It's taken me forty minutes to get this far!
Every time I've settled in to blog a little, there's been 'Mum! Drink!' Or the phone has rung, I've remembered some task I intended to complete earlier, Patches-cat has become shut in a cupboard, Mrs. Kitty has decided that the biscuits left from last night simply aren't good enough.
Never am I more distracted than when I am trying to read. It appears that a book in my hand is the green light for all present (or not present) to demand my attention for just long enough to break my attention. 'Sweetheart, have you seen those 10mm Dynabolts?' Seen what? Why are you asking me?
'Mum! Bum!' 'Ask daddy, he'll change you.' 'No! Mum! Bum!' Sigh.
The FaceTime will go off- 'Hello, my darling daughter!' 'Hi dad, what's up?'
By this time I can't tell you what my book is about, let alone who wrote it or the title. If I was at a 'good bit' I'm quite out of sorts for some time!
All these distractions lead me to read at night, lying in bed next to my little girl, phone torch directed at my page, snuggled under the covers. The cats usually cuddle up around my knees although at times they like to investigate the light, usually earning a gentle shove for their pains.
In this way, I will read until one or two in the morning, wrapped in the worlds created before me, absorbed in their quests, their joys and their sorrows. Occasionally my girl will stir, sigh and roll over, one hand groping for her dummy, the other clutching her teddy bear. My partner will text on his break 'Love my girls.'
Once this missive is received, I find a good place to stop, check my page number, turn off my phone lot and snuggle down to a deep, dream filled sleep.
I'll be tired in the morning, but that's all right. Isn't that what coffee is for?
28 April, 2013
26 April, 2013
Why do you read so much?
It's a question I'm asked at least daily. Often by my mother, regularly by my lovely man. In curious tones, exasperated tones, confused, irritated, concerned, baffled tones.
I answer differently, according to the interrogator, my mood, and how many times I've been asked today.
Honestly though, I read because I can. I've always loved to read. My mum has a picture of me, sitting on her lap at six months, 'reading' the paper.
I was reading fairly fluently by four, having been taught out of exasperation by that redoubtable matriarch and was unstoppable by seven.
By twelve, I was unable to tell you if I'd eaten but I could describe in detail the world I was currently immersed in.
I've had to slow down somewhat at twenty one, as the demands of a nearly-2 year old are difficult to ignore when you're being clocked over the head with a glass bottle and the yell "Mum! milk!" shatters the delicate castle in the air.
Bean already 'stirs pots' at her little kitchen with a book in her other hand. She hands books to me with two hands, and turns pages by the corner. 'Book,' is said in reverential, awed tones. Start them early! Worked with me!
To be absolutely fair, she also throws books; never walks but runs; climbs everything and loves to 'help' daddy in his shed.
I read to expand my knowledge. A volume of Greek history is just as interesting as a Georgette Heyer, and probably twice as good for me. I read to dream of other times, other cultures, other wheres.
I read to challenge myself. I read to exercise my imagination.
And yes, I read so I don't have to do laundry. Doesn't everyone?
I answer differently, according to the interrogator, my mood, and how many times I've been asked today.
Honestly though, I read because I can. I've always loved to read. My mum has a picture of me, sitting on her lap at six months, 'reading' the paper.
I was reading fairly fluently by four, having been taught out of exasperation by that redoubtable matriarch and was unstoppable by seven.
By twelve, I was unable to tell you if I'd eaten but I could describe in detail the world I was currently immersed in.
I've had to slow down somewhat at twenty one, as the demands of a nearly-2 year old are difficult to ignore when you're being clocked over the head with a glass bottle and the yell "Mum! milk!" shatters the delicate castle in the air.
Bean already 'stirs pots' at her little kitchen with a book in her other hand. She hands books to me with two hands, and turns pages by the corner. 'Book,' is said in reverential, awed tones. Start them early! Worked with me!
To be absolutely fair, she also throws books; never walks but runs; climbs everything and loves to 'help' daddy in his shed.
I read to expand my knowledge. A volume of Greek history is just as interesting as a Georgette Heyer, and probably twice as good for me. I read to dream of other times, other cultures, other wheres.
I read to challenge myself. I read to exercise my imagination.
And yes, I read so I don't have to do laundry. Doesn't everyone?
25 April, 2013
What am I thinking?
I'm probably not, I suppose.
I'm a mum, I have a house to tend to, and a garden toneglect plant. Cats to care for and a toddler to raise. A partner to love and spend time with.
So what do I do? I turn a blind eye to the housework, I let the garden grow until my lovely mum sweeps in, tutting and muttering to prune and plant and lecture. My cats have to beg for attention and my lovely daughter has developed a particularly piercing "Mum!" The man-being fends for himself (and a lovely job he does too).
Why? Because I love to read.
I devour books. A book is not just a collection of words- it's a world. A universe. An escape, a journey, an adventure. The feel of a crisp new paperback, the smell of an ancient book, unearthed at a book exchange. The sensation as you research in a library, amongst old, venerable tomes and you find pages that are yet uncut, knowing yourself to be the first, the very first person to ever set eyes on the knowledge contained within.
They are my passion. My wonderful partner has started putting aside money to turn our third bedroom into a small library, with floor to ceiling bookcases, a day bed and recliner, decadent curtains and wooden floors. He's even promised me a brass ceiling fan. It will be my haven.
Hey, he has his shed!
I intend this blog to be mainly about the books I read and the places I go in them. I intend to complete the 2013 Historical Reading Challenge at 'Ancient History' level. I suppose I'll mention my cats, daughter and partner, but this isn't about them.
It's about the books.
I'm a mum, I have a house to tend to, and a garden to
So what do I do? I turn a blind eye to the housework, I let the garden grow until my lovely mum sweeps in, tutting and muttering to prune and plant and lecture. My cats have to beg for attention and my lovely daughter has developed a particularly piercing "Mum!" The man-being fends for himself (and a lovely job he does too).
Why? Because I love to read.
I devour books. A book is not just a collection of words- it's a world. A universe. An escape, a journey, an adventure. The feel of a crisp new paperback, the smell of an ancient book, unearthed at a book exchange. The sensation as you research in a library, amongst old, venerable tomes and you find pages that are yet uncut, knowing yourself to be the first, the very first person to ever set eyes on the knowledge contained within.
They are my passion. My wonderful partner has started putting aside money to turn our third bedroom into a small library, with floor to ceiling bookcases, a day bed and recliner, decadent curtains and wooden floors. He's even promised me a brass ceiling fan. It will be my haven.
Hey, he has his shed!
I intend this blog to be mainly about the books I read and the places I go in them. I intend to complete the 2013 Historical Reading Challenge at 'Ancient History' level. I suppose I'll mention my cats, daughter and partner, but this isn't about them.
It's about the books.
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