Still Life Meets Crazy Life

Last night Joy stayed with some friends while Mama and Daddy went out to dinner. The night was still young when we left the restaurant, so we decided to poke around the Barnes & Noble Bookstore a couple doors down. Books from countless genres called out to me as I strolled through the store, but it seemed most practical to use my gift card to expand Joy’s board book library (I find myself reading the same three or four books all the time). While Phillip skimmed a computer programming guide, I browsed through the board books, selected a couple I liked, then headed to the counter to make my purchase.

The plan was for me to pay for the books and then find Phillip in the computer section, whereupon we’d head for the train and home. However, on the way from the cashier to computerland I was waylaid by a book with a black cover. The photo on its jacket could have been a French still life from two centuries ago—red grapes, cheese, a meaty bone, and a mushroom. Above them were the words: The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals. Ah, food, history, and pretentious vocabulary—three of my passions.By the time Phillip found me, I had read the entire introduction.

The author proposed some interesting ideas (which I promptly related to my longsuffering and rather tired husband as we walked to the train station), but what struck me most about the experience was how delicious it felt to read a book for sheer pleasure. These days, most of my reading carries with it a sense of duty and urgency. I keep up with friends’ numerous blog posts and try to think of meaningful responses to them. I feel it my responsibility to at least skim the news and wrestle with difficult questions it raises. I read the Ensign partly because I know I should, and I’m currently rushing through Psalms because I’m behind on my goal to read the standard works in a year (I’m considering ditching that goal—what’s the point of reading the scriptures if you go too fast to take anything in?). What’s more, all these literary liaisons are crammed into bits of spare time which could abruptly end at any moment if Baby wakes up.

Please don’t misunderstand me--I really do enjoy all this reading. However, the pleasure often has a rushed, even burdened feel to it, as if it is actually another task rather than a break from work.

I suppose this is just a variation on my recent theme of "Stop rushing to do so much stuff! Slow down and actually enjoy some of it!" Specifically, I think I need to take a little time each week to just read something I like.

Also, I think I'll forget the "scriptures in a year" goal for now and just read at my own pace.