I Can Read

I can read.
It’s my mom’s fault.
She made me do it.

My name is Marjorie JoAnna. My sister is Amy Elizabeth. Mama managed to convince grandmothers we were their namesakes when in fact we are actually
Marge
Jo
Amy &
Beth.
I think I should at least name a cat Louisa May before I die.
 
Or maybe it was Gran Jan’s fault. She gave me that awesome box set of Nancy Drew mystery novels when I was eight. The Secret of the Tapping Heels is the first official book I read by myself. She introduced me to Eugenia Price. Gran Jan also gave me a Bible. Jesus and grandmothers—a powerful combination.
 
I try to read His word each day, searching for discernment and strength to face our world.
From Luke, I think about what kind of teacher I want to be.
From Psalms, I learn what kind of wife and mother I am still becoming.
From Acts, I remember how lay down my many faults at His feet or nurture my heart’s desire to travel the ends of the earth to tell of His glory.
 
I read all of it and then a few things others might find crazy. Like French literature. In French. Or novels, plays, and short stories in Spanish. I’ve stored up memories- the tragedies of butterflies by Julia Alverez, bitter narratives of Sandra Benitez, and the magical realism of Isabel Allende.
 
I adore the romance of British authors, and I’ve enjoyed more than my share of Scandinavian titles about dragon tattoos and men called Ove. Keep on writing Backman. Please. Thanks to your well-written words, I now know what kind of grandmother I want to be one day.
 
My beloved American authors fascinate me with their style and storytelling. Conroy and the dog food scene in Prince of Tides still makes me laugh out loud. (Be careful, Bob.)
 
There was the infamous fishing trip with Elise, Dallas, and an old man in the sea who fished with his hands wrapped around line. Who battled sharks. Infamous? Elise caught a hook in her hand. Below the barb.
 
Only two books have given me nightmares, really awesome nightmares where I was trapped in the novel with characters. That’s powerful imagery from Shelly’s Frankenstein and a bizarre novel, Thunderhead. I love thrillers by Preston and Child who deliver something simultaneously unique and predictable, yet gripping with every plot. There. I’ve said it. I’m a Pendergast addict.
 
I’m also not ashamed to admit I’ve read Outlander series three times. Just saying. If you haven’t met Jamie…
 
Because I read, I can nurture empathy and sympathy as well as telepathy. It took Sarah Dessin to help me predict Elise’s next moves. Dallas took me to My Side of the Mountain. I cried with Ella as We Walked Two Moons. I sometimes steal lines from To Kill A Mockingbird- just to comfort my kids. I’ll tell you when it’s time to worry.
 
I’ve discovered from Mattie and Jeni how to forgive, let go, and move forward seeking just peace. To pause. To respond in love.
 
I sigh at the simple beauty in The Same Kind of Different as Me. It simply changed me. Salvage the Bones, So Long a Letter, Kiff Kiff Tomorrow- these are the stories that open the eyes of my soul, showing me beautiful perspective that I find lacking in myself.
 
Book clubs.  There have been 4 in my life.
1st- middle school. I read whatever Ada told me to read. Thank you, friend.
2nd- my Alabama girls. I don’t remember what we read, but they saved me as I walked through the valley of the shadow of divorce.
3rd- Ok. We never really read a book. We only told the men it was a book club, but we were fabulous and we had fun!
4th – This group nurtures my soul and challenges my tastes in literature. Three years and I’ve devoured every word, delicious dish, and prayer during our conversations.
 
I sometimes wonder if Bob likes for me to read so I will hush every now and then. The first book he ever gave me was after three weeks of dating.
A Walk to Remember.
Yes. Yes, it is.
 
I don’t remember falling in love with reading. I just read. Anywhere. Thanks to Kindle, no one even knows when I’m reading- they think I’m on Facebook.
 
Just imagine what I could do if I ever decided to pick up a cookbook!

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies… the man who never reads lives only one. --George R.R. Martin

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