Author: nfreim

To Be Read . . .

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I’ve seen the claim that reading one hour a day in your chosen field will make you an international expert in that field within 7 years.  I don’t know about the veracity of that claim, though the idea of regular reading does logically lead to expanded knowledge.  What does reading an hour a day translate to?  That naturally depends on the material being read and the individual’s ability.  

I did time myself once, but I realized quickly that the number was pointless.  Because page layouts and fonts vary so widely, the number didn’t mean a lot unless I was counting words instead of pages, something I did not want to be bothered to do.  Plus, the material made a difference; subject matter and whether I stopped to take notes as I went drastically affected my reading time in this experiment (up to 120 pages for a paperback, down to 25 for a literary theory book while taking notes).  Not to mention how mental alertness / state of mind can come into play.

Like many ink drinkers, I have a long list of books that I want to read eventually.  A suggestion here, a snippet here, and the phrase  “I’ll add it to the list” leads to pages in a notebook (or, let’s be honest, a stack of paper scraps and receipts and napkins, often tucked into a book) covered with titles of books that we know we will never get around to reading.

Because most book lovers haven’t finished the books we already own.

So what if I just want to read the books I already have?

Well, how much can I read?  Knowing it all varies wildly, let’s just go with an average.  Let’s say 60 pages in an hour – one page a minute.  Assuming an hour a day and considering variations in reading material, let’s call it an average of one book a week.  52 books a year.  Let’s say a reader does this every year from age 25 to 85.  60 years of reading.

That’s only 3120 books.

If I count everything, from paperbacks to cookbooks, I’ve got around 2000 books.  Some of those are short (a graphic novel is an afternoon read) and some are long (the complete works of Shakespeare).  And I’m not counting all my single issues of comics. Of course some of these I have already read, and some are not really for “reading.”  A collection of knitting projects isn’t something I sit down and read from start to finish; I flip through the book when I get it and then I read the individual projects when I want to try them.  (Not to mention how boring it would be to read every knitting pattern in a row – how many “k3, p2tog, (yo p3, p2 tog) yo, k3” combos would it take to put me to sleep?)

I’m also not starting from 25 here.  

The question next becomes how I proceed through my collection.  Do I pick a genre and read all of those?  All the poetry before moving on to essays?  All the anthologies first?  Use alphabetical order and read everything under A before moving on?  Just vow to myself that I will read a different book from the shelf each time I reach for a new book?  

I think I’m leaning towards alphabetical – but leaving the anthologies for the end.  I thought about trying to go through each anthology and read all the As and so forth, but I think any anthology can be left for the end.  And, in the interest of time, any book that I’ve read in the last three years (since I moved) or that I’ve read multiple times can be skipped if needed.

After all, I only have so much time left.  There’s never enough time for all the books we read-rats (German version of “bookworm”) want to devour.

Carpe liber!!

Some day . . .

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“Some day.  That’s a dangerous word.  It’s really just code for never.”

 

Yes, I know.  Starting out by quoting a Tom Cruise movie will definitely not impress some people.  And I’m sure the same sentiment has been said various ways, many times in many places by many other people.  But that’s the one that sprang to mind.  And yes, I like Knight and Day.  Sure, Cameron Diaz’s character is disturbingly good at all spy related stuff for an auto mechanic, and Cruise’s character is of questionable sanity.  But it’s silly and fun.  So there.

Where was I going with this?

Oh, right.  Some day.

An old friend of mine passed away this week.  Battle with cancer that just became too much to be won.  

We had reconnected a couple of years ago – the wonders of social media.  She’d been through a lot; I’d been through a lot.  We talked a little, but never as much as I wanted (and maybe as she wanted).  Time gets away from us, right?  

Then came the news that her cancer was back.  Settled in and draped itself over everything.  She had been in the hospital for two months and was now home on hospice.  She talked about how she had wanted to do so many things in her life.  A friend said, “Make a list and we’ll do some when covid is over!”  She said very simply, “I won’t live to see the end of covid.”  

And she did not.

It makes me ponder two important points.

First, what have I wanted to do and not done – because of time, fear, resources, etc.?

Talking about this, of course someone said (in a half joking, half derisive tone), “Is this where it all becomes about you?”

Isn’t this where it becomes about us all?  When we know someone who dies – whether of an incurable disease or tragic accident – too early, 30-40 years too early, shouldn’t it make us pause and think about how we’re living?  Because this life is a risky proposition at terrible odds (even without a global pandemic).  We never know how much of it we’ll have – there are no guarantees.  So isn’t it a good thing to examine our lives and what we’re doing with them?

Because “some day” is, in fact, too often code for “never.”  We tell ourselves we’ll do this or that at some specified point in time: when we have the time, the energy, the focus, the money.  Some day we’ll try the thing we’ve always wanted to try, and some day we’ll do the things we’ve always wanted to do.  But will we?  Is there a magical time when it will be “right” to do these things?  We just have to wait for the stars to be in alignment?  Or is it easier to just put things off?  Because doing something new or different takes time and effort and courage.

And I’m not talking about the expensive stuff – sure, I want to hike the Camino de Santiago or visit Ireland, but realistically speaking, I can’t just drop everything and go do that because I can’t afford it.  I could start saving money, though that’s a long process.  

