I read absolutely no books in 2004. Not even one.
Of course that isn’t exactly true, but since reading feels like breathing to me, it seems like it’s true. I definitely read fewer books last year than I have in any year of my life since I learned to read. And read nearly no new books. I can barely remember any. I’m not sure if the books just weren’t all that memorable or I just didn’t hold on to them well.
The trouble is that for me, reading (and writing too) is like heroin. Once I start reading, I’m gone. I could stay in the same spot all day. And I completely tune out everything around me. I become enveloped in my own world: just me and the story. I’ve had too much life going on this past year to have that luxury much.
I did finally pick up a few new books last week: Time Traveler’s Wife and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. I know. I’m the last person on earth to read them. I may not even read the second one. P. is reading it right now and he tells me that so far it has been quite a bit about death. I’m rather death-phobic. I practically hyperventilate when I think about, talk about, read about, or otherwise hear about anything involving death. I have to completely block the idea of dying out of my mind or I would spend my life in one gigantic anxiety attack. I would go on, but you know, I can’t really think about it. So, anyway, he’s not sure I’d do well with this particular book.
As for my resolution to read more poetry, well, I haven’t done too much with that yet, although they do quote the “If I had world enough and time” line in Time Traveler’s Wife, so maybe that counts. I did pick up A Cookbook for Poor Poets and Others (copyright 1966) in this little used bookstore in Port Townsend over the weekend. So, not poetry, but poetry-related. I was really coveting an Edgar Allan Poe collection, beautifully bound, but it was $250 and the cookbook was only $4.95. I find interesting, old books, especially cookbooks, nearly impossible to pass up. According to the amazon reviews of the revised edition, this is an actual cookbook! I didn’t think it possibly was, since it includes such things as the Spoiled Lover (requires a dimly lit room and grandmother’s chafing dish) and Hypnotic Eyes (remove centers of sliced bread, break an egg into each center, bake).
The point is that I’ve decided to start a book log. But then I realized that I may as well keep my food notes there too. I’ve got this other food log where I make notes when I spontaneously create something and want to be able to make it again, or when I completely change a recipe and know that when I make it later I’ll never remember what I changed, but I haven’t kept up with it lately, but maybe if I keep all my notes in one place, I will. Because at the moment I have all of these little slips of paper falling over in a heap in the bookcase that houses my cookbooks. And I really want to start a wine log, so why not add that also. And maybe I want to make notes about other stuff. So, anyway, tea time, the blog of my life, not to be confused with this, the journal of my life, or something. I don’t imagine it to be of any interest to anyone but me.
I did find that is was incredibly easy to do another wordpress installation on this server. I was a little worried I would wipe this site out completely.
I’m hoping that at year-end, I can sit back with a satisfied sigh and reminisce about the lovely books I read and wine I drank. Or, at least not be left with “I read this great book that I really want to recommend. It’s called, er… It’s about this, um, alien maybe? No. A young girl on a boat in the ocean. Wait. I think that was the book I hated. Not that one. I can’t remember the name. Maybe you can ask at the library. Tell them it’s the book that’s not about the girl on a ship. I’m sure they’re totally know what book you mean.”