Friday, November 7, 2014

FEAR OF BEING WITHOUT BOOKS

I have to look up the Latin for this so I can sound more learned than I really am.  Since I have the marvelous app "Translate" on my Iphone (Don't those Roman dudes wish they'd had Iphones back in the day? Just think how they could have plotted during Senate meetings or while using the 6-holder marble latrine.), I found the words for my new disorder--fear of being without books.  Timor exsisto sine liber!

How did this come up?  I was recently asked to be part of our local paper's Hampshire Life ID where once a week they feature a person, interviewing him or her about likes and dislikes, the favorite go-to restaurant, who lives with you, and much more.

But here's the thing:  One of the questions was, "Tell which five items you cannot live without."  Most folks answer, "My Iphone, MacBook Air, hiking boots, ergonomic chair, etc." I started to answer in the same vein but then realized I could completely live without any of those devices.  They simply are not essential to my life.

My revised list included, and this will not surprise those of you who know me: "My family, God, nature, my faith community, and books."  Perhaps you wonder how "God" can be on the same continuum as "books."  Let's think about this.

As a writer and a person of faith, I spend what some might call a ridiculous amount of time reading: Stacking books by my chair, downloading samples of Kindle books then buying them with a happy cry, studying theology, reading English mysteries, and also sampling racy Regency romances.

Here's a family story which substantiates my belief that books are essential for life.  Over a decade ago I got a frantic call from our local Meals on Wheels that my step-mother, who lived five minutes away, was not responding to their knocks on the door.  The woman said Athena always called if she planned on being out when the meal would be delivered.  Would I please check on her?

With my husband and twelve year-old daughter in tow, I sped down to my step-mother's house, prepared for something dire.  We knocked on the door--no response.  We called her number--no answer.  Decidedly nervous, we went up to the living room window, and my husband announced, "I'll just vise it open from the outside, and we can climb in to see if Grandma is ok." *

"Ok" to me meant not dead on the floor or in the midst of some ghastly end-of-life attack.  My daughter gave us a horrified look and said, "Wait, wait, don't open the window yet!  I have to go back to the car to get a book.  What if Grandma's dead?  We'll be here for ages waiting for an ambulance and I need something to read."

I need something to read.  Or, Timor exsisto sine liber.  That's my girl, I thought.  I have the same craving for a book at all times and sometimes even experience mild panic if there is no book in sight.  When I picture the end of my life, preparing to go through that dark tunnel to the light beyond, I will probably turn back to tell my husband, "Wait, wait, give me a book!  I don't have anything to read."

* (Grandma was at a doctor's appointment and was perfectly fine.)