Write Again…It’s such a special service
Something there is, and has been during the months of the pandemic, that is such a blessing to those of us who have a love of and for reading, and that is access to books.
Yes, books. A myriad of books available to any and all whose life is enriched by such a love. It’s a 24-7 deal, too.
You see, in the protected on three sides entry way just outside the door leading into the Senior Center, just waiting for those of us that so love to read, are books, books, books.
It’s a help-yourself arrangement, no check out required. Just peruse the titles and take as many as you wish. Return is not a requirement, although I do return all I take away.
Many, many are these books I have read over the course of the shut down, with limited access to the more traditional book purveying places.
How appreciative we readers are to those good folks at the Senior Center who have made this possible. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
We who love to read, for whom reading is such an integral and important part of our lives, have been the beneficiaries of this special opportunity provided to us.
Not everyone, of course, is a regular reader of books. Quite probably they can’t or don’t understand how we readers find such enjoyment in the basic and simple act of reading. In just reading.
Non-readers probably just can’t relate to the world of regular, habitual readers.
What set me to writing this particular column was a book I read – picked up at the Senior Center, of course – which was written by Pearl S. Buck.
It was titled “Letter from Peking.” On the first blank page was written “Helen McCracken – 1957.”
No, I have never known anyone by that name. In 1957, the actual year the book was published too, I was a senior in high school.
One would logically assume this lady was older than I. That being the case, then possibly – probably? – she is no longer living.
Still I feel some connection between us, some sixty-four years on. In some way, I feel all we readers are “brothers and sisters of the books.”
Which brings me to my view that there are three kinds of people: Those who know, those who don’t know, and those who don’t know that they don’t know.
And . . . that third kind are, quite probably, those who don’t read.
Keep on reading.
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