On reading

This afternoon a friend from a few doors down showed up on my doorstep wanting to borrow a book. She'd never been to my house to know that I have a few bookshelves. We'd never even talked books before. She just had a hunch that this might be a good place to start.

Do my heart good.

I'm sure my eyes lit up with anticipation of sending her home with something good to read.

The past four months or so I have been a reading manic. Since my sewing machine is in the shop (my mom has loaned me an old machine of hers... but it isn't the same), and my alone time is minimal at best, I've found that there's nothing better than a good book these days.

I nurse and read while Raymond explores (and tears apart) the house. Or he reads a book of his own on the couch (seriously darling). We all lay on our bellies on the floor with a book (or toy) at hand. When the babelins are finally sleeping at night, I curl up on the couch and read and read and read.

And so pass the days.

I have always been an avid re-reader. I honestly don't remember what happened in a book just weeks after finishing it. (Contrasting with my dad who will remember minute details years after reading a book).

Most of the books I've read most recently are just ones I've picked up off my own shelves and decided to read again. To Kill a Mockingbird (heavens, how many times have I read that book?). The Emily of New Moon series (borrowed from Sara). The Chronicles of Narnia.

The funny thing is, I am often surprised by things I simply don't remember from a previous reading. Things are familiar and comfortable, but fresh. I love that about a well-loved and oft-read book. They are like old friends whom I haven't seen in a while. Somehow the conversation always is new, but the feeling the same.