A Bridge Across Decades

It has been a while since I wrote a post.  I started looking at my stats and what my page looked like and then I noticed something I had not paid attention to before.  I knew that there were people that were following my blog, I just never noticed or paid attention to how many.  I was surprised to see that there were over 400 people following me and reading what I write about.  I want to say thank you.  What an honor to have so many people taking time out of their day to read my thoughts and stories.

It seems that my focus has changed a little from writing to drawing.  It has even changed a little from reading to drawing.  There were times in the past that I read books like a chain smoker smokes cigarettes.  I would have my books lined up so that once one was finished there was a new one to take its place.  If I knew that I only had a few chapters left, the next books would be waiting in my purse or book bag or car.  I realized something a few days ago when my husband asked me about several boxes of books that he called book sale books.  When I looked in the boxes I realized that they were all books that I had brought home to read and not had a chance to.  Some of them were brand new, others were withdrawn library books.  But they had been pack up because I didn’t have time to read them and then they sat forgotten in my back room for 2 years, never touched.

I don’t know when this change started taking place or if this change happened because in my job I am surrounded by books all day.  I don’t know if it is just a phase in my life where I am exploring new things and because I know that they (books) will be there anytime I want to read, I feel comfortable with this change.  When I was a child and teenager, books were my escape.  They took me out of my dysfunctional world and let me see that there were other ways to live life.  I could travel the world curled up in my mom’s lazy boy, or be saved by the hero on the white horse.  Books gave me a way out, they taught me about so many different things.  I can’t explain how book just simply saved my life.  They showed me that it was okay to say no, that it was okay to get help, that it okay to protect myself in whatever way I could.

I used to drive my mom nuts with how quickly I read.  She would bring me home a brown grocery bag full of books from the used book store and within a week I would be telling her that I finished  them and asking for more.  I am so glad that the book store did trades, I would keep my favorites from that batch and give the rest back for others and then fill the bag back up with books that were only ten cents a piece.  I collected authors that were my favorites – Barbara Cartland, Marie Ferrarella, Janet Daley, Jude Deveraux, and so many more.  Now I have moved on to other favorites, but have such fond memories of those books that took me back in time to Dukes and Duchesses, or westerns with that special cowboy saving the damsel in distress.  At the time I was reading them, I needed that rescue even if it was just in the pages of a book.  The girl was always rescued in the last minute by the hero.  And there was always a happy ending.

Now that I have been away from that world for almost 30 years, I find that where I am now in my life, I don’t need that escape in quite the same way.  I don’t have to deny my life.  I don’t have to wish for something better.  I don’t have to substitute in my imagination what I am living for what I am reading.  I am learning finally to be comfortable with my memories.  I am conquering my inner fears and not giving them a place in my life and I owe that to the authors and books they wrote that helped me to overcome.

I am so glad that no matter just how far I travel away from the chain reading, I know that my favorites will always be there waiting.  And now when I read, I am simply doing it for the enjoyment of reading, not to escape from my life.

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