In two weeks of vacation I read four books. This was among hours of photographing, walking, and driving. Just four books in fourteen days. Is it safe to confess there were several days I didn’t open a book, didn’t read a page, not paper, not electronic screen? This despite having packed a kindle, the kindle ap on my phone and six (!) real physical books. You see, even with 3,500 books on hand electronically I had to have the heft of six books in my luggage. Can I also add that at least one physically present book made it into my camera case every time we went out photographing?
They were there, always present, ready to be read, in every circumstance. I even brought the booklight in case it was too dark to see the text. I was prepared to read and read and read. Four books, four little books. Four War and Peace I could understand. Not even close.
I remember when I could read a book in a day. There were days I read two, maybe three books. Okay, I was twelve, and there was so little of interest in the world I had no choice but to seek other worlds, in words, in books, in stories. I have never not read. Cereal boxes at breakfast, billboards, and posters on buses. Upside down papers on someone else’s desk, the copyright information in a picture book, product data safety sheets, and the rights to employees in the office lunch room. When have I not read? Four books in fourteen days. Pitiful.
Early mornings, long walks, fresh air, so many things to do and see. Valid excuses.
So what can I say to five days home and I still haven’t cracked a book?
A North Dakota backyard.