Thursday, April 26, 2012

a storied passion

I am so excited to have a fellow book-lover here with us today.  Amy is a passionate lover of words.  She's a fantastic gift giver, a  creative soul, and a witty and delightful friend.  If you don't know her already, I know you're about to discover a kindred spirit

 this is what I call a haven

I’ve long held a penchant for words and the stories they tell. Perhaps it’s due the hours spent by my mother’s side, rapt in books read aloud; perhaps it’s due my father’s habit of reading anything with words, from cereal boxes to tabletops; perhaps it’s due those first few years growing up in the country (if it weren’t for imaginary friends, I’d had no friends at all). 

Whatever the reason, the world of imagination has always been as real to me as you or I.

The fact I couldn’t read was of no consequence. I simply took to dictating tales all my own, while my grandmother wrote. 

Any of hope of truly fitting in flew out the window once I learned to read. Sure, I liked to play with dolls and dress-up. I dreamt of meeting my Prince Charming. But more often than not, I dreamt of the glorious library I’d find at the castle—one with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, volume upon volume of beautifully bound books, and rolling ladders on which to coast from adventure to adventure. 

And oh, the adventure to be had! In the pages of books I could be a lady one day, an elf the next. I could blunder about at Blandings Castle, without lasting humiliation; sail the high seas, without turning green; and travel the world in eighty days, without so much as breaking a sweat.   

Each turn of the page, each dawn of a new chapter, transported me to another place, another time. Authors served my travel guides. P.D. Eastman noted the importance of a good party hat; Alexandre Dumas disparaged revenge; the Pearl Poet illustrated the importance of telling the truth and nothing but the truth. 

On and on it goes. 

The books I’ve loved made me laugh and they made me cry; they made me think and they made me forget. They taught me love, manners, and witty retorts. They helped make my life what it is today.
But I guess that’s what makes our passions so great. 

It’s those things we love with all our hearts, things that grab hold and refuse to let go, those are the things that make life memorable. We need them as the air we breathe; and, I dare say, they need us. For when we come to the end, we’ll find they are the things nestled in every chapter of our lives. 

And the stories of our lives—well, they just might be the grandest stories of them all.  


Marilyn said...

Stories and imagination, what would we do without them. Your grandmother was so fortunate to hear your stories and write them down for you.

Simone said...

Relyn, I too have loved books before I was old enough to know how to read them. Thankfully, I had a mom that knew what it meant to make stories come alive by reading them to me. I learned to read at a very early age (4) because I wanted to discover the words all by myself. With pride, I handled my library card and the librarian always saved the new books for me and my sister because she knew we had read almost every book in the children's department. Your grandmother was a blessing to your life because she gave you the greatest push towards seeking for and finding out more.

"Auntie" sezzzzzz... said...

Oh what a wonderful Grandmother, you were lucky enough to have had!!! :-)

To have written down the tales, which you dictated to her.

Wonderful her!

Lucky you!

Gentle hugs,

S. Etole said...

Friends which enrich our lives in many ways.

Kamana said...

imaginary or not, friends bring us smiles, as do stories

beth said...

without doubt the stories of our lives are the greatest and the grandest.
mine isn't a mystery but it's filled with comedy and could be found on the romantic shelf many days of the week :)

Yiota said...

Hi, Relyn!
I'm so glad I stopped by today and read Amy's words. Thanks for introducing her to us! Off to check her blog.
Take Care!

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