A Reading Kind of Day (ms)

I woke the other morning to the sound of rain. I could hear it on the neighbors roof, as it ran down our pipes making the hollow metallic sound it does. The cars going by outside splashed through the puddles that always form on the road. Checking the forecast I found the promise of more on the way, so much more that it looked like it might even go the whole day. Um, pity.

The position I find myself in on such days is an envious one to be sure. I work largely from home, you see, so I needn’t worry about a boss checking in on me every few minutes. Oh, I need to so some things for sure but there’s no specified time to do them in, no one tapping me on the shoulder to move things along. In short, I am on my own and since its my sandbox I can designate play time to be any time I want. Take that rainy morning, for example.

True, I could have gone to my desk and begun work on any number of projects or simply spent the time making some calls to drum up a little work but I concluded there would be time enough for that some other time. That day was meant as one not be squandered on the necessities of life but rather one to be spent on enjoying the finer things.

After breakfast some tea was in order. A nice flavored one was just the right trick. Nothing too spicy, too uplifting as it were. The tea of the day needed to be one that reeked of coziness and comfort. Next came the reading material.

I have a library that I like. It isn’t very big, maybe a few dozen books, but I like them all. Some are history, there are some essays, the works of Shakespeare, Twain, King. I’ve got a Steinbeck or two alongside books about fishing and World War. I’ve begun to buy books for an iPad so I’m stocking up with good stuff there as well.

On this particular day, though, it did not seem right to push a button to read a book turning electronic pages as I went. No, this particular rainy day seemed made for a good old paper book. I like the way paper in a book smells especially when its new. There is a freshness to it, almost a perfume that pulls a reader in no matter man or woman and keeps them there between its covers. The crackle of a book when first opened is music to my ears; the shuffle of its turning pages between my fingers as pleasant as the hum of a meadow on a summers day.

I chose carefully and settled for a chapter of Steinbeck then some Poe blended in with a bit of King (they seem to go well together) then, as a close, a touch of Sherlock Holmes. A most satisfying combination it was I might add. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to do it again. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

–Mike Stevens

~ by admin on April 25, 2011.

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