2001-06-23 - 20:54 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Books

Books, those blessed things form a great part of who I am I think.

They were the brother I didn't have, the Mother who was at work. They gave me the enjoyment that no poor kid could hope to experience in real life/real time. They taught me many things and still they try to. Even the fiction books gave me a measuring stick of live people, after I had been reading for some time it seemed to me that I was able to sort the fiction from the reality of humanity -- thus learning social knowledge. Through that I could judge whether live people's actions fit the norm or were off the wall.

Remarkably, books reinforced the teachings of my parents and helped me gain a philosophy of common sense and ethics.

When the grand clean up of my room was in progress I had the sad project of sorting books. Some to be given to family, friends and some to Good Will, some passed on to others like beloved pets.

Yet I still have my Bible, my AA Big Book & The Twelve Steps And Twelve Traditions, eleven books of reproductions of art, mostly impressionists, seven books on union history, books of humor. A shelf of books on various aspects of medicine that a layman can understand and a few that I read with Taber's Cyclopedic Medical Dictionary near at hand and the Merck Manual also pored over with Taber's at hand. Democracy In America by De Tocqueville written by him in the mid 1800's, which still enlightens me frequently. I wish I had Adam Smith's, "The Wealth Of Nations," also written over one hundred years ago I think. Dictionaries and thesaurii out the ears, several English to - - and - - to English, dictionaries. Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, Bill Bryson's, "The Mother Tongue," a few books on religion and thought around the world. A few of Joseph Campbell's books, some poetry books, a couple of timeline type books, one on American History and the other on World History.

There are more yet of things kept permanently. In the reference works for me frustration often rules. Hard to find what information is wanted at any given time in the books I have.

There are books that are with me for a short time and then are passed on. Anything by the following people passes under my nose eventually, Tony Hillerman, Stephen King, Sue Grafton, Patricia Cornwell, Johnathan Kellerman, Faye Kellerman and more. I just finished "Made In America," by Bill Bryson and am reading "In A Sunburned Country," also by Bryson and am planning to troll The Tattered Cover for other Bryson books in paperback, possibly going to some of the used book stores.

Yet I learn from books, am amused by books, inspired by books and my curiosity satisfied.

Until I was presented with Webtv I voraciously read anything I could get my hands on, books were all I had to spend my spare time on, much of which necessarily had and has to be spent in a sedentary mode.

Webtv has let my eyes roam the world, communicate with people from all over the world and gives me another means of finding facts. It is wonderful, it is.

But there is something about holding an unread book in my hand, riffling the pages as if clinking coins in my pocket, sitting down in a good light, opening the book and beginning to leave the reality that is here and go where the action, the excitement, the adventure is, the romance is -- living in another century, past or future and becoming one of the characters or a fly on the wall.

I read a lot on the different sites, and am thrilled to death and enjoy it highly. It seems to me though the web is more like face to face visiting, especially on MSN Messenger which is real time. Interpersonal rather than bookish.

Once in a while I can afford to buy a hard cover book, bring it home and enjoy the feel while braking in the book as the teachers taught us, on its spine, opening front and back covers fully, then page by page front and back opening the pages one at a time and pressing them down at the backing, until it is done. Makes it work better they said and I believe.

There is good in the web, but there is something about Books . . . . . . .

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