Date a Girl Who Reads

I came across this beautiful essay the other day.  I love it...especially the last line.  It's interesting to see my personal thoughts reflected in such a way.  I love books.  Love reading and writing.  I get lost in books.  I smell the pages.  A familiar scent can bring back a time and place.  I moved into my new apartment one month ago and I couldn't help but take deep inhales from my older, secondhand books as I placed them on my bookshelves and, damn, if that didn't bring up vivid memories. 

 

 

 

 

 

You Should Date a Girl Who Reads

 

-Rosemarie Urquico

 

“You should date a girl who reads.  Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

 

 

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”

  

 

 

 

Talking to Strangers

A lot of the time (okay... MOST of the time) I want to avoid other people in public.  Put on my game face and go get shit done so I can return to my peaceful bubble.  That need for a bubble is often unnecessary when I’m with Finn because I have a joy in my heart and connecting with strangers at the park or the store is fine.  I tend to get a lot of smiles and compliments on my little man when I’m out as well, so that helps. 

 

Anyway, I was in Ogden taking some pictures this day.  It was raining very lightly that late morning.  It was a misty, gray day.  I was walking along 25^th street, shooting photos as I walked down the sidewalk.  Not many people were out.  A Native American man was standing outside the seediest bar on the street.  I tried to look busy and started fiddling with my camera as I passed and avoided eye contact.  He called out to me:

“Hey, what kind of camera is that?” 

This is usually my cue to feign deafness and speed up, but I caught a look at him.  He had a laid back pose as he leaned his back upon the building and took a drag of his cigarette.  He certainly didn't look predatorial, ready to attack, but rather, casually interested.  He was as cool as they come.  I stopped and told him it was a Nikon.  He asked a couple of questions about the features and I stumbled through some answers, not being an expert in photography, but doing my best to answer.  He explained that he once worked as a photographer when he lived in New Mexico.  I asked if he’d ever taken photos of Santa Fe.  He looked at me with more interest and asked if I knew Santa Fe.  I explained that I’d never been, but that something about the city is really drawing me to it and I want to visit very badly.  He looked a little sad for a minute and grew quiet.  I was about to take my leave and avoid the awkwardness... I didn't owe anything to this stranger, but then he said:

“It’s magical...  Go there.  Take pictures.” 

 I told him I would. 

 

I found myself intrigued with this man.  This man outside a bar at noon in Ogden.  Probably only a handful of regulars in the bar at that time.  I wanted to know more about his life and what events had transpired to bring him to this place and point in life.  He asked:

“Ever notice how much better photos turn out when it’s raining?  It’s kind of like life, isn’t it?” 

I asked what he meant by that.  He looked at me like he was really studying my face.  He said:

“You’re beautiful” and took another drag from his cigarette.  “You have a good soul, I can tell.  Glad to have met you.  You don’t look like the type to stop and talk to someone like me.  So, thank you.  Life’s short.  I regret the times I said ‘no’ more than the times I said ‘yes.’” 

And with that, he stubbed out his cigarette, nodded at me, and walked back into the bar. 

 

Now... this man was clearly three sheets to the wind.  Dah-runk.  However, I felt a warmth in my chest and a calm, good energy as I walked away.  I continued walking down the street and felt very connected.  There were more people on the streets by now and the sun was coming out from the clouds.  I stepped back to observe and felt very present in the moment. I noticed people hurrying by, not really seeing their surroundings.  Many couples walked by with their focus on their phones, rather than each other.  Pressing buttons, rather than holding hands.  I saw a little boy and he saw me and he gave me a big smile.  I smiled back.  I almost felt like an observer, rather than a part of this.  I heard every noise and felt the light on my face.  I felt very light and peaceful that day.  It’s a struggle in life.  That feeling isn’t with me most of the time.  But I’m getting to a point where I can kind of stop the noise and tune in to things more.  I remembered that everyone has their struggles, but that life is good too.  And we can help each other.  This stranger saw something in me and we connected and I felt better having had a moment with him. 

 

 

 

He really was sick, but I love the dramatic hand placed across the forehead.

 

 

I found him like this the other morning.  He usually wakes up long before I do.  But I found him lying on the couch, rather than having every single toy he owns gathered around him. I slipped down next to him and quietly asked

 

Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?

 

Not good, not really.  I sick.

 

You don't think you could eat any breakfast?  You're too sick?

 

No.  I can't eat.

 

After laying next to him and watching an episode of SpongeBob, he started to stretch and smile a little more. 

 

 

He said

 

Mommy, guess what?  I feeling better.

 

Oh good! Let's have some oatmeal then.  Sound good?

 

Yes, it'll be the best I ever had.

 

 

 

Caught in a Moment

Is this the cutest little pilot you ever did see?  It has nothing to do with this post, but I couldn't resist...





Finn was playing in his room and I could hear his squeals and screeches as he played Batman.  He was wearing his mask and was lowering his voice to mimic Batman and would then switch to a very high, almost effeminate tone, to play the Joker.

I found myself laying stomach-down on the ivory comforter of my bed.  I was reading a sentence here and there, desperately trying to finish the book I had started that very weekend.  I was determined to finish it--the pile on my night stand of half-read novels was getting too high.  Besides, I had been swallowed up by the characters and couldn't leave them until I knew what happened in the end.

It was right as I read the sentence in which one of the characters in the book died, that Finn joined me on the bed, laying down the same way so the sides of our arms were touching.  He had grabbed a handful of Batman books and, squealing with joy, climbed next to me. 

Although I was engrossed in my book, I felt my senses becoming aware of my surroundings--something I usually tune out when enveloped in words on the page.  I heard the soft whirring of the ceiling fan, the light scratching from Finn turning the pages, as well as his quiet comments, like "The Joker's a dirty criminal."  I felt the comfort of skin from my arm touching Finn's, and became aware I had absentmindedly started moving my fingers across his back as I was reading.  I saw the afternoon sun coming through the bedroom window, softly enhancing shapes and shadows.

As my senses heightened to the moment I was living in, I remembered words from a show I had once heard,

"You know how people talk about the Good Ol' Days?  I wish you could know they were the Good Ol' Days when you were actually in them."

I closed my book, laying still, focusing.  I thought of taking a picture so I wouldn't forget what was happening, but didn't want to disturb anything.  Instead, I  rested my head on his back, my cheek against his shoulder blade, wrapping my arms around him so they were in-between his chest and the bed.

I knew I had been caught up in the story of the dying character, but as I clung to Finn I faced the thought that one day I would not have the opportunity to wrap my arms around him or listen to him happily imagine.

"I love you too mommy," Finn said.

"I'm so glad you know how much I love you," I replied.

I lay there quietly for a few minutes, letting the beauty of our right now consume me.  And then he finished his books, climbed out of bed and life began moving forward again.