| | I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings--
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be--
I had a Mother who read to me. |
I love to read, and the above poem epitomizes to me all that is magically wonderful about reading. I met a lady today who said she didn't read or write very well, she has disabilities, and I felt so sad for her and all that she was missing by not having a skill that I had acquired so easily, and took for granted.
I am always reading. I often have 3 or 4 books on the go at once, different authors, different genres, mainly fiction but the intermittent biography or historical account pops up in there sometimes.
I do go through phases, as well as through authors. I read a novel that I like, and then I scour the library for other books by the same person and reserve them. Sometimes I have 5 or 6 on hold, from favourite authors, particularly when they are newly published. My local library limits books on hold to 10 at a time, but hubby has picked up 8 in one go before, struggling under the weight of carrying them all.
Currently, I am reading 3 novels:
Two Wars and a Wedding by Lauren Willig;
Blood on Snow by Jo Nesbo
and
Headhunters also by Jo Nesbo.
I am also reading a rather heavy book, emotionally - The Betrayal of Anne Frank: A Cold Case Investigation by Rosemary Sullivan. I first read The Diary Of Anne Frank when I was 7 or 8, and I have re-read it a few times since then.
When we went to Amsterdam in 1998 (a late honeymoon some 13 years after our marriage) we went to the Anne Frank House at Prinsengracht 263. At first, the long line outside was filled with chatter, but as soon as we entered the premises, there was a still reverence.
The attic, surprisingly, seemed quite spacious - until you considered the number of people living there. The fact that they couldn't run water, flush toilets, open windows for air, walk about, all the things we take for granted in our daily lives. Then you could feel the oppression of a smaller space than it first appeared.
The view across the canal hasn't changed much in the decades since the war, and the cobblestone streets remain. One could almost hear the Nazi jackboots marching down the street.
Had I not have read the original Diary, there are many things that I would not have found a sad passion for, the Holocaust being one. Trying to understand man's inhumanity to man, as they say. It taught me about the bravery of everyday people, people who risked their own lives to help persecuted Jewish friends.
So, despite their being many who claim that the cold case results are unproven, wrong or even defamatory, I am reading the book with an open mind. Especially since it does contain input from the Frank family's friends and associates.
Emotionally though, it is a heavy book. Hence why I read a few pages, and then turn to one of my fiction ones "for a break".
I love reading though because you can escape into other worlds, learn a new skill, or learn about the world and history.
I'm also passionate about early reading, and taught al my 3 children to read and write before school, and over the years - as a daycare provider and children's nanny - I did the same with the preschoolers in my care. To me, reading provides enrichment and is a basis of preschool teaching. I also loved to read to the little ones, and even had their parents sit and listen in sometimes.
So, now you know. I LOVE to read!
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