These days that go the other way.

I think its time to face the fact that I may not be a knit blogger.  A blogger, yes, and one who knits.  But as a knitter I am too erratic for focus, too slow for glory and too self-taught for technical mastery.  Not that I mind these things about myself, but they maybe sort of make the knit blogging designation a bit of an overly optimistic statement.
Though I did go out with a guy a few times - a complete knob, it proved -who when he read the blog said "there's an awful lot of wool in it, isn't there?"  And I replied impatiently - yes, well, it's a knit blog [idiot].  (The 'idiot' was implied)

Anyway. 

I've been reading a lot these days - I'm starting to fall in love with the writer's strike.  At first no TV was really weird, kind of left a hole in the evening.  Which was a piece of self-discovery I found very disturbing.  And then I watched old episodes of things to fill in the gaps.  And now, I'm just not turning it on, the tube.   Or not much:  I watch BBC news at 11 sometimes - I find non-American news soothing for its lack of breathless drama and acknowledgment that there is a world outside of this chunk of North America.  Sometimes I catch the Colbert Report and Coupling re-runs on PBS.  The Jane Austen marathon, also on PBS, is fantastic.   
But I'm mostly reading again.

This is a small thing, you may say, but for me it is huge.  I was the original bookworm, ruined my eyes reading under the covers by flashlight, spent the years from 1st grade to 23 or 4 pretty much carrying two books plus a spare in case I finished something out in the world and suffered a terrible word drought that might kill me before I returned to the safety of my book-lined burrow.  But something happened - I worked in book retail for a couple of years and got so tired I stopped reading things that made me think, ever, and focused more on pure escapist literature.  And then I got a job that left me even more tired and involved a bit of editing as well, and I pretty much divided my days between my desk and catatonia, and reading took another hit (this is when I discovered couch TV - the pure numbing power of home improvement shows and similar).   And then my dad died 7 years ago and that finished me: I could not focus on other stories, I could not surrender to narrative.  I couldn't get lost.  I was much too raw to feel the pain, even the imaginary pain, maybe especially the imaginary pain, of others.

Somewhere after that it occurred to me to ask why I was trying to get lost in a book, rather than sucking it dry of inspiration, of education, of guidance.  And I began to read the occasional biography.  A book here and there.  But slowly, and without that joyful surrender I remembered, that time stoppage.  I missed it, but I no longer had the knack.

A few months ago I picked up some kind of escapist literature - a mystery?  A romance?  Which had continued to be the only kind of occasional fiction I could handle - and I couldn't finish it.  Not because I couldn't give in to the story, but because it irritated me with bad logic and poor writing, shallow waters.  After all this time, my critical faculties were stretching, blinking in the light.  I backed away from the crap book and then spent a weekend collecting and organizing the books in my house.  (I have a lot). 

Since then I have carried books with me a little bit like I used to, reading some of them, not all though.  Getting familiar again.  Reading good things.  Gaining momentum, but a weird kind of momentum that involves slowing down and having actual thoughts, actual feelings about what I'm reading.  Taking it inside me and making it part of me.  And I'm finding that I'm accumulating recommendations unconsciously again - a note here, a word there, the list grows.  A giant box from Amazon arrived yesterday and I already finished one of the things inside.  I'm really happy to feel a book in my hands again.   I'm maybe just really happy.

To be me again.  Something about the march of adult life and the shattering force of grief broke this thing I thought was central to my identity and I have missed it so much.  So much.  But it has come back different - tougher and more thoughtful.  Better.

At one point I thought a lot about adding audio books to my day - but it is not the same.  Not bad, but not the same.  You can't trip and hesitate over a phrase, a word, go back and read again and think about it and go on, or skip something with your eyes, catch yourself and step back and wonder what made that paragraph miss for you.  Read it again more slowly.  Audio books do not enhance the silence, audio books are not a break from the onslaught, they don't enter your brain quietly through your hands and eyes.  They can be great - the treadmill for one, is a wonderful place for being read to.  But they are not reading, not for me.

