biggest issue is who would want a read book when I am finished ? A friend from France has similar taste
Every now and again I search out the author and enter in to a dialogue about the book if it has a family connection. Most recently Anthony Sheldon and I woofed at each other as I read “Paths of Peace”. The modern world adds a whole new dimension
July 14, 2024 at 10:19 pm
My Dear Hedley,
Classics were popular when I was a kid. I read them all. My mother read us Robinson Crusoe as a bedtime story. Later I got into mysteries and was happy to find books where the protagonist was a girl who solved mysteries in her hometown.
My iPad doubles as a kindle. I have l loaded it with books, but I also read real, hardcover books. I have a little library in front, and it gets traffic.
I haven’t ever thought about writing to authors I enjoy.
July 14, 2024 at 8:22 pm
Hi Kat,
Clear skies and only 99°.
The first country I visited was Mexico when I was a kid.
My uncle Jack lived in El Paso and my mother had no idea how far that was when she took us on a 16 hour train trip. From Dallas, El Paso is further than St. Louis. It’s almost half way to Los Angeles.
My uncle and aunt were living in Juarez because my aunt was a Mexican citizen and she had to wait to immigrate to El Paso. I remember having my picture taken while sitting on a donkey and wearing a big straw hat in the Main Street.
In those days Texas was a dry state, no alcoholic beverages allowed, and Juarez was a wide open town. Everyone from El Paso crossed the Rio Grande to have fun. My uncle had lived there since he was discharged from the Army at Ft. Bliss in the 1930s. He knew practically everyone on both sides of the border. He even spoke pigeon Spanglish with a little Yiddish thrown in for good measure. When returning to the U.S. you didn’t even have to leave your car. The border guard would ask your citizenship through the open window and let you enter.