Like A Day From My Past

When I was younger, I read and read and read. Really, all of us kids did. We got it from my dad. He takes a book, magazine, something everywhere he goes. My family would go on vacation and he'd read three, four books in a week. He doesn't just read the books, though; he remembers their content for years.

One day in fifth grade, my teacher pulled me aside and said, "Charlotte, I need you to stop reading during class. I know you're not having any trouble in school, but it sets a bad example for the other students. They can't read one thing and learn something else at the same time." I had all different ways of hiding my reading, but obviously my teacher did have eyes in the back of her head!

In middle school I'd stay up late reading Lurlene McDaniel books. I was addicted to them. The plotline of all the books was something like this:

1) Main character, who was a teenager, had a deadly disease.
2) MC either had a wonderful, loving boy/girlfriend at the time or gradually grew into just such a relationship.
3) Meanwhile, the disease became more and more serious.
4) In the end, MC either recovers and the relationship holds much promise OR MC dies and the boy/girlfriend promises to do certain things in the MC's memory.

Granted, the plotline may not sound like much, but to a middle school girl, could there be anything better? (Yes, I do still get teased about these books by my older sibs.)

In college, reading for pleasure decreased a bit because of all the school reading that was required. However, I did spend almost an entire weekend just lying in my loft freshman year, reading Pride and Prejudice. And of course there's the afternoon Sonia and I read the play The Importance of Being Earnest aloud to each other from atop her bed.

Yet today was like a day from my past. John's gone this weekend, so I read for five hours today. Five glorious hours. Five glorious hours with Anne Shirley. Now there's a story that was enchanting when I was young and still is.