We don't give each other enough time in this word (Update: should be WORLD.  grr.  Although....) Time to be silent, time to formulate thoughts, time to recover, time to grieve.  We can be in such a hurry to get what We NeedNeedNeed that we steamroll over the nuance and delicacy that make our world complex and beautiful.  We can be morons.  Morons with ear buds and a personal soundtrack, morons with 24 hours of streaming video and 200 channels of loud.  What exactly are we trying to drown out?  Our own senses?  Pain?  Other people?

 

Comments

[lesleyd]

I quit smoking a month ago and I have realized that one incrediblly bad habit I have is to turn on the TV. It is one that even my daughter is starting to adopt and is worse than smoking. Those who use TV as an escape from reality instead of dealing with the issues can be horrible and it has. I read this entire blog. Your last sentence has solidified my decision to drop cable tv for good. Thank you

[Dr. Steph]

I'm still working on getting back into reading. The PhD killed reading for pleasure for me and my current job is still all about words so I find it hard to read at night (and I'm usually just too tired).

I did re-read Northhanger Abbey this month, but I still find I can't read the literary fiction my DH reads--too much tragedy, too much thinking.

And I really like tv.

[leanne]

My son died 5 years ago. I get it.

And... can't your blog just be what it is? it's perfectly wonderful, no matter what you have to say or share.

[Mea]

Hi! You know, this post really touched home with me except in a different area, music. I've recently picked up my horn again after 13 years. I almost wept when I realized I still remembered how to play. (now to work that mouth back into shape)
I also love to read (comes with my job--English teacher) and knit. Has anyone suggested The Alchemist by Paulo Couelo? (I probably misspelled his last name)

[carolyn]

does one every really need to claim with certainty exactly what specific
kind of blogger they are? i think not.

[Mary Whited]

When I read this blog I thought, there goes a kindred spirit. A fellow bookworm, there are always
at least two if not three books going at the same time. One by the bedside, one in the family room, one in my purse (along with my knitting, I carry a big purse) and sometimes one at work. I also love
to spin and weave and knit, guess what suffers? Housework of course.

[carolyn]

does one every really need to claim with certainty exactly what specific kind of blogger they are? i think not.

[Jennifer]

I'm so with you on the book thing, too. I love all my books ~ they're like treasured friends (which my husband just doesn't get, not actually being a book person. He suggested, once, that maybe I should get rid of some of my books. He has never made this suggestion again.) (yes, I married him anyway despite this major character flaw ;-) ). Though after I graduated from college, I was so burned out from reading and writing (I majored in English Lit with a concentration in the Romantic Poets) that I didn't pick up a book for a long, long time.

I agree about audio books, too. They just don't do it for me, unless I'm in the car on a road trip. No, just not the same delight as actually curling up with a book and a cup of tea.

The last paragraph of your post ~ wow. I think you so hit the nail on the head about so much of our present "civilization" that bothers the hell out of me. There is no quiet, there is no time ~ everything must be immediate, instant gratification. We sever ourselves from community, from others, in a race to (or away?) from some nameless thing. Life has become impersonal and detached in so many ways ~ we don't even have to leave our homes anymore. We can commute with our iPods and bluetooths and never even meet the eye of another person, much less engage in real communication. It amazes me how that we can live next store to someone, and never even learn that person's name. We need, we want, we buy ~ are we trying to fill some void that's been left by the lack of the spiritual, the lack of caring for others ~ be their friends or strangers, the lack of community, the lack of time in every day?

Silence, to me, is so important on so many levels. This is one reason why I never have music or any other sound while I am dyeing. It is my time for silence, for thought, for creativity without any interference, to let my hands and my heart and my mind work together, and my thoughts flow as the colors and the fibers flow.

Cudos to you. I wouldn't worry about the content of your blog ~ no matter what it is, it is good.

[seizuresalad]

I too have a different relationship with books than I used to. An undergrad and grad degree sucked the life out of words for a while (I forgot how to read without a pencil in my hand). Also, just being older has transformed it somehow - who I am in relation to what's being told is different. It was like getting to know an old friend who'd changed all over again.

