Do you ever overhear part of a conversation by accident, get drawn in and start listening even though you didn’t mean to? Then you hear something that you desperately want to respond to but can’t because then you’d have to admit you were eavesdropping like some sad pathetic loser who doesn’t have any friends of her own to talk to.
‘Then you can drink tea and read a book like an old lady.’
Did she really just say that?
I’ve been enjoying that combination since before my age was in double digits. Or, put another way, before this woman was even born.
Her problem can’t be with tea because I’ve seen her drink it.
So it must be with reading.
If she thinks that reading is just something that happens to old ladies, then I feel so sorry for her. Even sorrier for her children.
To not be a reader is to deny yourself an enormously fulfilling part of life. Reading is a gateway into other worlds, other parts of the human experience. It awakens thoughts and emotions in a way that no other media can. It stimulates your imagination, broadens your horizons and your vocabulary. Reading to your children is not just a wonderful way to spend quiet time sharing something together, but something which helps develop their minds and imaginations. It’s a gift every parent should give their child.
Books have got me through some of the loneliest times of my life. I have found happiness and solace amongst the yellowing pages of my favourite novels. Tedious hours spent in airport lounges fly by in the company of a good book. The more books I read, the more I knew that I wanted to be a writer.
The sun is shining on the snow outside my window. I am going to pack up my car and drive to Langeland. Where I will drink tea, read books, clean gutters, chop wood and battle spiders.
Call me an old lady.
I dare you.