I mean the small stuff – the little things that are within our grasp immediately.  Like, say, working on the blog that you want to write – and constantly jot down ideas for posts – but have not touched in four years?  Or learning to play an instrument or speak a foreign language – which is not impossible, just a long process which takes time?  I know that I look around my house and see all kinds of “some day” projects.  Half-finished knitting projects and a notebook full of recipes to try and a stack of pictures that could go up on the walls.  Some of these are short term projects; some will take years (“to be read” pile, that was aimed at you).  

But as this pandemic and the endless pictures of bread have shown, we can learn something new when we want to.

If we think about our days, about the amount of time we spend on the unimportant, could we find ten minutes a day?  Twenty?  More?  So you want to be able to do the splits like you could when you were 14 – can you stretch 10 minutes a day?  So you want to learn to draw – can you get a $10 sketchbook at Joann’s and start doodling?  So you have a favorite shirt you haven’t worn in months because there’s a button you need to reattach but there’s always so many more important things that have to get done – can you just dig out the sewing kit and get it done? 

Yes, it’s hard.  It takes focus and energy and will (and believe me, I would not be a Green Lantern).  We’re all distracted and tired and busy – but how long can we put off the life we want to live?  How can we come to die and discover that we have not lived?  When we face death, which will we regret more – all the things we were brave enough to do and say (even if we weren’t very good at it or it didn’t turn out as we’d hoped) . . . or all the things we never did or said even though we wanted to because we thought we would have more time or more courage later on?

None of us know how much time we have.  Be who you want to be, live the life you want to live.  If you can’t do something right now, take a tiny step in that direction.  

The other point to ponder?

Tell those you love that you love and appreciate them.  Be generous with your love and kindness and compassion.  Don’t hoard it like toilet paper.  Share your love – we all need it.

 

Lovers and Madmen Have Such Seething Brains

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Today marks the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death. (The speculation is that William was born and died on the same day. His baptism was on April 26, so the theory is that he was born on the 23. Nice story, anyway.) I admit, I wish I was fabulously wealthy – in which case I would have gone to England to join in the celebrations there.

 

Instead, the cat I’m watching had her kittens today, and I will content myself with giving them all Shakespearean names. (Yes, I know, when they go off to their fur-ever homes, they may get new names like Mr. Meowington or Miss Kitty Soft Paws or Bob. But we each must celebrate as best we can.)

 

I suppose it’s not a surprise that I love Shakespeare since I’m a) a theatre nerd and b) a book nerd. But I owe my first experience with the bard to my eighth grade literature teacher, Mrs. Tucker.

 

At my school we had one teacher for English (grammar, sentence diagramming, paragraph structure, etc.) and another for literature. I already liked Mrs. Tucker because she was the teacher who did the school plays. (Bragging digression – the first time I auditioned for her (for the lead role), she asked if I was planning to audition for any other characters. I said yes, for the secondary role. She asked which I’d rather have. I said the lead, and she told me not to bother auditioning for the other part. Yes, she’s partly to blame for my eventual theatre major, too.)

 

The last project for the year was reading a play. Mrs. Tucker got all of us our own copies of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the class read through it, acting out various scenes. It was a fantastic introduction to Shakespeare, and absolutely made him more interesting. Because plays are best when performed. That’s their purpose in life. I’m sounding like Phoebe on Friends worried about trees fulfilling their Christmas destinies, but it’s true. Plays yearn to be acted out. If all they wanted to do was tell a story for someone to read, they’d be a novel or a poem.

 

So my first encounter with Shakespeare was the way Shakespeare is best experienced. And it had a lasting effect. I spent that summer before high school over at the public library reading Shakespeare. The library had a whole collection of the plays bound individually in blue cloth covers. I read a few of the romances and the comedies. I’m certain that I did not get everything that the plays were saying. But I enjoyed them anyway.

 

By this point, I think I’ve read or seen about 80% of his canon. Not all of them recently – and I’m feeling like I should go back over some of them again. It’s been long enough that I could get an additional layer from another read.

 

I’ve been to the Shakespeare festival in Cedar City, Utah, and it’s a magnificent place. The festival makes a point of including at least one play each season that is less often performed. (That’s how I saw King John.) One of my goals in life is to have enough income to take a trip to a Shakespeare festival (preferably Cedar City or Ashland) every year.

 

And I was in a production of Midsummer – a fairly good production for a high school play. I was the most important insignificant fairy. The one at the start of Act Two, who has a conversation with Puck. I had more lines than all the fairies with names put together (take that, Moth, Cobweb, Peaseblossom, and Mustardseed!).

 

“Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough briar,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere”

 

I still remember that fondly, even though I doubt I was all that good, I wanted to be Hermia, and it was a long time ago.

 

But thanks again to Mrs. Tucker for walking us all through the play. I know not everyone fell in love with William the way I did. But it had a powerful impact on at least one kid. (Probably part of my desire to be a teacher, too – this idea that I could help show kids new and wonderful works of literature just like she’d done for me.)

 

And thanks to Will for writing such timeless pieces that have meant so much to me over the years.

 

But I know I have not really experienced Shakespeare since I have not read him in the original Klingon.