Confessions of a Reading Mom

A note came home from the teacher yesterday.  It said my son was reading in class instead of doing research.  I was stunned.  He was reading?  Reading?  Yes!  At first I didn’t understand that the teacher meant this to be a bad thing.  That this was a “I’m sending a note home to your mother” note.  After all, I had written her emails, set up meetings, spoken to her in the hallway . . . all to discuss possible tactics to lure him into a book.  I thought she meant it as a note of success!  

Apparently not.

The truth is my son had to explain to me that this was a reprimand.  I totally didn’t get it.  The note was in his homework folder.  I thought his homework was to do the research since he hadn't done it in class and he could forgo the usual homework of reading for 20 minutes.  

But no.

I am a rule follower.  Always have been.  But NOT ‘always will be.’  The older I get, the more I realize that the rules, though intended to guide and order, also confine.  Sometimes rules are needlessly self-imposed.  There’s a whole other world out there if you step outside them.  I’m a little late to the game in realizing this.  For my son, that world includes a book called Just Annoying.  It was a book I’d picked out for him . . . hoping . . . fingers crossed . . . that it might capture his interest.  (The author has another book titled The Day My Butt Went Psycho.  And I will get it if there’s a chance it can open my son’s heart to reading.) 

I’m not going to tell my son to break the rules.  I’m not that kind of mom.  But right or wrong, I said, clearly and concisely, eye to eye: I’m not mad about this.  

Now go out there and read!

I have a book hangover

Last night was nothing new.  I looked over at the clock and it said 10:37.  Late, but not too late.  The next time I looked up from my book the clock said 11:11.  Too late to ensure a good morning.  By the time I finished the book it was 12:30.  

Instead of catching zzzz's, I read Catching Fire.  All I can say is that I’m glad I waited to read the second Hunger Games book.  The third book is already out.  If I had to wait a year to find out what happens next, I would have been a mad reader.

Instead I am merely a hungover reader.  One who is wise enough to know it is a good thing I do not have the third book in my house.  And since my eyes are protesting over too much screen-reading, I will have make a trip to the physical bookstore to get it.  It will be at least a few days before I can get there.  Enough time to start catching up on sleep.  But really, do you ever catch up?

Fortunately, I do know who Katniss ends up with.  And that’s a good thing.  Because otherwise, I would have been a very mad reader.  (But I won’t tell you unless you ask.  Because one reader’s good thing is another reader’s book ruined.  And a book lover would NEVER do that to a fellow bookie.)

Book it to the hen house

Stranded on a desert island, I’d want books.  Well, first I’d want water but after that books.  Okay -- water, food, shelter, and then books.  Without books, I think I’d end up lost in made-up stories swimming through my solitary but well-entertained mind.  (Note to self: when stranded on a desert island and sans books, scribble stories in the sand to prevent insanity.)    

 If you can relate to any of this (well, maybe not the scribbling sandy stories part), check out The Little Read Hens on Facebook and here.  We’re book lovers, and every Wednesday we chat about books on Facebook.  Our inaugural discussion is The List.  You know that list of your five favorite people, dead or alive, that you’d like to invite to dinner?  We’re taking a slightly different approach.  We’re talking about fictional characters who, if they knocked on our doors, we’d lead them to the boudoir instead of the dining room.  

So come join us in the hen house on Wednesday and share your list of favorite leading men . . .  whether they’re charmingly bespectacled intellectuals, fanged night dwellers, or anything in between.

Hope to see you there.

Path of adventure

Sometimes you have to trust that the path of life will take you where you need to be.  Actually, you should do that all time because there really is no other path to walk.  It’s not like you can hop over to the next trail and walk someone else’s life for awhile.  Your life.  Your path.    

Nowhere is this clearer than in a labyrinth.  I learned that the other day.  I’ve always been intrigued by labyrinths.  There are some around here, mostly in churches, but I’d never been to one.  So during my last hour at the Serenbe Inn, I followed their not-exactly-to-scale map to get to the labyrinth.  The path there went under an arbor, over a wooden bridge that crossed a small lake, and into a woods dotted with Greek statues.  For a moment I thought the first statue was a person, a strangely slender person of unusual skin color.  I admit I was a little on edge.  I was worried about someone else being around.  I didn’t want a witness for my first time walking a labyrinth.  What if I didn’t do it right?  Plus I was having some difficulty with the map and had made a couple of wrong turns.  But it led me true, mostly, and I found the entrance.  

Serenbe’s labyrinth is laid out with stones and you can enter to the left or the right.  I had to make a choice.  Already the labyrinth was mirroring life, and I really didn’t like it.  What if I choose the wrong the way?  Was there a correct way to start?  Was it like a bike path and there were unwritten rules somewhere?  I looked around.  There were no instructions anywhere.  A little podium of sorts stood close by, but there was nothing on it.  I was pretty sure the instructions had blown away.  

I choose left.     

I walked the first loop of the labyrinth only to find that it brought me surprisingly close to the center.  This was bad!  I’d just gotten started and I was almost done.  Left was surely the wrong way to begin.  Take the wrong road, make the wrong choice, and the (meditative) path of life is short!  There was so much I hadn’t explored.  But just before the center, the trail turned and turned again.  

The labyrinth worked -- twisting and turning, following a path to the center, a journey within.  While my thoughts didn’t dissipate and leave me with a peaceful mind, they did become clearer.  After all there was nothing to do but walk . . . and occasionally glance around to make sure no one else was coming . . . a steady rhythm jostling thoughts into order so they become easier to examine even if they don’t melt away.

The center still came too soon.  I plopped down on one of the five stone blocks in the middle like it was a natural part of the process.  I now know it’s not.  When I got home I googled labyrinths.  I’m pretty sure Serenbe’s labyrinth is laid out like the one at Chartres, but a traditional Chartres labyrinth has no seats in the middle and has only one way to enter: left.  I’d chosen correctly.  I was so proud of my natural labyrinth walking instincts.  Okay, so pride has no place in a meditative walk.  I know.  I need practice. 

After a few minutes of sitting in the center with my thoughts, I walked out following the path I’d taken in.  That is part of the journey, to take out into the world what is discovered within. 

(Strangely enough, that is exactly what the novel I just finished writing is all about.  Walking the path of life, listening to the voice within, finding your true self . . .  all with alien gods and true love mixed in.  I know  . . . I can hardly believe it either!)  

I want to go back to Serenbe just to walk the labyrinth again.  And for the food, too.  And the quiet.  And that table on the lakehouse porch I claimed for own.  Okay, basically for the overall fabulousness that is Serenbe.  

When I go back I’ll head to the labyrinth first.  I’ll be sure to pack my tennis shoes just for that.  You should too.

For when you walk the path of life, wear comfortable shoes.

THE END

It's done.  The first draft of my third book.  This one is a sci-fi romance.  The title is still undecided.  Shamaness?  Soul's Breath?  Soul Possession?  That's just a few from a long list.  

Building the world took a long time.  So did the plot for that matter.  I finished eight days past my original (self-imposed) deadline.  (I hate missing deadlines, but I thought I was going to be later than that.)  

It's a relief to be done and to know that I pulled the plot together.  At least I think I did.  We'll see how the second draft goes!

Celebrated with frappuccinos with the kids.  (Sans coffee for them, of course.)

YAY!