As the Passover season approaches, rather than being all good and social justice-y like the lovely ladies of Jewbiquitous, or talking more about my love for Temptee, I will discuss my love for something else: BOOKS.
I love to read. I don't quite know when it happened, but I do enjoy reading. I remember the first time I read "silently" to myself. I remember reading before I went to bed every night as a kid and calling down the stairs to my parents every few minutes because I didn't understand a word's meaning (they'd become more irate and instead of telling me the meaning, they'd tell me to figure it out in context...hmmm...wonder why my out-of-context vocabulary sucks...). I also remember hating that over school vacations or summer break my sister and I were required to read 20 minutes a day. Although, in retrospect, good rule Mom. My parents also used to read to me every night as a little child, and when my dad would work late, my mom read my sister and me chapter books while we ate dinner. It was fun.
Now, as an "adult" I still enjoy reading. My new favorite thing is the NYPL's on-line request feature, which you can request books and they come delivered to your door (well, library). Only problem is, every so often I get over zealous. Like now I am 1/4 of the way through a delightful book (still have 300 pages to go), and have 2 books waiting on the shelf, and 5 (yes, 5!! see the zealous part) waiting for me at the library. I hope I have enough time to read them...
So this Passover season, I will be commuting to NYC 2 days and reading the entire train ride. And reading at work. Cause no one will be there.
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2 comments:
I'm currently reading Erica Jong's "Fear of Flying" and I always forget how much she likes using the f-word. Although at some points she says things that really resonate, at others I think "really? REALLY?"
I loved that book! So interesting. Although, I must admit, when she talks about dating "the conductor" it took me 2/3 of the way through the chapter to realize she meant orchestra, not train. Oops.
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