On the knit-blogger thing - I struggle too. Pathetically little knitting/wooly thoughts going on in my world. But I see it this way: The blogs I like best have knitting or wool as the subject tangentially, it's the hook I hang my hat on when I get there, but not the be-all-and-end-all. I come for all of the stories.

[sarah]

Please don't stop blogging. Your occasional posts are gemlike in the clarity of their thought and the light they shine into crevices of thought I haven't considered for a while.

I can't remember learning to read. Books are my friends, my teachers, my escape from this world when it becomes too much to bear. Audio books are company for the ironing; only paper wins my love. The musty smell of an old book that's passed through many hands, the tang of solvent rising from a new book (did you know that British books don't smell like NAmerican books?), the faint crack as a hardback is opened wide to disgorge knowledge for the first time. The weight of words tangible in my hands. The fragility of the SF paperbacks I've cherished for 30 or more years, their cheap bindings cracked, pages yellowing and breaking free. I measure my years in the age of my books as much as the greying of my hair.

I think the speed of modern life is intended to distract us from the pain of its passing. I'd rather slow down and cherish every moment, for none of them will ever come again.

[Emily]

Audio books don't work for me because its too hard to read the same sentence over and over with an audio book. I can't stand that, unless i am driving a long distance and listening to something very lightweight.
Lately I've actually been reading poetry again, for the first time in years. Talk about reading the same sentence over and over again. You really have to feel not in a hurry to read poetry properly I think. You gotta get into some kind of deep tranquility.

[karin]

I am only an occasional reader of your blog, but ended up here today.
Your writing is so good, it takes my breath away.

I could never before voice why I don't like audio books, but you put it in words for me. Thank you so much.

All the Best to you on your journey.

[Bev]

You really shouldn't worry about the content of your blog. Those of us who read you do so because we like what we read. I too have found blogs have sucked away my reading time, but part of that is the incredible dearth of good books. I know they are out there if I just look, but I have a hard time getting the time in at the bookstore, not to mention the price of a gamble. It really pisses me off that James Patterson and Nora Roberts can spin out shit over and over and it continues to sell, I am sure, to the detriment of new writers. When I find a good book, not much can keep me from reading. Unfortunately, those books seem to be farther apart in time now than in the past.

[DebbieB]

This so resonates.

[Carol]

I was thinking the other day that I don't watch much television. I barely noticed that there was/is a writer's strike. I love to read and surf the net. I agree, audiobooks are a different experience to reading. They are not what I want when I want to read. Nothing wrong with them, just not the experience I am looking for.

[Erica]

I hear you! I'm in grad school, and on something of a "thought diet" about anything outside of my discipline and what needs to be done by tomorrow morning. But someday, when the craziness is over and I have earned my right to think again by having finished school, I will return to books, and to writing. The emptiness aches, but it is temporary, and probably worth it in the long run. I'm so glad you've found your way back to books and to deep thoughts...there is nothing better than that for someone who was born to read. And, as a knitter, I would much rather that you knit what you want, when you want and enjoy it than to feel obligated to keep going just to make blog fodder. Less wool, more thoughts...sounds like a great trade to me! It's ironic that a writer's strike brought you back to the written word; funny how life works, isn't it?

[Marin]

Mom died two years ago this month. You and I have had similar relationships with books in the wake of personal loss. Because of that, yes (and I suspect it was rhetorical, but that doesn't always stop me... or even slow me down), I watch TiVi and plug my ears with iPod so I don't have to listen to the running misery in my head that won't let me stop crying if I think for even three minutes about my mom. It's pathetic, it's anti-intellectual and it keeps me alive.

I do so miss my book world.

[kelli ann]

you are a wonderful writer, in any case...

accompanying a child who is learning to read, watching them get caught up in the delight of losing oneself to the story-- i am thrilled that my 2 boys are (so far) just as excited about reading stories as i was/am. they jump right in.

thanks for this... peace,

[EmilyL]

Aah. Books. There are some I jump into and swim around, and others I can not even wade in. Sometimes, it's just a case of the wrong book at the wrong time, and I can come back to it later. Other times, it's just the wrong book. In times of great stress, I can't read either.

