Reading, an addiction - First Friday with Rita

I feel as if I’m back at school (way back) looking for an excuse not to do my homework. Why? Because being addicted to reading since I was five years old demands time to deal properly with one of the great loves of my life. I cannot imagine a day I don’t read something. Every day, at least a newspaper.  Every day, part of some book. And much more.

Like Mary Anna, I, too, read anything and everything in my path all through the years. The small print on my toothpaste as I brushed. The back of the tomato soup can as my mother prepared my daily home from school for lunch. This month’s Miss Subway, when I had my first job in the city. I could give you a litany of how many things I read in any given day as I voraciously searched for words.

But what was I reading this week? Alas. Diverted. Sports pages in print, watching the games on TV. Hey, this is Giants country. Latest, following political stuff. Then, the horrendous news of Mother Nature’s attack back east.

Also, those smarty-pants like Camille and Priscilla – they read such intelligent things. Do I want to reveal my guilty pleasure readings? Like one week when I decided to read books written by women named Lisa. (Four different ones.) Or that I had to read Marshall Karp’s new novel. I met Marshall at one of our writer conventions and he is one funny writer, his mysteries are scathing take-offs on Hollywood baddies, and I don’t mean the criminals. He just did one of those co- books with James Patterson called NYPD RED. I had to see what that was like.

But hey, in my defense I was also catching up with my sisters-in-crime books this year. You know  - like Ann and Penny and Staci and Kelli  - you know who you are, so, there.

Anyway, I rest my case. Judge me as you wish.

But I bet I had a reading experience not one of any of our writer friends had.

At age five, I was reading the newspaper (yes, I read that early) at the kitchen table by candlelight. Whilst turning a page I set the table on fire. My mother was next door visiting a neighbor.  Now, I bet you all want to know what happened next.

Comments

[Camille Minichino]

OMG, Rita. Did you live? No, don't tell me. I want to read about it.

No one has ever put me in a "smart" category with Priscilla -- thanks for that!

[Ann Parker]

What happened??? :-O

[Susan Shea]

It's a wonder our brains can retain anything, given that we read - consciously or not - thousands of messages every day. I heard a researcher say that even when we focus on one visible object, say a book page, part of our brains is busy scanning/reading/interpreting every other visual image that the eye registers. It's an argument for a clean desk and against my arrangement, where I face a packed wall of book spines when I work!

[rita lakin]

Ann since you are the only one who asked -- I jumped into the bathtub and waited for my mother to come back. Luckily, it was a few minutes later. Amazing little child -- I hid into something I knew would not catch fire!!!

[Ann]

Oh eeeek! Rita! Makes me want to rush in and rescue the little girl crouched in the tub!
That was pretty smart, though. Although better would've been to run out the door... ;-)
What did your mother do? Throw a pan of water on the burning table or...?

[rita lakin]

My memory stopped in the tub. I don't know what my mother did and maybe it was a very tiny fire. At that age tiny would look huge.
I don't remember if I was yelled at or hugged for being smart. But obviously-- we survived.

And got to lead a life of a million things to read...