If Iím not wrapped up in a movie, many of you know that I have my nose stuck in a book, or Iím writing one. You can roll your eyes and make that disgusted face, and grumble under your breath all you want about my hobby.
Itís okay, a lot of people do, and I donít mind.
The truth is, I love to read. There is nothing to compare to walking into my local bookseller and, once I satisfy that craving for a venti sized double chocolate iced coffee, inhaling the aroma of ink and new paper. I spend the day at that place, perusing everything that catches my attention, caressing bindings that beckon to me, and making a wish list a mile long.
At times, I feel like Evie from The Mummy. Thereís one particular scene where, slightly tipsy, she proudly makes an admission to Rick.
I am a librarian.
Well, no, Iím not. My house just looks like I am one of those fabulous keepers of the books.
Thereís books overflowing from every bookcase, cabinet, and countertop imaginable. Some are nearly 150 years old, others were just printed this year. My tastes are varied, and I donít pop myself into one specific category. I read war novels. with Band of Brothers and The Pacific presently at my bedside. I collect romances written by Jude Deveraux, Johanna Lindsey, Lisa Kleypas, and Amanda Quick. Whispering, Iíll admit that I even have a few Barbara Cartland novellas.
I have a few shelves dedicated to the king of horror, and Stephen King should be pleased to know that Iím a dedicated fan. Mr. Dean Koontz has a shelf for himself, as well, his psychological thrillers being so difficult to put down. Close by, pick a crime novel, I have everything written by Mario Puzo and I sway off and read every legal word written by John Grisham. Thereís a bookcase full of biographies and autobiographies, my favorites written by Christopher Reeve, Maureen OíHara, and George Burns. I collect coffee table books on history of Hollywood and the great stars, Life at War, and the History of Harley Davidson. Cookbooks fill my kitchen, their dust covers revealing the smiling faces of Mario, Emeril, Jeff SmithÖ
Goodness, the list is endless.
If itís not books, I collect magazines that catch my attention. Whether itís a Good Housekeeping with stunning holiday recipes, The Food Channel, Paula Deen (Lord, I want to grow old and be that fabulously cute!), or my old collection of Victoria magazines. Some that I have arenít published any longer, their pages all that more precious to me. I have a bookcase full of each delicate item, much-loved, flipped through a million times, and nearly memorized.
No, Iím not a hoarder. Every book and magazine is neatly organized, cataloged, and indexed. I just love to read. Anything, Everything, whatever I can get my hands on. This love of reading I have managed to pass on to some of my children, the others prefer the movies. So, I canít complain.
There, and all over this world that has taken over my morning hours, I will make my admissionĖ
I love to read.