The Companionship of Books

Enforced isolation. Is there a single good thing about it? I can, in fact, come up with only this one: It provides the perfect justification for retreating into the wonderful world of the written word.

Books. Inanimate collections of paper and ink. Inadequate replacements for human company. Yet like an entertaining friend they have the capacity to capture and redirect the imagination, lighten and brighten the mood, and tickle one's perspective.

Reading a particularly well written travel narrative,* for example, one laced with humorous observations and tinted with local color, can be like sitting at the feet of a grand storyteller who is infinitely patient and will gladly stop upon request to repeat a charming anecdote or fun fact.

Whenever I find myself wanting to shriek into the dawning light of yet another solitary, humdrum day, my pullback remedy is to crawl into the world of 1930's British sleuthing. Or join a gripping tour of the geography and history of Australia. Perhaps immerse myself in a moving autobiography.

I'll end this love letter to literature with a small excerpt from my own book, Loving Zelda—an account of time spent caring for my aging, physically-challenged father and his wife, Zelda, who suffered from dementia.

I'll be doing this regularly for a while, offering snippets from corresponding seasons in the book. This month's sample is taken from March 2005, chapter 15, titled "Hope Bobbles."

… I observe Zelda through her partially opened bedroom door as she bundles unrelated items together and stows them in various drawers and cupboards. She asks me where her “missing” suitcase is. I tell her, then I show her. She doesn't recognize it as hers but seems eager to have it handy. Even speaks of taking a trip to some unidentified destination.

Later, I round up the stashes and return them to their proper places, hoping to interrupt the process. But then there is the large adult diaper laid open on top of the bedspread as if that will be her receptacle for these necessities should she decide to leave this place—a plan she has threatened to engineer.

I can't purge my brain of this bizarre image of Zelda as the little boy running away from home in a snit—only this time his pole is replaced by an AARP umbrella and his red bandana satchel by an oversized Depends.

To stir things up a bit, if you explore my website (sueannekirkham.com), you'll find a subscriber form at the bottom of the "About" and "Loving Zelda" pages. Fill out one of these forms and you'll qualify for a chance to win one of four copies of my book, mailed to any address within the United States.

Good luck in that drawing, and happy reading!

###

*Speaking of travel narratives, here are three I've enjoyed:

#A Year in Provence and Toujours Provence, by Peter Mayle. (Sheer delights, both.)

#In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson. (Some profanity and a few gruesome descriptions of historical events, which I painstakingly avoided.)