I, too, read you for your wonderful writing and ideas. Knitting's good to read about, but thinking and knitting is better.

[Harper]

Reading. When I was 29 I took a year off and lived on my (tiny) savings in New Orleans. I moved there because it was foreign yet not alien -- I'd grown up (as much as I grew up anywhere moving from place to place) in Baton Rouge and a family friend from those days was my lifeline but mostly I was alone -- sometimes I would realize I hadn't said a word aloud for days -- with no external schedules to impose on my time. I thought I wanted to write and I did but mostly I read with abandon. I became notorious at the main library branch downtown because I would check out 7-8 books and two days later I'd return those and get 7-8 more. Classics, non-fiction, genres, whatever. I discovered Jane Austen, Toni Morrison, Margaret Atwood, Fay Weldon, re-discovered Raymond Chandler and poetry and biographies. Sometimes I'd randomly pick a letter and grab three books without looking. It was like those long book-drugged summers of my childhood but sharper, not as much of escape as an enhancement of life. Always introverted, I even began to appreciate the little interactions with strangers; the teller at the bank, the cashier at the grocery store, the waiter at the oyster bar, the Orkin man.

Then I went to law school and encountered more difficult reading than I'd experienced before (not as tough to get through as my Organic Chemistry texts in college but the sheer volume of dense reading was stunning). Audiobooks were the only way I could read outside of assignments because I could steal the time during my daily commute.

It took me a while to really start reading again and I still take so long to finish even one book. I know part of it is that I am a more critical reader and that's good, but most of it is the spaces of time for reading have gotten so spare. I agree that the strike really shone a light on how much I was letting TV fill my spare time. I've never had cable but what does that matter now that all the good shows are out on DVD so I haven't cut out TV as much as it sounds like you have but your description is a good nudge in that direction.

Don't worry about whether you are a knit blog or not. I like to hear about your knitting but I read you for your thoughtful entries. And unlike 99% of the blogs out there, I also like the comments your posts invite.

[kate]

You're wrong. I was the original bookworm! And i miss reading too. i find when i do fall into a book, I can't climb out until it's gone. Sleep, children, work be damned. my mother asked me years ago if I was addicted to books. i replied that it depended on the book. I've discovered audiobooks as a way of enjoying the stories while knitting and dyeing and other things that have deadlines, but I must admit, they are not nearly as good as reading the book. right now, i'm listening to jonathan starnge and Mr. norrill and i really wih i was reading it.
So, what i need to know is, what ARE you reading?

[tina]

thanks for this post. Me, for most of my life, I haven't felt right unless I was 'in' a book, and whenever I'd finish one, I'd be lost until the next one found me. I had kids, but that didn't stop me, except for sometimes, and children's books were a whole new gift. And then work encroached, and attention was chopped into millions of bits, and I began knitting. Can't quite be 'in' knitting and 'in' books at the same time, although I've drifted back and forth between them a few times. Every now and then I find a book that will lie flat without help and a piece of knitting that's bonehead enough that I can do both at the same time. I don't even mind fixing the mistakes that ensue.

I look forward to more about this.

[Mome-rath]

What you said about a book entering your brain through your hands and eyes—yes. That feeling, that intimacy, that epiphany-just-for you feeling, is exactly why I'm a book artist, why I make books. And the fact that even with a stupid broken arm, which has left me unable to knit for the time being, I can't slow down enough to allow time for the things that feed my soul (like reading-instead-of-making books)—well, that's why I'm trying a new direction, one where I combine the book arts with the fiber arts. So yeah—you were right about the time thing, too. You amaze me.

[Julie in WI]

This was one of the most amazing pieces of writing I've read in a long time. Thank you for sharing these thoughts with us. My knitting and reading time constantly war with each other (a very nice war, for once), and I can absolutely relate to your childhood...I would often stay inside at recess simply to READ. Nerdy, but I don't regret a moment.

[claudia]

For me, audiobooks are the gateway drug of choice to re-addict to books.